Life in the very fast lane...: As I have travelled along the cobbled road referre...

Life in the very fast lane...: As I have travelled along the cobbled road referre...: As I have travelled along the cobbled road referred to as “aspiring writer”, I have, most often, taken my inspiration from a quote I have re...

As I have travelled along the cobbled road referred to as “aspiring writer”, I have, most often, taken my inspiration from a quote I have read somewhere, at some time that appeals to my not-too-hot creative nerve. 

About a month ago, I read a quote of Nelson Mandela’s – “may your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears”.  I wrote it down and thought I would get back to it when the creative genie emerged from the now tarnished oil lamp again.  Of course, it goes without saying that our lives have now changed, and in the time since reading that and where we find ourselves today, there was no creative genie or genius anywhere to be found, and our Madiba is in another world to the one we are in.  I feel it even more appropriate now to write on this quote than ever before.

I have sat and thought about this quote so much.  How many decisions would I not have made had I made them in hope instead of fear?  Well, as a single gal in her 40’s, one could always start with relationships.  How many relationships do we enter into out of fear – fear of being left on the shelf?  Tick.  Fear of not having anyone around in the wee small dark hours of the night?  Tick.  Fear of being alone forever?  Tick.  Not travelling due to fear of lack of funds?  Tick.  Fear that robbers may arrive in the middle of the night so it is best to sleep in one’s make-up so as to look at one’s best should this happen?  Double tick.

Had I thought about this in my fun 20’s, I would have done things differently; had I thought about this in my dismal 30’s, I would most certainly have done things differently, now that I am thinking about this in my naughty 40’s, I am going to do things differently.

I am proud to say that I am no longer fearful of that shelf I have mentioned – I now realise I belong there, and it is actual prime real estate and my happy place.  Rather uncomplicated in fact.  I will somehow travel more, and not be (too) fearful of the consequences – I also now realise that the consequences of travel would not be so dire if I simply chose, for once, NOT to visit the Chanel store.

I think many of us watched the post-Madiba days on the television, and I think we all, rightly so, took our own part of him with us.  I would be bold enough to say that for each of us, what we learnt from him was different and as individual as our own thumb prints.  For me, even though I did not know his days were as numbered as they indeed were when I read that quote, I will take it on board, and give thought to it before I jump into my next big decision making process.  I understand that this, for me, intrinsically impulsive, is a big statement to make, but I will give it my very best effort.

And so, as this year that is 2013 draws to a close, and we move into the next year with a clean canvas and new brushes, l for one, will base my new chapter on hope, and no longer on fear.

Onwards and upwards.

Life in the very fast lane...: Latest published article from Inspire magazine.F...

Life in the very fast lane...: Latest published article from Inspire magazine.

F...: Latest published article from Inspire magazine. Finding your happy place When my daughter was born, her much-loved God-father gav...

Latest published article from Inspire magazine.

Finding your happy place

When my daughter was born, her much-loved God-father gave her an exquisite silver compass.  The gift arrived clothed in a velvet pouch, housed within a sturdy box, with a silver stamp explaining its Scottish heritage.  I remember clearly holding the object of beauty in my hand, and reading the engraving on the front cover – “The world is your oyster.  Enjoy life, and find your own true north”.

I was a new mother, experiencing all the emotions that arrive with that experience, and so, opening that gift and reading those words led to tears welling up in my tired eyes instantly.

Many years have come and gone since that event, yet I still remember that inscription, and from time to time, to remind myself of needing to find my own way, I take out the compass and hold it in my hands for a few minutes, attempting to focus on where my true north is, and remembering to take heed and not forget that each person is different, and whilst the earth has one true north, we as individuals all operate with our own manuals, our own compass, and our own emotional G.P.S.

Some people call it finding your happy place, which I guess it is, however, it is more to me, about finding your own true north.  At some point in our lives, we all need to come to an understanding of exactly what makes us tick.  In my experience, my life until the age of thirty was just one field of true north.  I was lucky enough to be surrounded by happiness, love, and an endless supply of one of my favourite pass-times… fun.  Life was a breeze, and then I turned thirty.

The decade from thirty to forty was more like a raw patch of south rather than a cool breeze from the north.  The fun was taken over by responsibility, motherhood, late nights, early mornings, a push to prove myself from a career perspective, a world more competitive than I could ever have imagined, and many personal losses which at times left me reeling.

Until responsibility set in, which was a shock to my system, life was one big cruise at the front of the ship.  I was Rose standing with my arms outstretched, with a delicious Leonardo DiCaprio behind me.  And then came the iceberg. 

The path that followed is not really one to be discussed, but I will say that I am grateful now for that iceberg – it humbled me, brought me back down to earth with a massive jolt and it forced me to look within for my happiness.  To date, probably my hardest yet most valuable lesson.

I would argue that I have read more self-help books than the average librarian; and as much as I at times sound like an iPod full of positive tunes and sayings, the research and self-analysis has, in hindsight, served me well.  Having crossed the bridge aptly named “pain, loss and suffering”, I am today almost at the other side of adversity, and I am too, firmly of the belief that what Aristotle said in his lifetime was true – “it is possible to fail in many ways...while to succeed is possible only in one way”.  One has to search, and search, and continue to search, until you find your own true north, your center, your port in the storm, the core of your being, which equates to your happy place.  When all else is stripped away from you, and you have only yourself to rely on, to fall back on, and to be with in the lonely moments, are you happy with the company you keep?  The destination may take a lifetime to find, but the journey is the part that is truly the experience to behold.

Life in the very fast lane...: The latest article for Inspire magazine. Anyonecan...

Life in the very fast lane...: The latest article for Inspire magazine. Anyonecan...: The latest article for Inspire magazine.   Anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending. I feel certain that each and ev...

The latest article for Inspire magazine.

 

Anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending.

I feel certain that each and every one of us has, at a time, had to start again.  As Carl Bard so aptly said – “although no one can go back and make a brand new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending”.  I simply love that adage.

Whilst Mother Earth has the annual four seasons, so do we too, at times, have our own personal spring, that follows our own personal winter.

I recently had to face a multitude of fears and demons, and walk through an emotional cobbled street of hot coals, in order to reach the end of one road, and yet the beginning of another.  At times I felt sure that there was simply no way I would be able to complete the task at hand, yet, when extreme mental might was needed, there I found it, nestled comfortably on a pillow labeled “inner strength found here”.

