When I started this year-long weekly blog series, I must admit to having a romantic notion of embodying a certain Carrie Bradshaw flare. I could see myself writing wistfully at an open window, the breeze lightly blowing the vintage net curtain into the shot of my perfectly framed life, my laptop warmly welcoming me to write inspired words of divine truth and nestled next to it, a 1950’s black landline telephone which, in this imagining of mine, I used all the time to speak to the people whose calls I currently screen.
As it turns out, my life’s not like that. Surprisingly.
I will forever screen all of my calls and mostly it’s an ungraceful scramble to get these blogs out every damn week.
Right now, for example, I’m tapping away at my laptop whilst trying to ignore the battery warning light which is taunting me as if to say, “you should have charged me before you left, you unorganised idiot.”
My laptop is judging me for not being a responsible enough “responsible adult”.
It wants another adult I can tell.
I bet it wants an adult who remembers to charge it before leaving the house and keeps its screen clean and its desktop organised and regularly deletes crap they don’t need so they’re not always running out of storage.
Well tough luck Laptop, you got me as your adult.
And every plant in my flat is dying.
So by their standards you’re doing okay, balancing on my knee and rocking out with a daring 13% battery life as I sit in the passenger seat of my mate’s car driving back to Melbourne from a 40th birthday weekend, trying frantically to string some words together because I should have written this blog on Friday before I went off partying all weekend.
This is not glamorous. This is not what Sex And The City promised me.
Life is not cosmopolitans at brunch. It is earthy and dirty and messy and wonderous and light and fruitful and terribly sad and exuberantly delightful and hastily being made up as we forge along; a patchwork with no pattern. I hope these blogs reflect that. I know for sure that they’re not perfect. So, I guess they do, in part at least.
These blogs started out as a way for me to be able to share with you, the reader, some of the concepts, insights and strategies I learn and implement in my own business, relationships and life in general. You see, I read a hell of a lot of books; I invest thousands and thousands of dollars in seminars, masterminds, coaches and courses; I listen to podcasts (including my own but that’s because I have to edit it – still, it’s a decent one to listen to and you can check it out here – did someone say shameless plug?); I spend vast amounts of my time learning about human behaviour, exploring spiritual concepts and creating frameworks for my clients to better understand themselves and the world around them so they can manifest different results.
But my greatest learnings don’t come from books or audios or greater minds than my own.
My greatest learnings come from the life I live and breathe. And that’s why I’m writing this blog from the passenger seat of a car and not silhouetted in a perfectly framed make-believe window. Because I was busy living. And this is what I know.
I know about love, because I live and breathe it. I saw it twinkling in the eyes of my friends over the weekend as we lounged around the open fire sharing stories and hopes and dreams and fears and the hilarity of life. I heard it as our laughter twined together to create one sacred note, a note which only we can play, vibrating up into the still, damp night air that blanketed us; pulsing out powerfully over the landscape in every direction, reminding the very earth that yes, we are here and fuck are we grateful for it. I feel it in their energy, I know it in their deeds. Yes, I know about love, to my very core I know about love.
I know about trust because finally, I know what it feels like to trust myself enough to trust others; and how this trust, built and tested over time endures the relentless tides of worry and doubt and stands, I hope, as faith for others to anchor from when they need it. Because we have all needed, at times, to borrow a little faith; to be believed in when we forget to believe in ourselves. Faith, my friends have taught me, isn’t about knowing the answers but rather, having a willingness to step into what isn’t known yet, and trusting that it will be okay, either way.
I know about truth and guises, the lives we tell, the memories we create, the ones we discard, the ones we recreate. I watch as identities are built and stripped and modelled and reformed, an undulating skyline forever in motion, the backdrop scenery of a life that relentlessly moves forward. I know that slowly and surely, I am beginning to come back to myself instead of trying to find myself and the paradox of this catches in my throat every once in a while because it’s so enormous. And so simple.
I know about abundance and wealth because this weekend I was wanting for nothing. Because energy is a transaction that can’t be quantified by dollar amounts. It is standing under the night sky as your friend plays the piano and another the saxophone, not for applaud or accolade but because they adore their craft and share their talent freely. It is blankets shared and stories swapped; it is jigsaw puzzles and building fires; it is cake and gifts and braiding hair; it is food prepared and fancy dress because the decadence of play is one of life’s greatest riches. I see generosity and kindness in words and deeds and hugs and stillness, and I know I am one of the lucky ones because this exchange isn’t binary.
I know about fear because I see courage painted on the faces of my friends as they show me what it is to be brave and unsure but fuck, they’re doing it anyway. I see how they deal with adversity and success; the constant dance to an irrational and unpredictable beat and they dance it so gracefully and imperfectly that I can’t be anything but safe to do the same. I hear fear spoken about in ways that transcend hard action; I see bravery and humility and doubt and worry, and I watch as these common woes are shared by the collective, never to be rescued but never left to fall.
Yes, I know about life and I know there is so much more I don’t yet know. And I couldn’t be more grateful that I get to work it out, totally imperfectly, with such an amazing group of humans.
It’s not Sex And The City. It is so much better than that romantic notion. It is raw and real and scary and wondrous. It has a stark lack of Manolo Blahnik shoes and an abundance of “WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?”
It is clunky and messy, and it means that sometimes I write these blogs in moving vehicles on not enough sleep with laughter still ringing in my ears.
It is script-less and poorly lit and no one drinks cosmopolitans at brunch.
But it is everything it should be, and it is teaching me more and more about the person I want to be.
And that, right now is what I know about life.
If you’d like to know a bit more about the art of being yourself so that you too can live in love and abundance then hop over to my FREE Facebook group, That Crazy Thing Called Life where I regularly run FREE LIVE courses (next one starts Monday 17th June 2019) to help you smash through the fear that’s been holding you back from getting the results you want in life (love, money, business, health).
And you will probs love my podcast, Unashamedly Human. Listen here!
For REAL hilarity, check out my insta stories emily_thatcrazythingcalledlife
Thank you very much for reading,