The Blue Moon Phase

Around this time of year, many otherwise sane, intelligent and well-intentioned people start making lists and setting themselves ridiculous challenges and resolutions that they are never ever - not even in a blue moon - likely to attempt. 

Let alone complete. 

Blaise Pascal

It's understandable, in fact it's only natural to strive to achieve and each generation hopes for a brighter future. 

'All the trouble in the world,' wrote Blaise Pascal 'arises from our inability to still still in a room'

Life, we are told is a journey. So we busily set goals at the beginning and start running wildly, shoelaces undone and arms flailing towards the finish line hoping to mark each post a winner.  

But why must we put ourselves through so much pain. All that puffing and panting trying to keep up such a frantic pace is not only exhausting but also if we could stop, rewind and replay the video tape of our lives, we would probably look pretty silly.

For as Benjamin Franklin himself predicted, there is nothing more certain than death and taxes.
Which, brings me to the point of this rather long-winded rambling post about old blokes whose ugly faces ended up plastered all over bank notes. 

The moon must be in its blue phase cause I've just committed to complete the Franklin level (named after our very own Stella Miles Franklin, not crusty ol' BJ) of the 2014 Australian Women's Writers Challenge. 

http://australianwomenwriters.com
Which means I plan to read another ten books on the list and review at least six. 

It's a tough gig, I know but someone's gotta do it ... anyone else game to state their new year's resolutions?

Time Flies ...

Where does the time go? 

It has recently occurred to me that in a little over twelve months I'll be turning 50.  It's so unlike me to consider my birthday as anything other than a date on a calendar. It has been a non-event to me for so many years.

As a little girl, I can vividly recall feeling as though it took forever for my birthday to roll around again.  It seemed everybody else's birthday came and went but mine was always a long, long way off.

December was a dark mystical place, tucked away at the end of the year in the murky distance just out of reach. Then finally, around this end of the year, it would draw tantalisingly close to the long awaited event. I would build it up in my mind and imagine this wonderful day filled with bright and shiny happiness. 

But for some reason, it never quite panned out that way.  I'm not sure if it was because everybody was always so frantically busy.  The entire month was filled with end of year concerts, work and school break-ups and of course, Christmas parties. Or if it was because I had believed it held magical qualities, but my actual birthday was always something of a disappointment to me. 

Of course, there were many other childhood incidents that set the idea firmly in my head. But by the time I was a teenager, I had well and truly learnt my lesson.  Hope only led to frustration, dreams never really do come true. I had decided it was better to not expect anything at all of others than to swallow another dose of that bitter disappointment medicine again.

As a result, I developed an incredibly thick skin. Sure, it made me strong and tough and very independent. I often referred to myself as a cold, hard B_____ and before long, it got to the point that I couldn’t allow myself to look forward to anything at all.

In my mind, the only way to create any opportunity was to get out there and make it happen, myself. My success in life - as a daughter, a woman, a wife and a mother - was my problem and mine alone. 

It’s an exhausting path to choose.  It’s such a long way up to the top of the

hill, especially when you’re dragging a lead ball on a chain. It’s not easy to let anyone else in once you’ve built up all these rock solid defenses. It’s even harder to punch your way out without letting anyone else take a swing of the sledgehammer

So, I've made a promise to myself that this next year will be different. I am finally going to let go.  Over the next twelve months I will allow others in to enjoy the exhilaration of the rushing wind as we hold hands, take the downhill run and fly out over the edge of my self-made fortress. 

By the time I reach the tender age of 50, I will be free to be me.