In the Flow

This morning I walked through my City of Sydney, drinking in the sights with these eyes for the last time before heading off for a month long adventure. In nine years, this will be the longest I have left this city and I am sitting here somewhere between being nervous and excited. It is a bit like going on a first date with someone who you’ve had your eye on for a while and you know it’s going to be a game changer. I am leaving my home, my cat, my students and my community but this is the next chapter of a story that started a long time ago. Finally, after three years of dreaming of it, I am hopping on a plane to undertake a 200 Hour Prana Flow Teacher Training with Shiva Rea in Greece.

It feels like I am standing here on the edge of change – ready to let go of what was, honouring what is and completely open to what will happen.

My first 200 Hour Teacher Training was done locally, with BodyMindLife in 2012. It was no doubt a life altering experience. So much changed for me during this time including a shedding of a long-term relationship and a huge change in career. I’m glad I had opted to do it part time to allow me the chance for slow integration into all aspects of my life. This time however, I am taking the plunge. I am immersing myself completely in the experience, limiting my contact to the outer world to a minimum.

Every time I go deeper into this path something of what I was, is stripped away so that I can become more of what I was meant to be both as a person and as a teacher. These events are magical even though they might not always be easy. They have a way of releasing an old way of being, a way of thinking that no longer serves us and sometimes even old relationships. Leading into this, I have been very careful not to make big commitments as I know that these are very personal journeys and it would not be fair to make a promise that I am not sure I will be able to keep.

There is so much to experience and so much to learn within yoga and we are lucky to be in Australia at this time as the tribe is continuously growing. We have had an influx of great international teachers including Ana Forrest, Maty Ezraty and Bryan Kest, each bringing with them a wealth of knowledge that has fed my own practice and my teaching.

Prana Flow however, has always been close to my heart.

This was a style that was introduced to me more than two years ago by Chanel Luck and Simon Park. Being an ex traditional dancer, something about the ritual and ceremony in combination with discipline, intelligent sequencing and the freedom of flow spoke to me. It was like the practice was telling a story and my body opened to participating in this tale that was being spun.

I am in love with how elements including the weather, the cycle of the moon and the energy of the students in the class are all welcomed into the space to create a complete experience. I am fascinated by how the more Tantric philosophies that honour the feminine are involved.   The way the flow is taught has given my body and soul a freedom that can only be found when my mind can get out of the way. There is an intuitive intelligence to it that can only be felt. There is a fullness and wholeness to it that feeds the soul.

And so we unfold.

When I decided to become a yoga teacher, it also meant that I had committed to a lifetime of learning. It meant a dedication to self-enquiry. Yoga is a lifelong process, a loop that keeps looping. We learn and we practice so that we can keep teaching. Sometimes we have to go back to our own lessons in life and in practice to be able to give. If the day ever comes when I don’t want to practice and feel that I have nothing more to learn, then it is probably a sign that I should stop teaching.

For now, the path is taking me deeper into knowledge of myself as a person. This is the knowledge that informs me as a teacher to be able to offer more to my students on their own paths and I am so grateful to the teachers and life lessons, hard as they may have been, that have brought me here.

So here I head into the next leg of this journey. It’s hard to be away from loved ones and the support that I’ve come to cherish from my community but we are in continuous flow and sometimes, the river has to take us in a solitary direction before we can come back to the sea. I look forward to returning to my city and my community with a new way of seeing things, more to share and so much more compassion.

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My Yoga, Your Yoga

Thirteen years ago I stumbled into my very first yoga practice. It was at my local gym in Malaysia where the room was air-conditioned to be almost freezing and the teacher was jumping from one pose to another. In my second class with her, she got us to do drop-backs with a wall. The next day, my lower back felt really tweaky and uncomfortable. Needless to say, I never went back to her and resigned myself to the gym.

I am of the hyper mobile, super flexible variety of human being, whose primary physical activity in my youth started with dancing and cheerleading. I have sprained my left ankle about four times, my right one three times and have a dodgy right knee. Anyone who performs or does competitive sports would know that the nature is, if it’s in season and you get injured, you keep going. As a result my left leg is still prone to injury and my right knee has days of protest. It didn’t get easier as I got older. By my late twenties, I had a pretty back lower back and my right shoulder was pretty mangled.

