I don’t feel like there is much to document about my daily life but even as I am writing this, there is so much drama hovering around me like flies. Even if I understand most things in life are my responsibility, I believe we should all be giving one another grace during what are still, hard times in my opinion. In my case, with Pippie not even five months old, there is still so much to learn and to adjust to. I hope I remember to give new parents the treatment I felt I needed during these fragile months of sleep deprivation and mental exhaustion.
I’m still learning to go at the pace of a four month old as she grows into a new month with new developments. Soon I will have just about caught up with her and she will have outgrown yet another routine, her clothes and any hacks I’ve learned to soothe her. The teething truly is the worst. There hasn’t been another cry like it from her. The flaming red cheeks and eyes full of tears. Walking down the road with her in the buggy, I had to stop only two minutes into the outing to hold her in my arms. Pushing an empty buggy with her on my hip – completely uncomfortable and tiring. Strangers smile sympathetically or walk past faster and I wish I would just turn around and go home but in fact neither option makes life easier for me and this is a case of endurance. Patience and an even temperament are excellent skills for parents. I’m needing breaks throughout the day which is completely normal and so why does it feel like I’m failing? I am constantly berating myself internally for not having the energy for life these days and there seems to be a confusion within me whether I am being lazy or in need of serious rest. I truly cannot tell the difference, I need someone else to tell me.
Thankfully, I have support in Rob who has been an island of safety in this shipwreck of an emotional time. I’m grateful for all of the lessons challenging times teach us but I fear the benefits will not be felt for some time. If only I could allow myself to rest at every opportunity instead of making myself feel awfully behind and unproductive. It seems counter intuitive to have goals and action steps toward those goals and to ignore those actions in favour of lying and staring at the wall, but I’m afraid that is what I need most.
I’m getting better at allowing myself to be taken care of. That is not something which comes naturally to me. I can get so stuck and continue making poor choices to keep me stuck instead of just accepting and moving on. Rob will ask if I need a cup of tea and I get this feeling of wanting to pout and say no, feel sorry for me. But instead I let go and say, “okay, yes please”.
It takes a certain amount of luck to catch COVID twice, I imagine. Not the kind of luck that wins you money on lottery tickets (I know because I bought two for this year’s New Year’s Day draw). Sitting up in bed with my laptop table that I am so dearly fond of, eyes heavy and face forlorn, I have the transcript of a recent interview I conducted for college printed out beside me. Pink highlighter scattered throughout. A habit from school I am yet to kick, even with all the new online tools that promote the paper-free future we are all supposed to be working towards. All I can think of is the newest climate agreement which saw the largest countries in the world fight for the change of one word; from phase ‘out’ coal to phase ‘down’. So let’s just say I am phasing down my paper usage. If India doesn’t think it is important on a global scale, I certainly am not going to make myself feel bad for my usage on my minuscule, almost laughably small-scale. And yet, I can’t deny that I do feel somewhat morally wrong for all six, one-sided printed pages I have used. If only I were leading a powerful country. Oh how my humanity would benefit the world instead of plaguing me with unnecessary guilt.
So second time around the block is quite different. In fact, I have almost no symptoms and all are different from the first time when I was not vaccinated. This time I have three shots, having gotten my booster only the week before coming back in contact with the virus. The biggest fear was Pippie, who by all accounts seems to have an admirable and healthy attitude towards danger, mostly smiling after each sneeze and also finding coughing to be quite humorous too. But children are so resilient and although I feel tired and not myself, I am well enough to feed her and Rob is handling almost everything else. Who by the way has not tested positive yet and we suspect him to be a kind of freak of nature, although I already had those suspicions prior to the pandemic. The man eats more pizza and jellies than anyone I have ever known and still manages to maintain a six-pack. Not that I’m complaining. Okay, I am complaining a little bit. But how can I not do the whole ‘why me’ bit?
I finished Sally Rooney’s ‘Beautiful World Where Are You’ this morning and in it was a very well-put account of stress. In it, her character Alice is struggling with stress and the illnesses that come as a result of not being able to reduce stress from her life, despite her avoiding a lot of life in an attempt to lower her stress levels. She writes:
“I have been reading a lot about ‘stress’ in the medical literature. Everyone seems to agree it is about as bad for your health as smoking, and beyond a certain point practically guarantees a major adverse health outcome. And yet the only recommended treatment for stress is not to experience it in the first place.”