It is when we feel our weakest that we are often in fact our strongest; it is when one door closes that a gilt-lined castle sized door opens up right before our eyes; it is when one period of our lives ends, that another, more exciting one begins and, like a brand new sparkling sunrise, we are given the gift and the opportunity to start over.

The trick, of course, is to try not to drag the mistakes of the previous season into the clean palate of this new, fresh, lime green period.  Whilst this is all good in theory, we all know that this is not as easy as it sounds.  And so, whilst the possibility of new opportunities excites me, I know I need to turn away from past memories of mistakes, and rush boldly forward into unchartered territory – completely believing that the best is yet to come.

I have studied at length great entrepreneurs who have lost all they had, only to turn things around and go on to succeed far more than even they could have dreamt of.  When I completed my Creative Writing course last year, we were cautioned ad nauseam as to how few writers truly succeed, and given examples of authors who submitted numerous manuscripts which were turned down, yet, they kept going and approaching new author houses, finally to win their own race, and with record scores.  One such example is “The Help” – a novel by Kathryn Stockett which was later turned into a first rate movie.  Kathryn submitted her manuscript more than sixty times before it was finally accepted.  She never gave up; as one door slammed rudely in her face, she knocked politely on the next one.  Giving up was never an option.  And last but not least, my favourite example – world class American band Lady Antebellum – whose female lead, Hillary Scott, was thrown out of American Idol in round one.  She took the rejection well, and moved on to look for other opportunities… and take a look at her now.

There is most certainly a place in the world for those try, try and try again, and whilst I have in the past been prone to wilting just before the finish line, the past decade has taught me that this world is not for sissies, and that those who are prepared to get up and carry on when they have no idea how they will make it through the next minute, never mind hour, will be the individuals who win in the end, and who live to see the dawn of another super-charged day, which is literally alive with possibility.

My own story involves a move of home, across provinces, down valleys and transcending rivers.  I was warned, more than once, that a move was incredibly stressful, but I ignored the warnings and felt sure I could handle it all in my stride.  Well, handle it I did, but stride, well, I am not so sure.  There were times when I traded my water glass for a large wine goblet, and there were times too when even my water glass neatly read “Bombay Sapphire” on the side of it, and no-one was happier than me.  When trucks broke down or got lost, or both, and when precious worldly goods arrived in a state of disrepair, I thought for real that I was circling the drain they call insanity.  All that being said, one of my great friends gently reminded me that to throw a tantrum or give in to a “mid-life meltdown” would only have harmed one person, me, and really, was it worth it?  Sage advice indeed.

The move is now behind me and I realise that it was so worth the emotional roller-coaster it took to get to this point; to go and face those aforementioned emotional demons, to pick myself up, dust myself off, and carry on.  And whilst I realise too that there are some endings that are truly final, and never to be re-explored, so too are there brand new, shiny beginnings. 

So for those who are tempted to give up, my advice would be not to.  We should all learn from those who have tried and failed, and continued until they have succeeded.  Life does bring us endings, but focus not on those; instead, turn your face to the sunrise, and to the new day, to the opportunities that lie ahead, and focus only on starting over, and creating that brand new ending. 

Life in the very fast lane...: It is a well-known fact that my most favourite met...

Life in the very fast lane...: It is a well-known fact that my most favourite met...: It is a well-known fact that my most favourite metropolis in the world is one New York City.   Part of my soul resides there, and I have l...

It is a well-known fact that my most favourite metropolis in the world is one New York City.  Part of my soul resides there, and I have long debated the wish to have, once I have moved on, at least a third of my ashes scattered in the shoe shops of this very city… just so somehow, I will always be amongst my favourite accessories, in my favourite place.

Of course, we all remember today the events of twelve years ago, and as much as I wanted to write on my experience and thoughts on the subject, I was fearful I would appear to be passé.  I have decided to take the risk, and write anyway.

I was in New York a couple of months before that fateful day – carefree, partying up a hurricane, sitting in bars and restaurants until way past their normal closing times.  I had such a wonderfully fun time, that a good friend of mine said as I was off to the airport to fly home, that she needed to take me everywhere twice – once to show me a good, entertaining establishment, and the next time for me to apologise to management for my behaviour on round one. 

I was young then (and oh, so thin!), and whilst I was still young when I returned that December for Christmas with family, I remember so clearly looking at the Manhattan skyline whilst crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, and somehow, with the missing towers, I felt older, more weathered, and slightly weakened by the sorrow felt for the thousands of individuals affected by such an incredible show of human cruelty on that clear Autumn day.

Manhattan changed that day, and so did we all. 

Most of the people I know, knew someone who was either there, or knew someone who knew someone who was there; and all of the people I know remember where they were, and who they were with when the news reached their ears.  I remember madly dashing to get hold of my family and some friends, to no avail, and days of no contact followed.  Excruciating for me, yet nothing compared to what others went through.

I have watched so many 9/11 documentaries in the last twelve years, as so many of us have – literally fascinated by the footage, and devastated by the suffering experienced.  I have new respect for fire fighters post that day; I have respect for the triumph of the human spirit, which revealed itself in individuals who somehow escaped, and managed to save others; but mostly, I have respect for humanity as a whole, as that day proved to all of us how, in the face of tragedy and extreme adversity, humans literally pull together and help each other as much as their physical strength allows them to.

That December the feeling in Manhattan was so different to any previous visit, and any visit since.  I remember getting a take-out pizza very late one evening (you guessed it, on the way home from a wine bar), and printed on the top of the pizza box was the American flag with the words, “We will never forget”.  How completely apt.

Whilst I do not want to dwell on the negative, I am of the belief that those pizza-box-words were some of the best I have heard since that day – “we will never forget” - nor should we.

Remembering and honouring all those who fell that day, their families, and their friends. 

Truly, we will never forget.

Life in the very fast lane...: I moved house recently, and as I suspect is a comm...

Life in the very fast lane...: I moved house recently, and as I suspect is a comm...: I moved house recently, and as I suspect is a common occurrence, I came upon many items I had temporarily stored in my mental file thirtee...

I moved house recently, and as I suspect is a common occurrence, I came upon many items I had temporarily stored in my mental file thirteen.  Amongst those, were literally volumes of photograph albums I have accumulated through my life, and I could not resist taking thirty minutes off from box unpacking to take a peek at them.