Then someone suggested I try yoga. Due to my fear of chiropractors, physiotherapists and doctors in general, I gave it a go. It was a bit of a shop around to find something I could stick with. I tried Bikram, and although I loved the heat, hyper-extending legs did not work with my ankles and knee. Not only that, my fiery personality seemed to get even more so, which really doesn’t bode well when work requires you to interact with people a lot.

It was only by chance that I looked on Google and found a different studio near where I worked. It started with an Introductory Pass, which at the time was $25 for two weeks. It blew my mind! There was still the element of heat but being told not to hyper-extend anything made everything about a hundred times harder. I would go into this place with carpet that smelled horrible and big classes, and by the end of the classes I wouldn’t know which way was up and which was down. Shavasana came as a relief. By the end of two weeks, I was hooked.

This was Vinyasa.

It was in no way easy and every time I got one move down there was something else to learn. Then there were these teachers who would give me the shits by asking me to get out of ‘my spot,’ and on occasion move me to the front. Sometimes I would even cry in class. For the first time in ages though, my body felt good. I loved that no two classes and no two teachers were the same. There was personality in the practice. There was heart.

At first I practiced like a mad woman. The harder and hotter the class, the more chaturangas, the more I would push myself through it. What happens however, is when you get tired you lose form. I was tired in every way possible and one of the teachers sat me down and told me to take a break.

So I did, and went to do a week of Iyengar.

It was hellish! Sitting still was not my forte and I got really impatient with all the props involved. I would get into a pose and fidget like someone coming off hard drugs, but the precision of Iyengar is amazing! After a week my back felt fabulous and I went back to Vinyasa with all the new alignment points I’d learned.

Then three years ago something called me to do my first 200 Hour Yoga Teacher Training. All I wanted to do was know more about this practice but the seven months of training were priceless and surprisingly, I came out wanting to teach. In December 2012 I finished Teacher Training, in January 2013 my father passed away and by February I had boxed my high heels and left the corporate world.

On the 12th of April 2013 (my 33rd birthday), I taught my first Community Class in BodyMindLife.  Two years later, I am still there.

It was in no way the ending of a journey, but a beginning. In a world of blond, 6’ handstanding vegan yoginis who like kale smoothies I am most definitely different. Being more mobile than strong means that arm balances come very slow and one moment of not being aware means an injury. Flexibility is a great thing, but needs to be balanced with strength. My continuous work is in not going all the way into bendy poses just because I can and not to practice injured as it brings about other injuries. It is a lesson I seem to have to keep learning again and again. As I type this, I am recovering from two displaced ribs, and a hamstring and a wrist injury. Note, trying to lift a scooter is probably a bad idea on any day.  After all my resistance, I am working a physio and have magically found the most amazing CrossFit coaches at CrossFit Black to help my strength conditioning.

Yet yoga continues to be my first love and as I teach and learn, I’ve discovered that yoga is not just asana. My practice has changed through the years. I still love those hot sweaty classes with 50 students breathing together, but I also love waking up in the morning and losing myself in an hour of ground based, deep Yin. Just about a year ago, I started meditating and even within that it keeps changing.

This practice has taught me compassion and love, and being peaceful in joy and sorrow.  It has taught me acceptance and that it is OK to not be strong all the time.  It has taught me that drama is just a distraction and a good life can be lead without the fluff.  It has taught me that the tendencies I have on the mat are often the same ones I have in my daily life.  It has taught me that things end but that doesn’t mean you discount what happened, and that new beginnings happen.  We are ever changing beings and more than learning poses or how to sit still, we are constantly learning about ourselves.  Within this practice I have found family, community and connection, and the realisation that between the blacks and whites of wrong and right, there are they greys of the in between.

I’ve realised now that it doesn’t need to be any one way. Some days you need that practice that challenges you physically and other days you just need to do the simple stuff and reconnect with your breath. Some days practice is easy and without resistance, and other days you go in with all this stuff and practice is a nightmare. Some days you go into practice and you’re laughing all the way and other days, you are a ball of sweat and tears at the end of the practice.  But you don’t have to be any one way to practice, not a certain body type, or weight or age.  You come as yourself on that day, in that moment and whatever you do is perfect.

More than the teacher, my practice is based on how I am on that given day.

