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Life is good…

It’s warming to have the security of home - a place of connection and understanding: friendly kiwis, good kai, clean air, and the harmony of the history you have with a place dancing with the future that it will bring forth…

I love the prickly scent of salt and vinegar that radiates from piping-hot, golden nuggets of fish, and chips, tightly hugged inside a paper parcel, folded up at the bottom then rolled around; the sting of salt and sand you get walking along the rugged south coast, curtsying katikati grass and lonely fishing rods sprouting out from the jagged, volcanic rock splattered close to shore thousands of years ago; a shy smile from the girl with dyed-black matted hair and an eye-brow piercing behind the counter at the petrol station...

I’m weary of indulging in it though…getting heavy with it. Getting away from Wellington and working down in Marlborough will help keep it light for me. To stay here without a game-plan could lead to stagnation…retracing old routines, having the same conversations with the same people, slowly closing me off from what lies beyond the hills of my home town and the boundaries of my mind.

I am home, but with new eyes…with a different outlook on the place, and on life. Constantly moving-changing-growing…living and dieing a new person each day. Things are bubbling right now. I am waiting for my wine adventure to boil…hhmmm I wonder what will it bring? I don’t mind sailing on whatever breeze blows my way.

In trying to balance direction with freedom, I have found that discipline and structure lead you liberation… A frame of reference is a platform for growth because it allows reflection. Such is the case with my yoga practice, as life in general. Bringing my practice home has been curious. Watching what happens when you fall out of rhythm during the transition of moving countries and homes…practising at different times of the day, in different rooms, the different feelings that different spaces and a different country can bring to the yoga mat.

I’ve grown to really appreciate the group I was a part of in Sydney, the way the classes were structured, and the way they were delivered. And I thought that was impossible as I already considered myself so appreciative of the school. But it’s the old adage – you don’t really know what you’re missing till it’s gone.

There is a positive side to being largely alone in my practice: I feel a surge of responsibility, a sense of teacher, and an evolving body of work around my inner and outer strengths and weaknesses. But most importantly, I feel as motivated as ever in what I am doing on and off the mat.

I am temping until I go down south, which is another learning experience. Different places and different faces, and I like not having to commit to a chair, desk and computer-screen indefinitely. I am having fun noticing all the archetypes that are all around us. I am intrigued by parallel universes and the faces of your ‘strangerhood’…people you often see during the course of a typical week, but don’t ever get to know…but probably develop opinions about: plastic surgery lady, blanket man (with or without blanket…in Sydney you don’t need a blanket, but most homeless people there wear clothes), Gomez Addams’ missing twin, armies of teen-goths all clad in black, and let us not forget the malnourished beauty queens that line the footpaths outside fashionable bars on a Friday night, stilettos winking, eyes twinkling...pretty maids all in a row who think Paris Hilton is just misunderstood, and that Vince really wasn't right for Jen anyway...They all have their carbon copies, no matter which country you are in.

And when you examine your own world, there is the friend you can call on for advice that you’d rather not hear, the one you can drink tequila shots, and dance the night away with; the arty ones who you give you a dose of inspiration when you are with them… I’ve seen personality traits and even mannerisms of my New Zealand friends mixed up in the friends I made in Sydney. What I term the ‘personality continuum of existence’. I saw a bit of Becky come out in Emily, a little Amber in Pamela and some of Nick in James. Sillier still, I wonder sometimes whether I am in Sydney. Was that Pamela down at the beach with Andy? But I’m in Oriental Bay now, not at Coogee Beach…

I am missing those souls who sparked something in me in Sydney. I felt home with them. Home the understanding, not the place. I look forward to future encounters with like minds here, and re-establishing connections with the minds I left behind. This raises the question, Where do I fit in? I feel so loved here in Wellington, but for the first time, lonely too. A natural loneliness, the one we are born feeling, the one we will all die feeling. Even close friends have their own lives to lead. Even partners do. It’s your life, but for some reason we are all drawn in to the search to find the ‘one’ who will make the loneliness go away. Sharing one life together doesn’t sound as scary. We run away from our loneliness without even realising it. I’ve even started to reassess things like, whether monogamy is natural? Is that all we are here to do? What happens after I get married, have children and live in a house with a white picket fence?

I can hear my yoga teacher tell us the story of the bull ants, who despite their size, when threatened will bravely turn and face their opponent no matter what their size…insect, animal or human! I feel a little like this at times, eyeballing a hum-drum 9 to 5 existence, and not flinching because I’m looking for something else…


After a picnic dinner at Breaker Bay my folks and I shared this sun set over the South Island, sipping our cuppatea dad had brewed using his 'thermet'. This is one of the most magic sunsets I've ever seen, the clearest view I've ever had of the South Island from Wellington, and is already a treasured memory...