Some photographs made me sad, as I looked at snaps of happy times with folk who have subsequently left this planet and headed to heaven.  Too many of these photographs in fact.  However, most images made me happy as I recalled some incredible times in my life, mainly travelling, and having that wonderful feeling of freedom and of, “everything will be okay”, and the even better feeling of, “even if it isn’t okay, I don’t care, I will deal with it”.

I read such a brilliant quote recently – “travel is the only thing you buy that makes you richer”.  How very true.  I have come to terms with the fact that the nanosecond I popped into the world, I was ingrained with a travel bug so clear that if it were a glass door, you would walk straight into it.  Along with that bug came a lust for all things freedom – wonderful as a teenager, and a young adult through university, and my London days too, but not so wonderful for anyone trying to date me now, in fact, I have been told that trying to date me in my roaring forties, with this very love of travel and all things “don’t try and pin me down” is much like trying to grab a tiger by its tail.  Oh dear.

All this being said, I turned the pages of the old albums, and my heart soared at the memory of all the incredible fun I have had through the decades, and how lucky I have been to have travelled so much, and to have seen and done so many things – and there is still so much to do and see, and so many places to shake up a bit through my mere presence post the inevitable bottle of sauvignon blanc. 

There were pictures that made me pine for that old, no responsibility in the world feeling; there were pictures that made me cringe – like the one of my cousin and I hanging onto police men on New Year’s Eve 2001 in New York City, trying to get ourselves arrested as we thought that may add some spice to the evening.  Probably not our smartest move a mere three months post the tragedy of the 11^th of September; and there were pictures that reminded me that life is a treasure, and that each and every trip in my life has been a gift, and has added to my already colourful life, and I must appreciate that.

And so the departing thoughts (yes, there are two) – travel as much as possible, spend that money that will make you richer, and more importantly, remember that life is short, so make sure you laugh, while you still have teeth.

Life in the very fast lane...: As the years have passed me by,and the crows have ...

Life in the very fast lane...: As the years have passed me by,and the crows have ...: As the years have passed me by, and the crows have walked across the corners of my eyes with their heavy feet, I have learnt a lot about...

As the years have passed me by, and the crows have walked across the corners of my eyes with their heavy feet, I have learnt a lot about life, and loss, and about how immeasurably tough it can be to hold on to hope in times of trouble.

I met up by accident recently with friends of mine from my post-Matric days.  We jumped up with excitement when we saw each other, and what surprised me the most was how little we all seemed to have changed.  We made a plan to meet up for dinner the following week, exchanged numbers which after twenty-odd years had changed, and moved on to our respective dinners. Seven sleeps later, we found ourselves sitting around a table together, reminiscing about our salad days, and shrieking with laughter as we recalled our fun, mad and completely care-free evenings of yester-decade.

One of my friends had his parents there, who were up from the coast for the weekend, and who were able to join us.  One of the many benefits of hitting forty is in knowing that it is not going to adversely affect your reputation to be seen with your parents, or those of your friends.  And indeed, it was this particular father who made me laugh the most that evening.  We were on (about) bottle number two, talking about how we used to park our cars in Rosebank and walk to all our respective favourite bars (oh, the freedom!), and how we used to light Sambuca and attach the tot glasses to various parts of our bodies (oh, the maturity!), when this dad said loudly at the table, “you know Philippa, I will never forget meeting you for the first time!”  Unsurprisingly, I did not recall this particular encounter, so I had to enquire as to the details.  Mr. Moore proceeded to tell me how he was in Johannesburg on business, some twenty one years ago, and how he had telephoned his son to find out his whereabouts, only to be pointed in the direction of a local bar.

Mr. Moore recounted to the table how he had walked into this establishment and seen his son, and three other young men all huddled around a bar top, drinks in hand, listening intently to one lone nubile lass, who was talking loudly and telling jokes, wine glass in hand, to these four then fixated lads, who were apparently completely taken in by the story of the minute… Mr. Moore’s exact words were, “and there you were Philippa, drinking with the boys and telling jokes!”

The entire social congregation erupted with laughter, including myself, as I could just picture that scene, and nothing surprised me less… twenty one years have passed, and so many things have changed, but to be frank, that scenario could be happening right now, in this decade, with different lads, but the same, more weathered-looking lass – in fact, truth be told – this is a sort-of regular occurrence.

The evening progressed, and the stories grew more and more risqué as the minutes marched on.  We then got onto the serious discussions, and the chatter died down as the tone grew more serious.  I was asked what had happened in my life in the past two decades, and I found that the honesty bubbled out of my glossed lips much like an over boiled pasta pot.  As I recounted one story after another, my friend’s eyes grew wider and wider, and the sauvignon blanc got better and better. 

Mr. Moore was of course the most fascinated by all the life events, and he offered by far the most profound advice of the evening.  He said, very simply, “Philippa, as long as you don’t lose hope… promise me, you will never lose hope.”  Of course I promised; sauvignon makes me promise all sorts of things, and we moved on from the evening happily and with old memories now freshly recounted.

Some days went by, and quite by chance, I read the following quote which took me instantly back to that sentence of Mr. Moore’s.  It read as follows:-

Faith is a bird that feels dawn breaking and sings while it is still dark.
    – Rabindranath Tagore

This truly hit home for me.  We are all older now, and we have all been battered and somewhat bruised by life events along the way.  There have been some absolutely incredible moments of elation, and yet also, some absolute moments of deep despair.  I believe the trick, however, is to keep the faith.  Like the bird that sings knowing that the sun is yet to rise, so do I, as the somewhat plump grey pigeon, need to feel the dawn breaking, the tide turning, the sun rising… and sing (not literally) in the dark, knowing that the best, is yet to come.

Life in the very fast lane...: I am writing for a magazine called Inspire (www.in...

Life in the very fast lane...: I am writing for a magazine called Inspire (www.in...: I am writing for a magazine called Inspire ( www.inspiresa.co.za ) - this is my latest article, which I am now able to blog as the magazine ...

I am writing for a magazine called Inspire (www.inspiresa.co.za) - this is my latest article, which I am now able to blog as the magazine has been published and is "out there" on our world wide web.

Selfhood begins with a walking away, and love is proved in the letting go…

At school my favourite subject was English.  In this subject, I had a teacher extraordinaire, whom I completely and utterly worshipped, and who had a command of the English language I had never seen before and seldom seen since.