And this in itself has been a journey. It is discovering that yoga is not one thing. I’ve had the privilege of learning and practicing with some of the best teachers in Australia and Internationally, and at the end of it, yoga is a journey of self-discovery. You learn from the different teachers but the magic is in finding your yoga. As a teacher I have learned that what I do and what I offer might vary. It is not my place to tell students about their practices, bodies or beliefs but to share what I know so they can explore. All we can do is try as much as we can to meet students where they are and move with them to wherever we can go together.

I still believe that there is magic in the practice and it is still my first love, but the journey continues and is ever evolving. As I teach, I am also learning and as students are learning in my classes, they are also teaching me. I am ever grateful to my teachers and to the students who light up my classes, and most of all my community for being there. I’m hoping that my learning never ends.

Next stop, Prana Flow in Greece, June 2015.

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Landing

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about this concept of ‘home’. Now my understanding of this concept is about the same as my understanding of motherhood. It is a mental understanding, but emotionally, there is so much mystery and ambiguity. My mother is so certain of her home. She is certain of where she comes from, where she belongs and where she will end up. Growing up, she used to tell me that I should feel such and such a way towards a place, a country etc., and yet, at 34 although I know my history, culture, where I came from, I am still unsure of what home is.

I’m certain I that I am not the only one who feels this way.

Perhaps this is the plight of children whose homes were broken early on in life or whose parents moved around through the early years. You are barely able to land before being uprooted again, a new adventure, a new journey and new people coming in and out of your life. Comfort zones get shifted so much that when you grow up, you don’t quite know where it is. Connections are built and then shortly thereafter they are lost in the ether. It gets a bit easier but you wonder if it is because you have grown quite desensitised or if it because you just don’t have the courage to let your connections get as deep as they used to.

Perhaps, there is a fear that if you let yourself land, the earth will again be ripped out from under you and you are free falling through nothingness.

But does that mean that you never want to stay?

Does that mean that you have not the desire to ground down and know that you are safe, that you never have to go anywhere else again?

Perhaps to stay is what you want, but you have become so used to not having that comfort zone that it somehow has become your comfort zone. To stay, to trust, to come up against barriers but to wait it out and keep moving in one direction instead of changing course has somehow for you become the uncomfortable.

At some point if you’re lucky, reality hits. Something prompts you to sit down with yourself and look, really look at where you are and what you want in your life. The decision needs to be made to stay or go.

Starting over is always an option but to what end?

But to stay?

To let people into your life again?

To open your home to friends and allow them to become family?

To open your heart to another person and in extension their family, friends, culture, history? Trying to navigate two lives, two personalities.

Oh how terrifying!

In the end though, it comes down to a decision.

You, the rootless wanderer, do you dare put your roots down and let them grow?

Can you commit to your practice knowing that in time your views, your body, your limitations will change and truths will be uncovered that might not be so easy to digest. Could you jump into the ether of meditation knowing that it gets deeper and deeper. Are you brave enough to say ‘yes’ to something two months, six months or a year in advance as a way of saying to someone, ‘I want you to still be in my life in that time.’ Can you stay with a job as the responsibilities increase and you become more of who you were meant to be. Could you possibly be with a person, going forward, hitting a barrier, waiting it out and then going forward a bit more, to hit another barrier again, your patience tested to the limit but your heart given the chance to slowly expand.

Perhaps this is your version of transformation to fire. A situation so scary you just want to close your eyes, your soul, your life again, but you know who you are. The reason it was so hard to commit was because you knew that once you did, you would give it everything that you had.

Through fear, so you committed.

So here you are.

Giving it everything you have, everything you are, risking your heart, your soul and the only life you have ever known.

Open and vulnerable, you just put your feet down finally and let yourself land in the unknown.

And perhaps, that is the only way to know ‘home’.

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A Leap from the Skies

Twice in one week I have thought that it was going to end for me.

The first, when the plane I was on did this big dip and for an instant we were free flying. That instant felt like forever as the sounds of screams went along with the sound of my crazy heartbeat. I had a moment of panic, adrenaline rushing, and then in the next second, I realised that there really was nothing I could do about it. Surrender.

The second time, I was crossing the street and an old man who probably wasn’t even looking at the lights kept going when he was meant to stop. Of course, this time, being on my own two feet and on the ground, I could just run out of the way. If he had been faster or me, slower the result of course would have been very different.

You go away, think about and decide on things. These moments of deep contemplation that are just so valuable. The thoughts that you keep to yourself and only share with those you hold dear your heart. From these thoughts and contemplations are born deep intentions. And then as if to seal those intentions in place, the universe sends you these little warnings, reminding you that you are not here forever and that your life can’t operate on cruise control.

