I read (and shared) an article I found on Facebook last weekend. The piece, from Thought Catalogue, about self-care by Brianna Wiest resonated with me – and others obviously – and I’ve been pondering it since.
You might not have noticed, but I’ve cut back on my blogging. A little. I suspect it’s a ‘that time of year’ thing but I’m considering my priorities and wanting to make sure I spend time on stuff I enjoy (and – in wanky-speak – stuff consistent with my values). Unsurprisingly I’m overthinking everything so decided it’s time for a taking stock post to share the load.
I remember when acronyms and basic emojis / emoticons first became a thing. I’d just joined an online dating site – sometime in the mid 2000s – and basically struck off any guy who dared insert an LOL into his profile. Urgh.
Interestingly I’ve never been an LOLer. I still don’t even know what many acronyms mean and have had to google NSFW and the like. I’ve mentioned before, however…. my fondness for WTF and it’s more-shocked big brother, WTAF.
In eight weeks from now I will be turning 50.
I know I know… you’re aghast. I look so youthful. And I behave like a young sprightly thing. Well, not physically, but still…
Thankfully I’m more zen than I expected about turning 50.
I’ve read an enormous* number of non-fiction books lately. Particularly for someone who doesn’t read non-fiction. Including so-called ‘self-help’ or self-improvement type books.
And I really could not go past the chance to read this release by Meredith Gaston, an illustrator and author of five other books. It looked like…. something-I-must-have. And when it arrived I was even more enamoured as it’s absolutely stunning.
One of the many online pieces I’ve bookmarked in the past year or so is one about mediocrity in Elephant Journal: Why Perfectionists Should Pursue Mediocrity. And I know I’ve written about this before, referencing Mark Manson’s In Defense of Being Average.
Both pieces kinda boil down to the suggestion that lowering our aspirations or goals, lowers our expectations (of our own achievements), meaning we’ll be happier with ourselves and our lives. Apparently.
Last year I had weight loss surgery. I’ve talked about it briefly here and there and I temporarily opened a separate Instagram account so I could share stuff and follow similar accounts. But – before starting I knew that account would be short lived. I know myself pretty well you see and knew that it would take over my life if I let it. And I did not want my life to be about my weight loss surgery, as it had been (perhaps still is) about food and weight and so forth. (Indeed, I eventually ditched my Diet Schmiet blog for that exact reason!)
I DID NOT WANT IT TO DEFINE ME.
First let me set the scene a little. It’s 1988 and I’m 20yrs old. I’ve deferred from my undergraduate Commerce degree and haven’t yet commenced my Psychology studies. I spent almost a year working as a revenue accounting clerk at World Expo 88 in Brisbane and am now in a finance role at an Australian (National) Football League club. It’s an exciting time. My life is about all-things-sport.
I live with my two best friends* in a share house in East Brisbane, along with a weird guy who lives in the ‘basement’. I’ve (only) recently started drinking alcohol and go out regularly to places like Cafe Neon, The Underground and Rosie’s Tavern. We dance to INXS, The Choirboys, Salt ‘N’ Pepa and Rick Astley.
It recently occurred to me that there are two types of people in the world. Those who hate pockets in dresses or trousers. And insane people who seem to like having additional width added to their girth. Yes, really.
I suspect the pocket thing is an even hotter topic than the one I’m broaching today… but this post isn’t about pockets. It’s about travel. And a thought that jumped into my head the other day.
I’m not the sort of person who travels. I’m not a traveller.