I have many vivid memories of her, and even more vivid memories of her reading to us at times.  There were of course many set works and projects, and as pupils, we all waded through them when we needed to, however, what I remember most is that this teacher truly believed that the most important thing in life, was love, and she used to repeat ad nauseum two sayings I suspect I shall never forget.  One was a quote by Shakespeare that “the course of true love never did run smooth”, and the other, I remember her telling us was, “love is proved in the letting go”.

I recall her reading the poem to us by Cecil Day-Lewis, the last two lines being:-

How selfhood begins with a walking away,
And love is proved in the letting go.

My by-then-icon had tears streaming down her cheeks as she read this to us, and I looked at her in bewilderment wondering how on earth such a seemingly simple sentence could bring tears to anyone’s eyes?  I was sixteen then, naïve and unbroken.  Now, at the mid-life-crisis-age of forty, I too could shed a few tears over those lines, and I am now, a little less unbroken.

As a woman, and particularly as a woman with many close female friends, I am all too familiar at this age and stage of life, that love can for many of us be as allusive as that promised pot of gold at the end of that promised rainbow.  My friends and I now, whether we like it or not, all have a history of sorts, we have all loved, we have all lost, we have all stayed for longer than we should have, we have all too, at times, realised that the only way to protect ourselves and maintain or find our selfhood, is in fact to walk away, and let go.

Of course this grand plan of self-preservation sounds easy beyond the speaking of it, and it fails to mention that the path followed to get to that point of letting go, is in actual fact, the true test.

We tend to head into oncoming love-traffic with great ease, and get caught up in every single green light of emotion as easily as one, two and three.  What I believe the danger is, however, is that through these intoxicating and indeed hedonistic feelings, we often lose touch with ourselves.  We lose who we are, who we were, who we want to be, and we often compromise ourselves in order to fit into another’s brand new seemingly squeaky clean and exciting life.  Suddenly it is not what we as individuals want, but what we as a couple want, and sometimes this is not necessarily a good idea.

A great girlfriend of mine said to me at least a decade ago, that in relationships, one needs to be “the girl he fell in love with”.  I think of that saying often and I have to say, it can become a challenge.  If we are lucky enough to find love, or have it find us, we must remember to be that person we always were, and to remain true to ourselves.  The man who may (or may not) fall in love with us, will do so for a multitude of reasons, and we as women, need to keep these reasons intact. 

What life does show us so often though, is that love starts off as something wonderful, yet can over time change to something not so wonderful.  It is at the not so wonderful stage that a sense of self needs to prevail.  Love is a positive emotion and should remain as such – however, sometimes relationships dwindle, resentment creeps in, anger reveals itself, irritation emerges, and suddenly, we are in the middle of the fiery love forest, and that happy girl he fell in love with… is nowhere to be seen.

My intent is not to dwell on the negative that can at times befall us, my intent is, however, to dwell on the positivity of being a strong woman, of staying centered at all costs, of not being afraid to “stand up and be counted”, and for being honest.  I am not talking here about being honest with others – I am talking here of being honest with ourselves.  By this I mean knowing when it is that one needs to stay and try and carry on, and when it is that one needs to accept that the green light has turned to amber, and should now in fact, turn to red.

I am no longer that cute, flat-chested sixteen year old staring at my emotion-laden teacher in curious wonder, but I am still that person fixated with all things English, and beyond that, fixated with all things love.  And so it is with truth in my soul and hope in my heart, that I believe, that if in doubt, I will remain authentic to myself.  I will remember my teacher, I will remember her tears, I will remember her voice, and above all, I will remember when it is that I need to walk away, and when it is that I need to let go.

Life in the very fast lane...

As a forty-something-singleton, I consider myself lucky to have many fellow forty-something-singleton-girlfriends who are always up for a sip here or a gulp there in and around this great city of Johannesburg.  I have decided that in this country, Johannesburg is the blood that moves the body we call South Africa.  Of course, it suits me to think this way at present, and I reserve the right to change my view at any given or non-given moment.

But being a city girl at heart, despite my disastrous attempts at proving the opposite to be true, I have come to understand that every single city on this planet has its own energy, its own unique feel, and indeed, its own “life blood”.  In New York City, which is a place that will forever house a sliver of my soul, the life blood is of course that fabulous red drink we call the “Cosmopolitan”.  This is a cocktail made world famous by Carrie Bradshaw and her single friends in my ever-favourite Sex and the City, and attempted to be made even more famous by me, Philippa Spark, at various stages of very poor behaviour in an assortment of bars and night clubs across almost every square inch of that wonderful borough we call Manhattan.

Some of the greatest moments of my life have been spent in New York City, and I have memories that no-one will ever be able to take away from me, much less rival.

This entire preamble has been leading you up the muddied garden path that culminates in one of my most treasured sentences from one of the Sex and the City episodes.  The four girls, out on the town on a Saturday evening, Manhattan’s busiest night out (not that there are too many quiet nights in Manhattan), have had a bad run for their money with men.  They are all of a similar age and at fairly similar stages, facing the challenges of life in the dating lane.  As one who currently travels in the dating lane  (sometimes, in my case, this could actually be a “bus lane”), I can relate completely to a toast Carrie Bradshaw made on this particular evening, whilst quaffing a blood-red Cosmopolitan – she said, in her perfect voice, “here’s to the guys that love us, the losers who lost us, and the lucky bastards that get to meet us”.

I laughed out loud listening to her just then, most likely because I could relate completely to her sentiments, and I knew my girlfriends would too.  I read with interest earlier today, an article that Oprah sent out on women in their forties and how different they are to women in any other decade of their lives.

In our twenties we are wild and uninhibited (hell I miss those days), our thirties are often our most difficult – marriage, children, responsibility – none of these I am particularly good at, and then one gets to forty, and suddenly it is okay to let one’s hair down a little and just live unabashedly – this would include being able to make sweeping statements like Carrie did that evening, without feeling riddled with guilt for the next fifty two Saturdays.

All this being said, one must not forget the message being sent out by single women from here to New York, via satellite television – the guys that love us, the losers who lost us, and the lucky bastards that get to meet us.  I could start a dating warfare site with those words, but I am pleased to say I have better things to do on a Tuesday evening (just)… however, the message is, I have to say, profound.