It is time.

Sometimes you wish you were that person who would enter a room by breaking the door, or get close to a person by hacking off their armour. But you are not. You will knock before you enter, and allow someone to remove the layer between them and yourself when they feel ready. Sometimes, in a leap of faith, you open your door and remove your veil so they may see you first, with the knowledge that you don’t share this much of yourself lightly.  You are that who finds your passions and fires sacred, only to be shared with those of your choosing.

In a world where everything and everyone is hard, and fast, and loud, your gentle flame is different, unfamiliar and you wonder if you are even noticed. Perhaps not, not by everyone anyway, but the people who can really see, the ones who take the time to look instead of just believing a good marketing strategy, these people will find you somehow. No matter how much you cloak yourself in blackness, these people will see the deep colours hidden inside.

These are the people you will build your life with.

Sometimes you wonder if you will ever build this life, if you will ever land, if this dream you have of knowing the meaning ‘home’ in your heart instead of just in your head will ever come to pass. You’ve been here before, risking it all only to have it come crushing down. Do you even dare try again?

The time you’ve spent alone has afforded you knowledge of yourself. You know that when you act, it is not to fill a need or to pass the time. You know that if you do this, you are giving it the best that you can even though you know there is every chance it could break you.

And what if the point of taking a risk if the loss of that which you desire means nothing to you?

But you can’t make that which you desire yours unless it is meant to be yours.

So what do you do?

You take a chance. Then step away. Send it your love. Give it space.

Whichever path this fork in the road was meant to take will take you closer to where you are meant to be.

You could have closed your eyes, but to be forever living in fear, doors and windows closed is now no longer an option. The reaches of time and mortality have awakened you from your slumber. Thoughts of the end, the feeling you felt when you thought the plane was about to fall have moved you to take this leap, hoping that the earth will catch you.

Sometimes you have to leap to find your ground again.

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Living THE Dream

Some of you might have read the last post on beginnings and cultivating the beginner’s mind: https://azphoenix.wordpress.com/2012/10/31/always-at-the-beginning/.   Well after last weekend and completing my written Teacher Training assignment, I have been thinking a lot about, THE DREAM.  You know this one. You might have had it since you were 5, or since you were a teenager or since you joined the workforce.  It’s the story you’ve had in your head filled with all the musts, shoulds and should nots.  It’s the one that keeps playing even when you are awake, keeping you from being conscious.

I am with you on this one as I am one of those lucky people who was brought up believing in THE DREAM.  In this dream, I was meant to have it ‘all’. This particular all included a job in upper management, owning things including a house and a car, a household with a husband and a couple of kids by the age of 35.  For most of my life, I believed in this dream.  I knew no other way, and worked towards the target of getting ‘there’.  Of course, if you know me now, you would know that apart from the Masters and the very brief engagement, I never really got there.  Some would say I got waylaid and will get there eventually, and others will say I lack the conviction to follow the dream.  I will say that there’s been a change in plans.

Am I the only one who was brought up with some version of THE DREAM? Perhaps not.  Some of us get it from the media, believing that living like George Clooney, Kate Middleton or Charlie Sheen is the dream.  Some of us get it from our parents and society.  When a child is born, parents would naturally have hopes for it.  Sometimes the hopes have a bit of leeway, and it comes down to how happy the child becomes as an adult.  For others though, these hopes have become road maps for them. The sad thing is, like me, some of us go through a substantial amount of life believing that THE DREAM as we have been told it should be is the be all and end all of life.

In my last life, I worked in the backpacker industry.  Historically, this culture of taking time to travel before going home as ‘adults,’ dates back to the Renaissance.  Way back then, it was a time when apart from the playing around, would be exposed to culture including art, music, good food and living on their own. Back then this rite of passage was limited to upper class boys, who would go on these trips before returning as “worldly” gentlemen ready to take on the family business, go into politics and what not. These kids would definitely be part of the 1%.  However, without thinking of the purpose, the gap year can very easily become just something to do, without a real appreciation of the value of it.  It’s very easy to go off, get drunk for a time, and come back to live the rest of this prescribed dream.