I gave up smoking a few years ago. Finally kicked the habit when my father helped me see the emotional link between my addiction and the action of smoking. He said, “once you can get through a difficult life event like a funeral without one, you’ll be off them for life”. It worked for him and a few years later, I finally saw sense too. Which leads me to think that stress is also a kind of addiction. Rob recently told me that we must really enjoy drama because there is no other explanation to continue to argue unless you are enjoying it. And not enjoying as in, this feels good. But rather, this feels bad and I want to feel bad. Just like how smoking doesn’t feel good – at least not the morning after a night out or when attempting a run or when no matter how many you smoke, the pain of life still stings just as hard. I’m laughing sheepishly to myself now thinking about how I used to blackmail Rob with my smoking addiction. I would say things like, “all our arguing has forced me back onto the cigarettes”. Making everything and anything his fault so that I could be a victim and blame others to continue my bad habits. It’s so clear to see now that the smoke has lifted – okay that was cheesy and I regret it but also it’s kind of funny so I’ll leave it in. So this year I am hoping to kick my stress addiction by finding healthier ways to channel the urge to ‘stress’. I will keep you posted.
It’s a New Year and I’m excited to rekindle the tiny amber of creativity that still exists somewhere underneath the mounds of laundry, college assignments and baby demands. I enjoy reading back over these emotionally-driven posts about as much as I like reading drunk text messages I’ve sent in the past. I honestly can’t remember the last time I was drunk but I certainly can recall the feeling of fear from having done something in a completely unconscious and irrational state. Sure sure these posts are nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed of but by now, if you have read a few, you can probably guess that I am not the most secure person. That is my quest – to security. And in my quest, I hope to relate to others because that is truly where I find deep connection. So I will continue to pour out words, for my future self’s entertainment but also for whomever stumbles across this corner of the internet. Does anyone even read blogs anymore? Truly, I am here because it’s where I can be myself knowing the likelihood of being found here by anyone who knows me in my real-life is slim very much like being on holidays and wearing what I like. I suspect we all crave that freedom.
It’s a grey foggy morning in the Irish countryside. Bails of silage wrapped in plastic film are scattered sporadically throughout a field. A farmer sits at his kitchen table drinking his coffee while his rashers cook on the grill. The splutter of the fat sparks little fires as it hits the grill grate. Staring out the window across his fields, he notices two jackdaws perched on the yard fence. It’s November and the sky is a deep blue-grey, mist resting above the grass. A loud shrilling squawk pierces through the silence of the morning as three more birds arrive and land close to the fence. Loud melancholy calls signal for more to join and slowly a procession begins to form; the birds closing in around a fallen comrade lying lifeless on the earth. Cautiously they make their way close to the body, calling out as they say their final goodbyes and one by one they take flight, circling above. The farmer watches on sympathetically and muses that the dark black feathers of the birds are akin to the blackness of a mourners clothes. They wear the same stern expression he thinks. He plates his breakfast and opens his phone to check the day’s weather forecast and news headlines. At the back door, the farmer puts on his wellies and in the dewy morning air, he walks across the gravel yard to the fence. There, in the muddy ground lies the bird. Lifeless and with a shocked expression. He notices something shiny and purple around their foot and leans closer to discover something plastic; a wrapper from a chocolate bar. No doubt from the kids who pass by on their way to the local school a mile up the road. His mood is lowered as he pushes through the gate and walks on into the field. He will call the school principle to complain later he thinks to himself disgruntled. His mind is occupied with the litter as he walks and so he almost doesn’t notice the loose silage floating in clumps around the field. A small strand blowing into his face takes him out of his thoughts and he stares up at the silage bail, the plastic film hacked apart and a black jackdaw sitting on top of it stares down at him. His jaw drops and he turns slowly to discover the full extent of the damage done. The loud cries of the jackdaws heckle him. All sympathy for the animal dissipates. He takes out his phone to google “how to get rid of jackdaws”.
I was awake at 2:20am this morning, something which is starting to become a regular occurrence. Although I usually make it to sunrise, get out of bed to pee, sometimes brush my teeth, sometimes make toast or cereal. I grab a cold damp cloth from the fridge and drape it over my head, my neck, my feet. Anything to relieve the sticky heat clinging to my entire body. I read a little or go on my phone and climb back into bed to sleep some more. This has been the routine of the last few weeks during Ireland’s heatwave. Last night was different, I woke up in the darkness unsure why. I had no apparent urge for anything, I was just awake. This type of midnight waking has always unsettled me. I feel very alone and those hours before another soul wakes feel so much longer than in the day. I managed to get back to sleep a couple of hours later but the effects of the turbulent night have shown throughout the day. It’s late afternoon now and I feel if I close my eyes, I will be unable to open them again. There’s no reason to stay awake in particular. Of course there are always things one can do with their time, but now more than ever I am told to relax.