There are those that we as women will love, and who may even love us back; there are those we will not love, but who may have the good sense to love us; there are those who, for whatever reason, chose to walk away from us and of course that must be due to huge character flaws on their part, and then there are those lucky ones still destined to meet us.  I have eight very wise words for the poor unsuspecting individuals who have yet to meet our small hive of queen bees and that is, “your lives will never be the same again”.

This is really a tribute to women in their fabulous, extraordinarily free forties; a tribute to New York City and all the incredible things that happen there on a nightly basis, but most of all, this is a tribute to all the single girls out there – no matter how flawed you feel you may be at any given time, somewhere, at some time, there is a guy out there, who will be lucky enough to love you, and have you love him back.

To my cousin Janice, on the eve of your fortieth birthday, and remembering your wild birthday party at The Boat House in Central Park which we all loved so very much, a decade ago tomorrow… may that lucky bastard find you soon… (and if you want to hold onto him, keep him away from your mad cousins for at least five years!).

Life in the very fast lane...: I have a great many character flaws. One of them ...

Life in the very fast lane...: I have a great many character flaws.  One of them ...: I have a great many character flaws.   One of them is that I love luxury, followed closely by loving creature comforts and all things th...

I have a great many character flaws.  One of them is that I love luxury, followed closely by loving creature comforts and all things that make me feel that “everything is alright in the world”.  In my past, this would have been things like fluffy slippers on an international flight, accompanied by a shot of Grey Goose vodka, and a caviar blini.  In the past year, having gone through some tough times, creature comforts have been as simple as looking out of my window and seeing a sunrise, or a sunset, or having a surprisingly good bottle of sauvignon blanc pop up in the fridge I had accidentally forgotten about.

All of this was, however, until Friday evening, when some very mischievous chaps stole our electricity cables.  I have always had an issue with sleep.  Sleep and I are strangers to each other.  We meet occasionally, greet each other politely, and move on.  I spend many hours out of twenty four awake.  In fact, on average, if I sleep for four or five hours, I consider it nothing short of a life-given miracle. 

And so it was on Friday evening that I awoke as normal, at around 1am, only this time, with quite a start as I heard a loud “thump”.  I got up and ran to the window thinking I may see seven sleep angels marching towards me with a host of cures for insomnia, but nothing.  As I turned around to return to my nocturnal Alcatraz, bed, there was an even louder explosion like noise, and our power was like my youthful slender figure – gone.

So began a very long, rather dark weekend.

It took the neighbourhood quite some time to realise that in front of us were cables lying in our trees, disheveled and sad looking.  Being blessed with somewhat krissy hair, my lack of ability to use my jet-engine like hairdryer resulted in a weekend of me looking remarkably like Whoopi Goldberg in the early ‘80’s.  This of course was accompanied by make-up done in the semi-dark which looked much like the Sahara desert – light in patches, deep holes in other places, and the odd mirage.

Suddenly, fluffy slippers on a flight to Paris seem not only like a luxury, but more like something you feel you will never experience ever again.  And what was even worse than that thought, was the realization that with every passing minute, the wine was getting warmer… and so was the ice.  None of this is good.

Of course, as we all know, every cloud has a silver lining in the world I live in, and in this case, there were a few.  I have lived in this house since 1979.  That is a jolly long time.  Most of my neighbours have been my neighbours since before 1979, and as a semi-community, the decades have brought us closer to each other, for which I am deeply appreciative.  Suddenly there was an overwhelming sense of community as we decided who should phone who, who should say what and plans were established with military precision.  In no time, there were reference numbers flying about, security vans had arrived, D.A. Councilors were milling about checking we were okay and telling us that cable theft in our quiet suburban neck of the woods is a real concern at present.

We were promised electricity by a certain hour last evening; it was 6p.m.  This thought filled me with delight.  Of course, 6p.m. is drinks hour, so I knew I could have that glass under electric light, with some rather runny ice.  Well, 6p.m. came and went… but twelve hours later, at 6a.m. the power was restored and with great delight, I knew the ice would start to re-freeze.

I digress with all the details, for which I apologise, but you knowing about the state of my ice and wine is always important.

The lesson, however, is more important:  you think fluffy slippers and international jet-setting is what is important to one, and you suddenly realise that the basic needs are far more necessary – light, warmth, but more than that, community strength, camaraderie and team-work.  I don’t regret the sense of closeness realized this weekend; which means I don’t regret the power outage.  All this being said, however, I also know the fundamental universal law that “if you steal from life, life will steal from you”.  And so, to those cable thieves out there, good luck this winter because for every cable you steal, I feel sure life will steal a sock or a fluffy slipper from you, and I have to say, that can’t be much fun.

Life in the very fast lane...: I am one of those very fortunate individuals who h...

Life in the very fast lane...: I am one of those very fortunate individuals who h...: I am one of those very fortunate individuals who has worked for some truly incredible people.   Each person I have worked for has taught m...

I am one of those very fortunate individuals who has worked for some truly incredible people.  Each person I have worked for has taught me life lessons I make use of to this day, and I am grateful for all I have learnt over the years.

Of course, it was with some trepidation that, nearly seven years ago, an inspirational business person I worked for encouraged me to sail away from safe harbour, and go out into the deep blue yonder known as “self-employment”.   This sentence brings me to one of my favourite quotes by none other than the great author, Paulo Coelho – “The boat is safe in the harbour, but this is not the purpose of a boat”.

Sometimes in life, as I believe we all know, we need to break free from the comforts of familiarity, and enter unchartered waters, knowing there will be sunny shores we will see, but also knowing that those unchartered waters, as tame as they may seem, are housing dangers, such as sharks and other beings, capable of causing great havoc as we traverse and zig zag our way to the next port.

Before you all start to panic, no, this piece is not about sailing, or water, or, for that matter, Paulo Coelho.  What I am trying to highlight though, is that just as there are dangers once the boat leaves the harbour, so too are there dangers when one runs one’s own business, all in the name of that great success we strive for, and that sense of achievement at having attained our dreams.

Until recently, my experiences with my clients had been nothing other than completely blissful.  I realise now how very lucky I have been.  And so, when I jumped head on into a creative project that filled me with more excitement than being asked out on a date at the not so tender age of forty, my world was consumed with thoughts of this event, how it would run, and how much fun I would be having with the profits.  In my mind, I had hit event platinum, and every single business traffic light I cast my eyes upon instantly turned from red to green.

