Life in the very fast lane...: It feels like a mere breath ago that I was listeni...

Life in the very fast lane...: It feels like a mere breath ago that I was listeni...: It feels like a mere breath ago that I was listening to “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” from the inside of a beautiful stone church in Johan...

It feels like a mere breath ago that I was listening to “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” from the inside of a beautiful stone church in Johannesburg on Christmas Eve, following a dinner of “my cup runneth over” volumes of chilled white wine.  Since then, I survived, relatively simply, another uneventful Valentine’s Day, and now it seems we are racing towards Easter and the promise of a slight reprieve from the hustle and bustle of everyday frenetic life.

It is at these times, that one sits down to think about where one has been, or rather, where one is off to on this roller coaster commonly termed life.

I have, more times than I care to remember, been criticised for not falling into the conventional boxes of societal expectation.  I have pretty much broken every man-made rule thus far, and ones I have not broken, I have no doubt I will break at some point, with huge success.

One of my “escapes” in the quiet times is looking for quotes on Pinterest – mainly because I look for inspiration for my writing.  It seems I am often unable to come up with inspiration of my own, so I need help from other clever folk.  I found a saying which read “not all those who wander are lost” and it struck a chord with me immediately.

I was thinking about this, and pondering what to write, and how, when I decided to sit down, turn on the iPod and wish for inspiration.  The first song that played, quite by chance, was “I did it my way” by none other than Frank Sinatra.  Suddenly the second chord was struck.

I am a huge fan of individuals who possess a non-judgmental outlook towards life.  Very often, these individuals are, like me, free spirits, who like to wander, and not get tied down to conventional pressures and expectations - lovers of bigger picture, blue sky thinking.  When I hit the big 4-0, I made an active decision to stop judging myself with the same ferocious cruelty previously experienced, but rather, stop apologizing for who and what I am, and for having a mind and soul that likes to roam and wander, and in so doing, not get lost, but actually, be found.

And so it is that I find myself embarking on a multitude of career adventures that truly make me tick, and cater, quite literally, to my love of all things creative; and with that, comes an appreciation of all events that allow me to spend my days in cognitive freedom and blissful imagination.

You see, I am, like Frank Sinatra so aptly sang with that liquid gold voice, doing things my way, and I am too, wandering, but I am nowhere near lost.  I am steering by starlight, freedom, and a direct line straight to the ice, with a whole lot of white wine thrown liberally on top of it, in a cut crystal glass, of course.

So for all those who are lost, and all those who are found – my view is, if Frank Sinatra can do it his way, then so can we.

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...