It’s days later, the night waking has become more routine. I wake around 4am, a sign of my body preparing for its’ new life. I have to eat something. I make my way into the other room quietly so as not to wake Rob. He worries despite my reassurances. Last night I cried until there were no tears left. Darkness enveloped me and draped me in a cloak of despair. From the moment I woke until night, the thought of doing anything at all made me feel sick in my stomach.
Another day has past and I’ve shifted from nothingness to anxiety over gift-giving. August is the busiest month apart from Christmas, with many big birthdays this year in particular. The impending birth of my own first born should be my only concern and instead it is pushed aside to make room for worrying about what to get everyone else. It’s been nearly an entire year of unemployment and so naturally I have concerns around money. Meltdown after meltdown over the past few days around this topic has lead me to begin applying for jobs again and the background thought of “how can I manage a job with a newborn baby”, plays on repeat inside my head. Is it impossible to think that there exists a life where I can be both a stay at home mom and work to earn an income? The influencer moms of instagram would certainly have you believe it can be done. I spend time writing lists, going over my skills and trying to figure out what it is that I want to do in a job and wear myself down leaving no energy for actual action. I feel no progression, I am stuck.
Later that evening. Heat rushes in my ears and my cheeks flush from irritation. Maybe these are signs the baby is on their way. Regardless there is no relief from my frustrations. We live in a world of ‘shoulds’ meaning we are constantly feeling like we should feel a certain way at particular moments. I’m expecting a baby and I should be excited, but I don’t feel excitement. In fact, what I feel makes me concerned. I feel emotionally unstable, uncomfortable and questioning a lot. Of course I tell myself this is normal, but what is normal? I guess it’s however a human reacts based on all the effects of whatever has occurred in their life until that point. I heard today that we should only compare ourselves to ourselves and not to others. That in order to measure our progress successfully, we can review the way we are today compared to yesterday, and by doing so, can improve our lives each day. So to end on some semblance of positive, this is my aim. Tomorrow will be better if I choose it.
It’s been 36 weeks with you inside me. Growing at your own pace and filling our minds with endless wonder. Who are you and what will it be like when you arrive? Your impending arrival has brought our hearts closer together, our purpose shared in this moment. And still I fear the changes your presence will bring. A feeling, I trust, is normal and natural. Although consumed with emotions I still cannot find clarity with my words to describe this experience. I awake some days with apathy and it makes me worry about the effect I will have on your life. I am too still growing, at my own pace, filled with mind chatter, expectations and imprinted beliefs.
I came across a girl on Instagram who emanates motherhood in all of the ways I could imagine and more. The raw photography of her pregnant body empowered something in me and for the past week, I felt a shift in my attitude. I could see myself embracing the beauty of pregnancy in a new way, dressing to show off my curves instead of hiding them and taking on the role of mother. A new hat that I will wear with obsession until the day comes for my other identities to return. I find it so easy to grab onto an illusion, created by society, which has been constructed with rules and regulations to follow. How simple it is to systemise your life based around an ideal set of standards which comply with almost everyone you meet and make you appear sane. Simple but robotic. It is my mind’s way of protecting me from human experiences like emotion, mainly suffering. In the last year of inner work, it is obvious that to move towards a more fulfilled life, I must reject this type of perfectionism and welcome the mess. It is already unavoidable, uncover-up-able. My rule book will be thrown aside, another shedding this pregnancy has brought.
The urge to nest takes over some days in a way that both shocks and impresses me. Decorating, cleaning, homemaking and endless other projects to prepare for this baby. I seek comfort in making decisions based on what I see around me. I’m too programmed to rely on my intuition and the convenience of social media is too tempting to not stick my nose into other women’s lives, to see how they do things. What starts as harmless and directed searching turns into mindless scrolling and comparisons. Aware of this cycle, I search for better ways to spend my time which always leads to existentialism. I have always questioned my existence but now more than ever, I want to know what it is that I can offer the world. The question burns in my mind everyday relentlessly seeking. I’m surrendering the thought each time it arises for when I give it energy, it takes flight and conversations that are casual become exacerbated. I want to be like the child inside me who is unscathed by this world and it’s projections. To live each day as it is with a blank mind, without judgement or preconceived notions. Is it just coincidental to experience these inner questionings while being a vessel for life, or is it the plan all along for the feminine spiritual evolution?
