Fig Jam and Lime Cordial

Photo credit: Barossa Herald

LEST WE FORGET

On ANZAC Day, we remember those who have fought to defend Australia in the past and honour those who continue to protect our shores.

On this very different ANZAC Day, let’s also celebrate the amazing ANZAC spirit of our doctors, nurses, teachers, storekeepers and other essential workers who are fighting to keep us all safe. Like my medico friends Marty, Nat and Angus, who continue to front up every day to their hospital shifts. Or Robert who keeps the local IGA open, and the garbage collectors who pick up every Friday, and Kevin and Robbie who keep milling flour so we can continue to bake. We’re incredibly grateful to all of them.

Let’s recognise though that for most of us, staying at home and keeping a respectful social distance from one another is also a reflection of the ANZAC spirit – we all have a very clear understanding of the need to do our part for the greater good.

I’ve always been incredibly grateful to live in Australia, but never more so than right now. It’s been a time of huge sacrifice and stress for so many people, but our great country feels united and determined. Together, we will get there. ♥

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A couple of years ago, we visited the Biennale of Sydney at Cockatoo Island. Sadly, the event has been cancelled this year.

The showstopper piece of the day, and in fact the entire 2018 exhibition, was Ai Weiwei’s Law of the Journey (2017).

Measuring 60 x 6 x 3m, it’s a magnificent and thought-provoking piece, and was originally suspended from the ceiling of the National Gallery of Prague. When it came to Australia, a custom plinth was created to sit it on, inscribed with quotes from philosophers and thinkers across the ages.

I loved this one in particular…

“Since you cannot do good to all, you are to pay special attention to those who, by accidents of time, or place, or circumstances, are brought into closer connection with you.”

St Augustine of Hippo

. . . . .

We can’t fix the problems of the world, but what we can do is try to take care of those our lives intersect with. At a time in human history when we’re all having to self-isolate, this directive feels more important than ever.

Take good care, dearhearts, of yourselves and each other. ♥

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I realised something yesterday.

I was watching Jamie Oliver’s brilliant new show, Keep Cooking and Carry On. Have you seen it? He and his family are isolating at home, so he’s been filming a series on how to make hearty meals using the ingredients folks have in their pantries and freezers. He mentioned recently that it’s all being filmed by his wife Jools on a mobile phone!

As I watched the first episode, I realised that what he was doing went beyond simply teaching folks how to make pasta from flour and water, or a fish pie from frozen ingredients. The subtle, unspoken message he was sending out was… “you don’t have to be afraid“.

I think this has the potential to be hugely impactful. At the moment, we’re all a little afraid. We’re a species that has evolved to live in groups, so being forced to self-isolate can be daunting, for some of us more than others. And whereas we could normally turn to our friends and loved ones in times of need, the current situation finds us all stressed and anxious, which makes it difficult for us to support one another as we’ve been able to in the past.

So here’s what I think we need to do. If we can find some way to help another person feel less afraid, even if we ourselves are afraid, then we should try and do it. It could be as small a gesture as a phone call to say “how are you going?” or “let me know if you need anything”. Just knowing someone else has thought of us is reassuring in and of itself, and will help reduce the nervousness that we’re all feeling right now.

More than ever, our communities are important. Take the initiative and attempt to create a connection – by text or email or a note in the letterbox if you’re shy. I know this is massively easier for us raging extroverts, and I’m not suggesting we all reach out to strangers at this time. But a phone call to reassure an elderly relative, or a text message to a friend you haven’t spoken to in a while, or even ordering takeaway from your local eatery – all these actions send a message that says, “you’re not alone, we haven’t forgotten about you, you don’t have to be afraid”.

For us, this has meant baking loaves of bread and delivering them to neighbours’ doorsteps, or leaving essential supplies (and treats!) on the back deck for family and friends to pick up. In return, my wonderful community has ensured that we haven’t had to visit a supermarket once since lockdown, leaving cereal, sugar, eggs, butter and gifts at our back door. And in reality, none of this is critical. We could easily go shopping, and my neighbours could just as easily buy a loaf of bread. But the true value lies in the reassurance these small acts bring – the reminder that, as Jamie says, we’re all in this together.

At times of stress and fear, we instinctively turn our focus inward, especially when we have families. As my friend Kim very astutely put it, “at the moment we mothers just want to gather everyone safely and circle the wagons”. But I think it’s really important that we also force ourselves to look outwards, to ascertain how we can support each other within the confines of our current social restrictions. It’s a positive act that will help us to feel better about ourselves, and might also help someone else. And hopefully, we can all be less afraid, knowing that none of us have to face this current crisis alone. ♥

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. . . . .

In 2019, after three long, hard years, I regained my personal power. I hadn’t even noticed it was missing.  In hindsight, my dad’s death in 2015 rattled me far more than I realised at the time.