Positive thoughts and words swirled around my head and I truly believed for those weeks that I was the great untouchable.

And so, you can imagine my surprise when, without notice, the creative project was suddenly whipped away, for reasons only the skipper knew.

My rudder disappeared, my sails dropped, and my boat engine ran out of petrol.

All this being said, in the world of self-employment, these things happen, and just because they have not happened to me before does not mean anything other than up until this moment, I have been jolly lucky.  I decided to roll with the waves, and get on with it, but not without a radio frequency voice over explaining my disapproval of the process that was followed in the run up to this news.

What I expected, I am not quite sure, but I do know that I was not anticipating the fog horn of a reply I received, bearing shark-like sharp teeth wording trying in vain to justify a decision that was clearly nowhere near due North on the business ethics compass.

I was partly shocked for a short while, until I realized that shock is a wasted emotion, much like guilt, and that I am a big girl, in a big girl world, and that no amount of negative fog horn behaviour has ever got anyone anywhere.  Time to move on, and trust that the next big thing will be bigger, better, and the platinum contract will be edged in diamonds.

And so, the lesson:  When you find the sails have dropped on your dream boat, and the water is deeper than you had hoped, remember that just as there are plenty of good and amazingly beautiful fish in the sea, so too are there sharks, and it is these sharks who, through their potential puncture wounds, teach us more than the little angelfish do.  So put up those sails, reinforce the rudder, sit on the deck, open the bottle of wine, and look towards the blood red sunset.

Life in the very fast lane...: I have come to realise, that just as certain earth...

Life in the very fast lane...: I have come to realise, that just as certain earth...: I have come to realise, that just as certain earthly animals hibernate at times, so too do wannabe writers.  I have only come to realise t...

I have come to realise, that just as certain earthly animals hibernate at times, so too do wannabe writers.  I have only come to realise this of course, because I have been hibernating from my largest passion (writing, in case you are wondering) for the past month.

It seems like yesterday in a way that I was happily sipping on pink gins at lunch time overlooking the beautiful Indian Ocean, loving pictures sent to me such as "2013 will be my year" and other such items about positive thoughts and how this year would bring new beginnings.  Oddly, after a couple of pink gins, summer beach heat, and the roar of the crashing waves, I almost believed that to be true.

I now realise that we are screaming towards the end of May, and we are nearly half way through this year named 2013, and so far, it has not necessarily been my year.  In fact, at times, this year has been darn right hard.  Last evening, so much had taken place, that I decided it must just be a particularly trying week.  I then worked out that last evening was only Tuesday!  Far too early in the week to have such dismal thoughts.

And so it was today "wicked Wednesday" that I awoke and decided that a change of attitude was absolutely in order.  It made me remember fondly a lovely chap I knew in the early '90's who used to order cocktails for me at the then famous "Long Island Iced Tea Bar" in Johannesburg, and who, without fail, would order me the "Attitude Adjuster".  This went on for months, until I eventually decided to ask him why it was exactly that this was the cocktail of choice for me.  His reply was simple - "because you need an attitude adjustment".  He then roared with laughter, so did I, the attitude was adjusted, and my then favourite cocktail order was sealed in the great screed partly unwashed floors of that hip, hop and happening bar.

Coincidentally, or not, I happened to drive past the center which used to house that bar, and it brought the analogy back to me.  Yes, it is only May, and yes, there have been far more potholes in the road so far than I would have wished for, but, how one handles these potholes all comes down to one thing: attitude.

I have decided it is time to pick myself up again, dust myself off, and face the rest of the year head on, pot holes or not.  Having spoken to many of my dear friends, I am not alone in this dusting off process.  Many people seem to be facing certain difficulties they would prefer not to have in their path right now, but the reality is, there they are - difficulties, pot holes, bumps in the dirt road - and these said bumps could all be called by another name: LIFE.

And so, on that note, the lesson:  When the bumps in the road show up, drive at full speed over them with wild abandon; when feeling down, remember this is life, and life is sometimes not a perfect Monet water lily painting; and, if this still doesn't make you feel better - find the nearest cocktail bar and order something delicious - my recommendation of course, would be none other than the "Attitude Adjuster" - lots of ice, and an extra twist of fresh lemon.  

Life in the very fast lane...: I am an only child (in case you hadn’t noticed, I ...

Life in the very fast lane...: I am an only child (in case you hadn’t noticed, I ...: I am an only child (in case you hadn’t noticed, I thought I would tell you), and grew up in the “70’s and “80’s with two rather trendy par...

I am an only child (in case you hadn’t noticed, I thought I would tell you), and grew up in the “70’s and “80’s with two rather trendy parents.  Hardly surprising then that I am at the cutting edge of all things fashion.  Just kidding.  About the fashion part.

When I was a little girl, which I admit, was a while ago, I used to follow my father around in an almost adoration-like trance.  Luckily for me, or not, my father was obsessed with cars, the Grand Prix, Lucky Strike cigarettes, and music.  Music, I have continued to discover, holds a power few of us are able to rival, even Vladimir Putin, and Putin would most certainly be an individual I would fear in good times and in bad.

When I was a teenager in the (very) late ‘80’s, I used to praise my father for having the sense of character to buy the very best speakers (Bose, of course), the very best hi-system, and the very best ear-phones.  He and I used to retreat to our respective couches, with the exceptionally bad pink cushions, and “lie back and think of England”.

I have no idea what he used to think about – probably how he was going to find a mild-ish method of containing his daughter, and who could blame him?  But I do know that I used to lie back on that badly cushioned couch and dream of all things, realistic or otherwise.

For most of us, life is not a bed of roses.  In fact, in my forty years of life, I have never come across anyone who has had a blissful, easy, unrivalled, glorious life.  Each and every one of us, at some time or another, has “a blip on our radar screen”.

I have always loved music, and follow music trends with more regularity than I watch the comings and goings of the New York Stock Exchange.  Given my obsession with New York and its commercial life-blood, this says a lot.  And so, it was with much intrigue that I wandered in this evening from a dinner, turned on the music channel, and sat down to work on a proposal, only to discover one of my most favourite tunes playing on MTV – “Journey”, “Don’t Stop Believing”.

Suddenly I was stuck in time.  My memory jumped back to watching my dad driving his white No-Mad, teaching me to steer while he did the peddle thing, probably the reason why I favour automatic cars.  Neil Diamond and Journey were the pick of the day.