The words in my head swirl as the day’s activities begin to take their toll and a wave of tiredness hits me. It creeps in from behind my eyes and there is no option other than to surrender to it. Soon you will be here little one.
Is it an overgeneralisation to say that 27 is the hardest year for people to go through? Yes, but does it feel extremely validating to my life circumstances? Also yes. My mind always seems to circle back to the 27-club. I feel a deep resonance with their stories of depression and an odd oneness with how it can affect everyone, even nobodies like me. It’s been a year of deep inner study and reflection to the point where I feel raw and naked, disgusted by myself and life as a whole. I remind myself daily that these times will pass and hold tightly to the idea of 27 being a unique and lonesome year of solitude and philosophic discovery. That the day I turn 28, I will be absolved of the responsibility to grow spiritually and be granted access back into society as a radiant and confident human.
I started these entries when I was alone abroad with no one to share my experiences with. It’s funny how the need to write stopped once I found familiarity at home. And here I go again, in grave uncertainty, finding my way back to the keyboard to express what it is the people around me cannot relate to. Is every creative thing born from intensity?
It began after a hike to Lough Ouler with Rob. We reignited our love by bathing in the heart shaped lake and promised ourselves to each other. We spent everyday of lockdown swimming in the sea and having long conversations in the car with coffee, shivering excitedly from the cold water. At some point we created life, known to me because of a premonition which woke me in the night informing me of the soul on its’ way to us. As with all new experiences we shifted through the emotions: fear, joy, disbelief, excitement, insecurity, unworthiness, empowerment, motivation. And now, in the second trimester as the dust settles and reality is upon us, the overwhelming emotion is hopelessness. In this world of lockdown life, no work and a turbulent living arrangement, I am spending my days wrestling with my mind or with others.
I hope that there are those people out there who hear my wolf cries and empathise as I do with them. I feel like I’ve strayed from the pack on my personal quest for authenticity and ended up lost and confused. There are others out there in the dark forest, and I long to join with them in circle under the moon light. To gather as women passing through this threshold of maiden to mother, shedding our identity as we know it and navigating with a new north star as our direction point.
I knew it would be a transformative time coming home but within one week everything has changed. If the past few months were spent building resilience then this time back home has been the battle field where I am to prove my strength. It was so easy to be level headed in Berlin where I mothered myself in my room alone if anything distressing happened in a day. I could play the victim and reassure myself that by experiencing hardship alone, I was a martyr and should be congratulated for my ability to survive. This was merely the classroom where respect from others was expected and rules that were broken would be acknowledged and dealt with accordingly. Back home is the playground. Just as children test boundaries without the watchful eye of the teacher, behind closed doors of any household is where we find our biggest opponents. In the shadows is where we are vulnerable and retreat to our default patterning. I’ve been asking myself “where do I stay small or hide parts of myself so others around me can feel pleased with my presence”? I’ve watched as my rejected parts of self and personality surface from a single comment from Mum. I have a list of shadow aspects to focus on based on these trying conversations and I’m choosing to see this as spiritual work that once navigated will lead to my betterment.
It’s disturbing to return home after months abroad and within a few days it is as if it never happened at all. It’s not my first time experiencing this feeling but since I was alone on my travels, I have nobody close to me to share in the memory of it. And so it feels like a dream that I have woken up from to find that the only thing I have taken home from nearly 8 months abroad was myself and stories that interest nobody since there is no context to which they would understand the relevance. Perhaps this adventure was more about leaving parts of me behind so that I could return less burdened.
Storm Ellen has swept across the country and I dip out between the rain to run around the estate in the mornings or take a cold dip in one of the local swimming spots. The rest of the days consist of practicing my communication skills with mum and crocheting while watching Poldark. The repetitive motion gives me space to sort through the thoughts that are at the forefront of my mind. I am in constant awe at the beauty of Ireland and the way the nature makes me feel so inspired and proud. The sea is the most perfect medicine to my fears, the cold water makes me feel powerful.
I’m engulfed in my emotions. It’s a Sunday night, past ten o’clock and I’ve been home all evening with a sick stomach. I left work just as the thunder started rumbling in over Berlin. Big drops of rain falling with huge distances between them. I cycled in the 30+ degree heat back home, hard of breath and feeling invisible in the crowds of people going about their business. Past the open air bars where people are drinking their way beers and leaving the empty bottles for the homeless to recycle along windowsills and ledges. Friends embrace and couples walk alongside each other with moody faces, staring directly in my eyes from their security bubble.