There’s a lot of hype placed on having the five year plan, and the two year plan and the six month plan. If you’re Mr. or Ms. Driven, you’ll have one of these, and sometimes, you’ll just push forward with these plans, only to come up with more plans and targets once you’ve reached the first goal. In my life, I have known some very driven people, and of course, way back when, I was one of those people myself, pointy heels, hurried walk, heavy makeup and all.  If you walked behind me, you would be breathing in a trail of cigarette smoke.  I’m sure you know someone like that, or maybe you’re like that yourself – the kind of person who has a ‘should’ for everything, the way you should dress, the car you should drive, the job you should have, the kind of person you should date, the place you should live… it’s endless, these shoulds.  Apart from the shoulds you already have, there are the shoulds that come from the organisation you work for, and you prescribe to these shoulds to because if you don’t then your career heads nowhere.

For me, I should have had a Masters, a good job and a stable relationship by the time I was 30.

As it turned out, my 30th year was absolutely fucking horrendous! Saturn has been taking it’s time to return for me, and some days I wonder if my parents knocked two years off my age as I’m 32 and shits still happening. But the truth is, no matter how fucked up, the last two years have been the most eye opening of my life.  A couple of years ago, I was well on track to living THE DREAM, but when I think back to all the addictions I suffered, my awful eating habits and disgraceful sleep patterns, I realise that something must have been missing.  I pretended to be happy, but I was also very judgmental of people and when someone looked happy and relaxed a part of me resented it.  Emotionally, physically and mentally, I was fucked up, so don’t even think of my spiritual state.  (I’m still not 100% now, but hey, who is?)

The thing is, perhaps like you do, I had this story in my head of THE DREAM, but it took broken dreams for me to realise that what I should have been doing instead was working on MY DREAM.  Sometimes, you just have to allow space for a change in direction and a change in the big picture.

It’s very easy to get into a story of how it should be sometimes, but perhaps, it’s time to stop and look at the story.  Is this your story or someone else’s?  Are you living YOUR DREAM, or are you just living THE DREAM?  In my case, I have a long way to go, and a lot of nasal cleaning (inside joke) to do before I get to live MY DREAM, but I’m grateful that the last couple of fucked up years, and especially the last seven months have allowed me to start thinking about what MY DREAMS could be.

And again, it’s all about possibility.

Marriage? Maybe later

I just read an article about a woman’s thoughts on marriage: http://www.essentialbaby.com.au/life-style/family-entertainment/if-you-dont-covet-the-white-frock-why-get-married-20120723-22iza.html#utm_source=FD&utm_medium=lifeandstylepuff&utm_campaign=chrissiewedding, and it’s made me think about it a bit, and what happened when I went to a wedding last year.  Someone I know had said that she didn’t want to get married, and another person, couldn’t believe her. It was almost like there was something wrong with this person because marriage just wasn’t a priority to her.  It was viewed in an even stranger light as she had been with her partner for a few years now, and apart from the marriage papers, they were as good as.

A lot of people I know are like this.  A woman who doesn’t want to get married or have kids is looked at like she’s a mutant most of the time. The first of that sort of look might come from her mother, the second from some other older relative, and then from friends. And as a woman gets older, the pressure increases.  Looking back to my childhood, of course there were the fairy tales and that, but there wasn’t really much focus on finding prince charming.  At 16, when I was in high school, apart from my love for the guitarist Slash that still lives (I still wonder why I’ve never dated a musician), and random crushes, it wasn’t really much of a focus. By 18, I’d had a two week thing with a guy, and was still having random short lived crushes on random men.  At 21, I met a boy who was to become my fiancé, but when it looked like I was going to get married, I realized that I had other priorities.

At 32 now, most of my university friends are married with kids. Those of us who haven’t “bitten the dust,” have missed the first, second and third wave of weddings, and of course, there are the whispered, “what is wrong with her,” ”maybe she’s a lesbian,” and all that jazz. See the thing is marriage is just not a priority.  Like the writer of the article, I think weddings are great. I love weddings. I get super excited every time someone gets engaged, married or pregnant it’s just not a priority for me, personally. Why? Perhaps it was the priorities that were drummed into my head. Unlike finishing high school and getting into university, marriage was not something that was drummed into my head from a young age.  In fact, there was a lot of anti-marriage, anti-man sentiment going around. The sentiments didn’t rub off, as I love weddings and I love men.  So perhaps it’s just as simple as things being how they are.