Apart from the obvious flash-back in terms of memory, for the first time ever, I listened to the lyrics.  “Smell wine and cheap perfume” amongst other things. The performers were all in jeans that were way too tight for them, bad yellow t-shirts, equally bad haircuts, and yet, they could not be happier performing there on the stage, knowing that they were exceptional performers, bad haircut or not; believing or not.

In a time of such trouble and strife in our personal and business lives, I think we should, or could, take a leaf out of their music book, and that is this:  Do not stop believing.  Where there is loss, there is hope.

Despite that, however, let me state, as the fashion expert I of course am: yellow t-shirts work for the Tour de France and little else, and tight jeans have, quite frankly, never worked for anyone… Journey or otherwise.

Life in the very fast lane...: In my heydays, I was a runner. I have never been ...

Life in the very fast lane...: In my heydays, I was a runner.  I have never been ...: In my heydays, I was a runner.   I have never been in better physical and mental shape than those days.   Of course, if you had to take a gl...

In my heydays, I was a runner.  I have never been in better physical and mental shape than those days.  Of course, if you had to take a glance at me now, you would realise that these heydays must have been quite some time ago. 

Whilst living in London, arguably the best time of my life to date, I went to watch the London marathon, and cheer on the disheveled runners as they screeched across the finish line.  And so, of course, it was with so much sadness that I heard, like everyone else, about the events at the Boston marathon, and I, like so many others, waited and watched the London marathon runners today, hoping that all would be well, which it was.

Of course sheer acts of fear-inducing behaviour appalls us all, so I won’t dwell on that, but it brought a thought to mind that I then sat and thought about over a glass of chilled sauvignon blanc.  It is this – that life can literally change in a heartbeat.  You can be cruising along in life, and the next thing, you are not. 

Life is as unpredictable as it is rich, as static as it is fluid, as devastating as it is rewarding.

The thing we all need to come to terms with, is that none of us knows the future, none of us know our own future, or that of our children, friends or family members.  This can be a good thing and a bad thing.  I have to say that if someone had told me two years ago what my last two years would be like, I think I would have crawled into a wine vat then and there and sipped away until I woke up two years later.  Rather like Sleeping Beauty, just not quite as pretty, and of course, no kiss of life at the end of the story by the handsome prince in the beautiful castle.  That is the good part of not knowing what the future has in store for us.

The bad part of course, is the part we probably spend more time thinking about – senseless loss of life, and with that, the loss of future opportunity, whatever that opportunity would have been for that now lifeless existence.

A very dear and great friend of mine died a few years ago in the most tragic of ways.  I make a point of visiting her grave as often as I can, and today made my way there to sit next to her grave and contemplate the myriad of personal challenges that face me at the moment, and have some quiet time.  Well, there is nothing like sitting in a graveyard to bring you back to an acute appreciation of life, challenges and all.

I read, as I have read so many times before, the wording on her grave stone – “time not spent with you is lost”.  How true and how very accurate.  In a world where we live, and we love, all we want to do is spend time, quality or other, with the individual(s) we love the most.  Yet often, through circumstances we are not placed to change, this is not possible.  I think it is this feeling of lost opportunity and lost time that leaves the sensitive types, like me, reeling, and wishing for a different outcome.

A very good European friend of mine ends all his e-mails to me with “Carpe diem!!!” – exactly like that.  He is wildly successful, and it is not surprising really with an attitude of “Seize the day!!!”   He seizes each and every day, and lives the success he so richly deserves.

As always, so many questions, so few answers, but one conclusion I feel I am able to live with is this:  Life may be long, it may be short, but whichever it is, it is unknown to us, and there is little we can do to change that.  So, note to self, stop wishing for things to be different, for changes to have already taken place, but rather, take whatever it is that is presented to you right now, in this moment, and focus only on the very bright silver lining that encapsulates each and every cloud, dark grey or not.

Life in the very fast lane...: It has been a week of reflection. I am sure it is...

Life in the very fast lane...: It has been a week of reflection.  I am sure it is...: It has been a week of reflection.   I am sure it is fairly common to have a traumatic experience, of any kind, and suddenly find yourself ...

It has been a week of reflection.  I am sure it is fairly common to have a traumatic experience, of any kind, and suddenly find yourself reflecting upon the things in your life that are good, the things in your life that need to be altered immediately, and the things in your life that you realise you simply cannot live without.

After my time of distress last week, I have realized that one of the things I simply cannot live without is cold, crisp, good Sauvignon Blanc.

But I digress.

Life events that can be described as “emotionally disturbing” are known to make individuals re-evaluate what is important to them in their lives.  Suddenly last week, I became utterly focused on my immediate family, on my job that I love so much, and on my special friends, worldwide.   All of this is the positive side of the situation.  The not so positive side of it is the insatiable appetite I developed for all things decadent – chocolate, cheese and chips – not necessarily in that order.

And so it was that I rolled off to a function yesterday, feeling like Oompa Loompa, and not wanting anyone to set eyes on me in case they fainted on the spot at the sight of this slow moving amoeba-like brunette.  Sitting with friends chatting about men, relationships (or rather the lack of them) and all things love and lust, a great confidante of mine picked up a book and read a line out to me that struck gold in my by now bulging double chin – it read, “your flaws are perfect to the heart that is meant to love you.”

The bell had just rung for me.

There are two aspects to this statement.  Firstly, the flaws part.  In other words, if you have, as I do, “more ‘Chins’ than the Chinese telephone directory” as my uncles used to say,  they may not be seen as a flaw by someone who is deeply, madly and truly in love with you.  But the aspect of the sentence that fascinated me more was “the heart that is meant to love you”.  This has long since been an item of fascination for me.  At what point does good luck end and fate begin?  How do you know which heart it is that is meant to love you?  Is there only one heart in your life that is destined to love you, or, if you have bad luck with a few hearts, is there still that other heart out there that was actually meant to love you, but was just waiting for the right time, circumstances, and events?

I have spent many years of my life thinking about love, running away from the possibility of love, at other times searching for love, sometimes giving up on love, and lately, just being plain skeptical about love.  So when this was read to me, it suddenly awakened in me a question we all prefer not to ask – that of “what if?”

What if there is actually that heart out there that is meant to love us, triple chins and all?  They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so perhaps the same could be said for all of us with a few extra pounds of comfort around our nether regions, and those of us too who gave up on love in the late 90’s, around the time we were listening to tunes by Bryan Adams, Rod Stewart and Sting?