I make it up the only hill to Warschauer Strasse bridge where the TV tower is half illuminated by a pink sky, the clouds rolling in. I feel my stomach churn from the exertion and take some deep breaths as I make my way around the bends I now know so well, to my street. I lock my bike and walk up the dark stairwell to the flat. Once inside, it’s a mixture of relief and confrontation as my body begins to release and my emotions seep out.
I’ve spent these months abroad getting through some of my deepest hardships. Breaking up is never easy but I had to go. There’s a reason ABBA was so universally loved. We must all go through this feeling apparently but it still feels so unique to me. How can anyone compare their heartbreak to mine? My glorious summer romance that turned into years of growth, memories and destruction. Looking at a backpack in the corner of my room and remembering how he used to help me carry the load. How the weekends were made for spending time together. Now I work while others relax because I may as well. I experienced a level of happiness in myself with that person that I had never before, which was taken with them when we parted. In their eyes I saw a part of me that I loved. People bring parts of our spirit to life and the part he took is the part I want back the most.
The life I live currently is very far from the life I want. Insomnia wreaks havoc on me and the lack of sleep shows up at work. I long for nights in the yoga studio at home, rain pouring down outside, the lights off. Laying in savasana after working my body into a sweat. Tears prickling my eyes as the emotions flood out, releasing tension and purifying my mind. On these hot nights I wrestle my thoughts until either I or they give up and I’m taken into a world of nightmares. I’m thinking of my Gran and how I want to be by her side. I love you Gran. I’m taking care of myself and I’ll be home to you soon.
It’s just over a week to go until I’m back on Irish soil. The majority of my time abroad has been spent in lockdown or in this new world we find ourselves in. When I think of home, I wonder what parts have stayed the same and what has changed. I feel a childlike bubble of excitement inside me when I visualise that first jump into the cold Irish sea. There’s a definite energy pulling me back there in this moment and I’m letting that lead me.
My entertainment these past few weeks has been my growing interest in Human Design, Astrocatography and my Saturn Return. When I hear myself repeating all of this information I’ve studied to people at work or to Dervs, I feel a bit like a crazy person. Either I’ve put myself into a psychosis as a coping mechanism for this pandemic or there is truth to these energetics. I’ve been following workshops that help deal with our subconscious beliefs to try and uncover my negative looping patterns and find my authentic self. I am starting to get a picture of what that authentic version looks like and finding that she is someone who believes in these alternative studies of Astrology. So I’m allowing myself be lead down that road.
I don’t remember which internet hole I was in when I found Astrocatography but I quickly pulled up my chart on the map to check out all the places I had lived before and the energetics of those areas. Not surprisingly, Berlin is where my Uranus/Pluto lines cross. From Uranus, there is a nervous energy to escape and become free. Constant change and a feeling of rebelliousness against societal norms are expected here. Pluto has the effect of tearing us apart from within. Intense upheaval, isolation and deep pain can be debilitating, but also freeing. On the other side is the potential for an enormous amount of soul searching and eventual growth.
When I journal, it can sound like this chapter of my life has been jarring and unpleasant, and being honest with myself it has been. But it’s also been an immense growth spurt in my adult life, uncovering childhood trauma and having moments of complete clarity. Isolation has been like standing in a room full of mirrors and bright lights, seeing every angle of myself both good and bad and not being able to avoid what I find. The sense of self that comes with being separated from everyone who knows me and forging new bonds with people who see me for the person I am today, is liberating. That has been my true Berlin experience. Pain and growth and a liberated authentic self, birthed from a place that has itself gone through such huge up-levelling in the last 30 years.
Now that we are in August, my 27th birthday is getting closer. That number looks so alien to me. I don’t feel I have an age by societal standards. I remember feeling older when I was just a kid buying alcohol in the local shop. I had gotten into a lifestyle of drinking to numb my problems and escape my family life, something society portrays to us in movies as being associated with a middle aged man. I empathised with those characters as a young teenager, smoking cigarettes behind cars on the way to school, feeling the weight of my life circumstance instead of focussing on grades like my peers. Now approaching my late twenties and doing so much inner child work, I relate more to that younger person we see in their coming of age stories, figuring it all out. I can access that younger self because I was her once. Maybe time isn’t linear and that’s how I could feel my older version of self as a young child. As my Saturn Return journey ends its cycle, I welcome it with open arms, into all versions of me in this lifetime. I can feel the shifts in my path locking into place where I’m being guided to go from the resistance of my current path. I’ve been building my spiritual toolkit up to face this transit and I’m feeling excited for the changes coming.