At this point in time, I don’t particularly feel like I have to settle down, get married, or build a family. Not saying that I’m completely against it, but I don’t feel like I HAVE to. (Maybe after a master a jump-back from bakasana without going splat, do 108 sun salutes at Yoga Aid and read just five more books that are coming out this year).  And in this day and age, I know that I’m probably not the only one who feels this way.  Being single is no longer lonely, sad or means that you’re lacking in some way.  It just is. To be honest, I wonder sometimes if a lot of people are married, dating or having children because they feel that it’s “part of life,” or “expected,” or even, “the normal thing to do.”

The Hornbill and the Sparrow

There’s a Malay saying for couples that are not equally matched.  They are often referred to as “the hornbill and the sparrow.”  Reason for this is because no matter how the sparrow tries, it could never fly as high as the hornbill.  When I met my first boyfriend, my uncle mentioned this saying to me, and said that sometimes, the hornbill would need to fly a little lower to stay with the sparrow.  At the time I didn’t get it, but years later, I finally did.

When I met him, I was still in university and he was a ship technician.  I suppose in the beginning we were flying at the same level.  A couple of years on, I was making more money and supporting him as well.  I suppose to preserve his ego he started putting me down in other areas of life, such as my height and my weight.  And on my end, to appease him, I acted stupider than I was, and I rushed home after work every day to ensure that his meals would be ready when he got him.  Too slowly for my liking, I started to realize that I was holding myself back to keep him in my life.  Then I realized that the way he was treating me did not justify my effort of flying low, and I just let go and flew away.

Six years later, I am still wondering about this question.  It seems like the dynamics are alright when the man is the hornbill and the woman is the sparrow, but when it’s the other way round, it just doesn’t seem to work.  At this day and age, you would think that it would be fine if both partners were equal but a lot of times it isn’t.  Money, education and job position seem to be the main factors.  It’s almost like, the more successful, intelligent, healthy, educated or accomplished a woman is the less chance there is for her to be loved.  At one point, I thought it was because these women were not in touch with their emotions or they had become masculine, but when I look around, there are plenty of successful, intelligent, kind and open hearted women who keep getting into bad relationships or relationships that just don’t last.

Back in Malaysia, the significant difference in the number of male and female university graduates was very pronounced during my time.  This was a government funded university so there was a quota and only the top scorers in high school would get accepted.  The ratio for the 1999 intake was three girls to one boy and it was indicative of other universities as well.  Remember though, that we’re talking about Malaysia here and the glass ceiling for women there is much lower than it would be in a Western country.  Therefore, a man who barely scraped through university would probably do better in his career later on than a woman who achieved Upper Second Class honours, and a lot of women take a step back on the career pursuit once she meets a man.

One of my girlfriends was always extremely driven, athletic, independent and intelligent.  At 26 she got married. He wasn’t very driven or focused, but he was great at bashing her up.  By the time we were 28, they were divorced. Then there were others who played a game of dating roulette in university.  Some of them are happily married now.  When I think back I always thought it was a bit weird to date people all around the same group, it was a bit incestuous, I think.  I will however admit that I dated a senior. If you can call it that.  He was five years older, and had a shelf life of three months, after which he cheated on me then he dropped out, metal leg and all. Oh yes, and then there was the senior who wanted to cheat on his girlfriend with me. I must admit that being a 6’5”, rugby player, he was my type but due to the girlfriend situation, it was a no go for me. No questions asked, I told him to go away.

So here I am, still wondering if a Masters’ degree, PhD or a high paying job are actually relationship deterrents.  Or is it fine if you’re pretty and hot but as dumb as a brick, acceptable if you’re smart and geeky looking and a big no go if you’re smart and pretty?  If by some chance a woman ticks all the boxes and is an absolutely beautiful hornbill, will a man find the one box she doesn’t tick and pick on that to make her seem more like a vulture?

It seems to me that while men worry about being sparrows, women worry about soaring into the sky.  Yes, the sky is vast and it can get lonely, but the other option is that you are bound to earth when you were made to fly.  As John Donne beautifully quoted in his poem “The Good Morrow”:

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;
Where can we find two better hemispheres,
Without sharp north, without declining west?
Whatever dies was not mixed equally,
If our two loves be one, or, thou and I
Love so alike that none do slacken, none can die.

So maybe because fate and the future are not within our control, just soar anyway, let your light shine and one day you will find a “love so alike that none do slacken, none can die.”

For my friend NF.  Don’t be afraid to fly… we’re all right here with you 🙂 xx