In 2019, I found my way again. And as we close out the year, I’m feeling strong. As I told my darling niece recently, I finally feel like the person I’ve always wanted to be. It hasn’t, as Pete pointed out recently, made me more likeable. I’m more vocal and opinionated, and often angrier about everything from climate change to social justice. But I refuse to be piss-weak anymore, because I’ve realised how important it is to try to be an instrument of change, rather than simply waiting for higher powers, governmental or divine, to effect change for us.

I also realised this year that, whilst I’ve always had an incredibly supportive family, by some miracle I’ve managed in my mid-50s to surround myself with like-minded girlfriends who are both powerful and empowering. You know who you are and you know how much I adore you. Thank you for uplifting me and enriching my life, and for helping me be a better person.

The biggest lesson I’ve learnt in 2019 has been this: at all costs, protect your personal power. Defend it against those who would try to take it away from you, either directly or indirectly, intentionally or otherwise. It takes practice, but learn to devalue the importance of other people’s opinions of you. Even more importantly though, defend against the BULLSHIT that your own brain will throw at you, which can be far more insidious and evil and damaging. Be alert and watch out for it constantly – especially if you’re prone to anxiety like I am. Get your mental racquet ready and when you see it coming, lob it straight out of the court.

In 2019, I learnt to like myself again. I made imperfect, noisy attempts to live more sustainably, to build community bonds, to get more deeply involved with charitable causes. I tried as hard as I could to better understand the lives of others, which necessitated lots of reading and a steep learning curve. It proved to be the perfect antidote to first world privilege.

Stay strong, dearhearts. Wishing you great happiness and personal power in 2020! ❤️

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I penned this post on Thursday 10 October 2019, which was World Mental Health Day. It’s taken me a few days to be ready to share it here. x

. . . . .

If you’re following our blog for a while now, you’ll know that I have an amazing life, filled with loving relationships and creative passions.

What you might NOT know is that I also have GAD – Generalised Anxiety Disorder. It waxes and wanes with life events (menopause is wreaking havoc at the moment) and on occasion, it’s tipped over into some pretty savage clinical depression.

Until recently, I’ve always seen my anxiety as a flaw, something that I was simply too weak-willed to manage. I didn’t talk about it very much. And then I started to see anxiety manifesting in the next generation of my immediate and extended family, and I began to understand the strong genetic basis behind my anxiety. And I realised that I needed to talk about it more openly, so that I could reassure those whom I love that it’s NOT a flaw. It’s NOT something to beat ourselves up about. It just IS. Once we learn to be a bit kinder to ourselves, it becomes much easier to manage.

As it’s World Mental Health Day, I thought I’d share that with you too.

If you’re an anxious bunny like I am, then I offer you my empathy. I understand waking up with a knot in your stomach for no reason, or overthinking a minor event into a catastrophe. I know that feeling when the worrying gets so overwhelming that you lie in bed and wish you were dead. Honestly, I get it. But I urge you to be kind to yourself – so much has been written today asking others to be kind to folks with mental health issues, but very little has been said about the need to be kind to ourselves.

In a way, having anxiety is like having poor vision – it’s not something you’ve caused or have any control over, it’s just the way you’re made. And like dodgy eyesight, it’s something you can compensate for. Find what works for you – for me, exercise, meditation and a supportive family unit keep things relatively even keeled – but understand that the anxiety is probably going to flare up again at some time. And that’s ok. It doesn’t mean we’re weak or stupid or not trying. In fact, I think it means the exact opposite. We’re POWERFUL, because we’re dealing with stuff that so many people can’t even begin to understand.

Years ago, I had a friend whose young son had cerebral palsy (she’s still my friend, and he’s now a strapping teenager). He was high functioning and attending a normal infants school, but he would go completely crazy at 5pm every day. She couldn’t figure out what was happening until a paediatrician explained to her that kids with CP have to work very hard to hold themselves physically upright – something that able-bodied children do instinctively and easily. So by the end of each day, he was completely exhausted and just couldn’t keep it together anymore.

I use this analogy a lot for anxiety. When my anxiety is severe (and please don’t worry, it’s not at the moment), it’s like my cup is full to the brim (not in a good way) and any little thing can cause it to overflow. When this happens, it takes a tremendous amount of effort to function as usual – something that folks with calmer dispositions do without thought – and sometimes the effort of maintaining “normality” completely wipes me out. The difference now (as compared to most of my earlier life) is that when this happens, I try to be kind to myself. I don’t self-flagellate or criticise or get angry at myself. I just try to ease up my hectic schedule, get lots of rest, and wait for it to pass. It always has.

I’m feeling a bit anxious and exposed for having written this, but I hope it helps someone who reads it. If it does, then it was worth it. ♥

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