Which brings me to my current nagging thought. As a projector in Human Design, my life strategy is to wait to be invited when it comes to creating the life I want. It makes sense to me but it really frustrates me giving over my trust to a higher power. I want things to work out here and now, and patience is going to be my life’s work. I confuse patience with procrastination everyday and have been avoiding taking responsibility in that area. The biggest lesson being a projector has taught me is to practice. I have flash backs to Mum telling me to practice my maths, piano, languages etc. and it makes sense to me now why that memory repeats in my head. My purpose is to master my skills, continue learning and then share that knowledge with anyone who asks for it. Projectors are great seers and I’m here to help others see their potential, but only if they invite me to. That is the current weather report of my focus and inner world paradigm shifts. In the meantime, I am continuing to learn and increase my knowledge on all subjects weird and wonderful, science and spiritual.
I’ve been on my mini summer stay-cation now for over a week and have just a few more days left before returning to work. It has been a truly eye-opening and difficult experience truthfully. I wanted to use this time to reflect on my experience living abroad in Berlin and see what has worked well and what has been not so great. As I uncovered deep truths about myself, I feel much clearer about the direction I want my life to go in. Coupled along with this has been the overwhelming search for answers as to how exactly I’m going to get to that next point.
I’ve gone full yogi during this time and not in the aesthetic way of waking up at 5am and watching the sunrise although I hope one day I’ll be back in that place. No, for me this has been lazying around in my room like a hermit and occasionally taking action like a day at Wannsee or a morning yoga flow practice. Lots of tea has been involved as is normal for me and also experimenting with the bean protocol since I’m following Lacy Phillips and her ‘TBM’ workshops. Doing the so called ‘shadow work’ and finding my authenticity has been so relieving. I’ve been revived through this work and want to now live as that version of myself that I know is inside and wants to shine but without the resources to make it happen myself. I feel like I’m blindfolded without a purpose, not knowing which way to step or what I’m hoping to reach.
For instance, I see myself waking up in an anchorage watching the sun come up as I drink my coffee. I can feel the contentment just imagining that. The morning aches and groggy head from the demands of sea life on the body and nervous system. I jump in the cold water, dress in practical clothes, slather sun screen and begin mapping a course for the day. I can feel that, I can see it. How do I get it? Another vision I have is sitting in front of a fire after a day hiking in the mountains. An evening dip in a calm lake and then reading by fire light before snuggling into a sleeping bag. Wearing a headlight to be able to pee in the dark. On those days I never have the same hunger like I do now. I am satiated and calm knowing food will come at some point and trusting that I am cared for. Recently I’ve had hunger pains and bad digestion when all I’ve done is sit at a desk all day, never feeling satiated and always wanting a treat or something else to make the day go by quicker I guess.
The thing is that I live in a capitalist society and to sustain that life, I am a product of the system. To truly break free from the demands of high rent and demanding work environments, I must break free from the system altogether. That starts by not living in a capital city. The idea of the countryside is appealing but I have fears around isolation, even though I rarely socialise. I am also concerned the slow pace of life will not stimulate me and I’ll bore of the quietness. My hope would be to fill my time with sailing, horse riding, crafting, gardening, reading etc. The ideal scenario would be to join a community where I will meet other people to do those activities with, not the wildest concept on earth.
I’m known to be a daydreamer and it’s partly a gift, partly a curse. I can create worlds from my imagination but this can tend to bring me bitterness when the world around me is full of opportunities, none of which seem to reach me. My human design chart says I’m a ‘projector’ and that I must wait to be invited into the big things in life. So many people would say this is bullshit, myself included but actually the more I think about my past, the more I realise the truth in that. I mean, I applied for months for jobs in Berlin, Dublin, Stockholm etc. Eventually I got this job because my Mum was at golf and a friend of her’s son was living in Berlin and recommended me. Chasing after dreams doesn’t seem to be the answer.
So the realisation has been my authenticity and most content self exists in a life that is outside of capitalism. My focus now is to start making adjustments to my lifestyle to match this new life so I am prepared when the next opportunity arises.
Ella Ivanna 