Personally, I have more questions than I do answers.  But I do know that if there is a heart out there that is meant to love me, I am afraid it had better accept my current Botticelli body, flaws and all!

Life in the very fast lane...: I have a very simple morning routine. I leave hom...

Life in the very fast lane...: I have a very simple morning routine.  I leave hom...: I have a very simple morning routine.   I leave home at 6.30a.m. to do the school run; on the way, my daughter and I look at the Johannesb...

I have a very simple morning routine.  I leave home at 6.30a.m. to do the school run; on the way, my daughter and I look at the Johannesburg skies, we play music too loudly, we count birds in the sky, and dogs in the gardens we pass by.  Following school drop off, I head down to my favourite coffee shop, get a take-out café au lait, and drive the now mere two minutes to work – a job which I love.  I am lucky.

I try not to feel downtrodden that we live far away from school, but rather think thoughts like “the early bird catches the worm” as I look at the skyline and appreciate living in a great city, with great friends, with a healthy family – in other words, it is all good.

I heard the saying recently – “Terrific Tuesday”, so yesterday morning I awoke, and thought to myself “today is going to be a Terrific Tuesday”.  The early routine passed without incident, until it didn’t.

Driving along the road my work is in, at a fairly slow pace as I am an over cautious driver, out of nowhere, came the Wicked Witch of the East (as she was heading in an Easterly direction, of course) – a black car, traveling at pace, that went straight through a stop street.  The experience, I have to say, was surreal.  I saw the situation, I knew I was going to crash, I knew I had nowhere to go, I did not know what to expect next, but I did know that I had to stay focused.  My life flashed before me very quickly, but was replaced, equally as quickly, with a strange sense of calm.

I don’t recall at all swerving to avoid the oncoming Wicked, which must have been my instinct, but I recall very clearly seeing the stationary car I was going to hit, and I think I will forever remember the sound of the impact.  By then, I knew that I was not going to die, I knew I was in one of the safest cars on the road, but I knew too that my beautiful, albeit old, car, was about to be a crumpled wreck.  Astonishingly, every single item of the previous sentence is acutely correct.

The next few minutes are a blur, other than looking down at my white dress and realizing that the delicious coffee I had just picked up had left my center console and landed squarely on my lap.  A woman came running up to my car and told me to get out of it immediately as there was steam everywhere, and liquid everywhere else, and she was scared it was going to catch on fire.

I climbed out, I looked at the car I had hit; I looked at the Wicked Witch car, I looked to my right, and there was a tow truck, ready and waiting.

I have realized in the last thirty six hours that life really is a funny old thing.  I have been conditioned to believe that those tow truck drivers are scum bags, low lives and drug-taking hooligans.  I have to say, my experience could not have been more different.  Whilst they did indeed gather around this damsel in distress in record time, they called my insurance company for me, they moved my car out of a corner driveway for me, they called the police and the very lovely medic, in fact, they organized that accident scene with extreme precision. 

The next few hours are irrelevant, and are, I am sure, the same in any accident… but as we all know, I live my life looking for the message in everything, and I have spent every waking moment trying to work out what exactly it is.

After all this thought, the shock, the aftershock, the admin required to sort out the repair, and of course, the glasses of vino I simply had to have last evening to calm my battered nerves, I have come to my conclusion:  Judge not a tow truck by its signage; judge not a stop sign by its red and white painted façade; expect the unexpected; be thankful for friendly medics, but be thankful more so for safe German cars and the absolute knowing that as of yesterday, and indeed today, so far, my number is clearly not up.  Despite everything, in a strange way, it was still… a “Terrific Tuesday”.

P.S.  In case you were wondering… no-one was seriously injured in the accident, including the Wicked Witch of the East, last seen flying on her broomstick somewhere near Rosebank.

Life in the very fast lane...: I am an incurable romantic at heart. I love the s...

Life in the very fast lane...: I am an incurable romantic at heart.  I love the s...: I am an incurable romantic at heart.   I love the saddest, most gut-wrenching movies and books.   If there is lost love, forbidden love, i...

Life in the very fast lane...: I am an incurable romantic at heart. I love the s...

Life in the very fast lane...: I am an incurable romantic at heart.  I love the s...: I am an incurable romantic at heart.   I love the saddest, most gut-wrenching movies and books.   If there is lost love, forbidden love,...

I am an incurable romantic at heart.  I love the saddest, most gut-wrenching movies and books.  If there is lost love, forbidden love, insurmountable hardships in love, I am instantly fixated. 

As a teenager, I watched The Thorn Birds several times and sobbed each time I watched it; whilst going through my own hardships, I bought the DVD set at the local store and watched it again, and this time, sobbed so much that my eyes were red puff balls for two days.  When asked why I looked like I was near death due to the red eye syndrome, there was no way I was going to admit to watching a 1970’s sheep-infested mini-drama, so I made up some sad story which existed only in my mind.

One of my all-time favourite movies, which no-one seems to understand, is Autumn in New York.  I am not sure if it is Richard Gere, or the sadness that exists within the script, or the fact that it is set in my favourite city, at my favourite time of year, but that movie for me, is a heart stopper.  And now part of that story seems to be playing out here – it is Autumn, the leaves are turning and falling, the Johannesburg skies are crystal clear, the temperature has thankfully dropped a little, and the fact that there is no longer that unbearable heat on a daily basis means that finally, the make-up has stopped sliding off my face by 7am in the school parking lot.

But the point here, is, why does every good love story have to have a taste of sadness, tragedy, loss or longing in order to make it more readable or watchable?  It is sayings such as “it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all”, and “the path of true love never does run smooth” that makes us go running faster to that book store or cinema.  It seems that if there is heartache or heartbreak to some great degree, the story sells. 

As a happily single middle aged maiden not in distress, it does make me wonder if I need to expect some sort of complication in my next relationship (this is assuming there IS a next relationship) in order to make it more real, more plausible, and more likely to last for longer than twelve weeks?  Do I need to love, then lose, then be pursued, then won back, and then, only then, enter into an “everlasting love” scenario? 

After much thought, the jury is still out on this debate for me, but I have to say, that if movie-like difficulties are the way of the world called love, I think I may stick to my microwave pop-corn and my triple DVD set called The Thorn Birds.