Heartbreak / How the light gets in.

10 thoughts written over a few weeks (a few weeks ago)

Image: By me, of my dear friend Olivia.

1 // Yesterday my heart was broken, but they do say that's how the light gets in. I think breakups are like being put into one of those Kmart storage bags, all the possible emotions of the human experience are shoved in, and the vacuum cleaner is put on max. Then, all the air gets sucked out.

I feel very much like I'm in that sealed bag, no air, all feelings. I feel sad, in the deep crevices of my bones. Not just for the loss of what the present contained, but also an imagined future. I feel frustrated at myself for letting my guard down, but also exceptionally proud of myself for that at the same time. I feel immense love and respect for the person, and a kind of numbness as the world just keeps ticking over while I'm driving to my friends house to sit on her couch and cry. But don't you think it feels special? Sacred? Magic? Don't you think it's the best and the worst. I can't speak for everyone, but I have designed my life to exist within an emotional spectrum that I swim around in, and rarely do I dip my toe into the pool at either end. This time, I dove in. This time, I dove off the boat, the boat floated away and I was out there alone vulnerable to the elements. Where do I put my love now? Where does it go? It feels like before, the love was a plug, starting at me, and the electricity was flowing into us. Now the end is cut off and there are just frayed wires pointing in all directions. I don't know where to plug back in. Currently I'm plugged into endless Adele albums and endless distractions. I was thinking very strongly about having a large bottle of wine but for some reason completely unknown to me, I want to really feel this, all of it. Untethered. 2 // It's been a few days now, a strange time which for me resembles those days between Christmas and New Year where you're a little lost but in a nice way. I've been napping and eating food that gives me the energy to do a Fluid Form class in the mid mornings, not the pastry and chocolate I truly wish to consume. My friends are being gentle and soft, and yesterday we went to the beach just to sleep next to the waves, it was divine. I feel more curious today, I wouldn't go as far as optimistic but certainly more 'I wonder what's next?' It's been raining here on the south coast, almost like it's just for me. A cleansing ritual. 3 // When I thought about the year I turned 30, I wanted to have my own space to live in. I wanted a really big wide desk with a really good quality computer, with enough space to put flowers on the desk and have a stack of books; that my friends, I have. I wanted to have people over for lunch on Sunday's, and I wanted to be able to do yoga on the verandah. I wanted to have music playing all the time and I wanted to have one of those big deep couches that you could melt into like it was an extension of yourself. That my friends, I also have. But I think what is so clear about times like this is the silence. Usually I can busy myself to avoid it but now it's like a quiet vortex of- is this the job I want? Is this where I want to live? Is this the body I'm comfortable in? Did I waste my time today? Perhaps breakups crack open the shell and reveal that you're actually a new born baby at the very beginning of your journey. That feels fitting. To the bird, they have lived their whole life in the egg, they think they live IN the egg, life is in the egg. Then the silence and quiet of the shell is broken, and a whole other realm is revealed. The other side. Mary Olivier says: Don't bother me. I've just been born. As an initiation into this rebirth, I did something I never ever do and I sat outside on the rocking chair in silence. Of course, the symphony of cicadas, kookaburras and crickets was not real silence, but I did manage to turn Spotify off which happens only once in a blue moon. However before that, the measures I went to to avoid that silence were a joke. I sent emails, told the ATO and Electoral Commission, Bank and Aus Post my new address. I read Mary Oliver and finally took the recycling out. Then, I drove all the way into town to get a print framed. A print I paid $95 for and am now paying $318 to be able to mount on my wall (I'll report back about whether it was worth it). But avoiding silence is like avoiding a kettle boiling on a stovetop. It will eventually scream so loud that you have to tend to it to get reprieve. The silence didn't tell me anything, but it did show me the big gumtrees swaying and the moths assembling. It sounds romantic, but really it was just me sitting outside on the deck, blanket around my shoulders thinking 'be silent be silent be silent be silent' until my gut spoke up and said 'bread now?'. 4 // Today I read, 'What unlocks possibility is story - so people don't need new facts, they need a new story... change their story and change their behaviour.' I believe the context was climate action, but I think this is actually quite true in a lot of facets of our lives. What story do you want to re-write in your life? Here's what I'm currently reading: - Devotions, Mary Oliver - Letters to a Young Poet, Rainer Maria Rilke - Writing Down the Bones, Natalie Goldberg - The Living Mountain, Nan Shepard - Galah Magazine, Issue 03 5 // There is something quite strange in how we romanticise peoples lives. I have this book about Gustav Klimt. He is shown in his stunning front garden, abundant with wildflowers- holding his cat. He's walking amongst the foliage with his wife wearing dresses with patterns made just for her. But I'm sure as the photo was taken they were thinking about what to cook for dinner. I'm certain they were both just a little bit sad all the time. I'm sure one of them forgot to take out the food scraps and give them to the chickens, or forgot to buy more candles for the night time. These artistic lives are woven for us in pictures and letters and paintings to be magical and illusive but that's actual bullshit. You can live on a beautiful property, paint art works that sell for thousands and still get mad at your partner for leaving their towel on the floor or mad at yourself for killing your houseplants by overwatering them. (Water does not equate to love people!) So what really is this romance we all imagine for ourselves, if not butter melting into mash potatoes with a side of sliding into the nook of your partners arms (and a sprinkling of 'I really should have done the dishes before bed')..... What is it really? Because the app on my phone tells me all kinds of confusing things. 6 // The all important, 'to text or not to text'. I didn't really think about it too much, I just did it when it felt right. I said something like 'same me, still here, let's walk' and added some sort of sarcastic Seinfeld reference to keep it light (???). I felt better, it was such a relief. I mean imagine talking to someone every day, sharing all kinds of wild and wonderful intimate thoughts and feelings and daily life dreary recalls and then nothing the next day. I do have the distinct privilege of this breakup being incredibly gentle and understandable and soft. Not angry or bitter, so the 'week later text' was one that felt like a natural extension of the separation (one which many of my friends have not experienced). So, you know, you do you boo- that text is not always one that is worth it. Sometimes it's better to write it to yourself or send it to your best friend. But for me, it was worth it. Just a recognising of the humanness of us and a reminder that just because we're not slumping on the couch together each night after work, doesn't mean we have dropped off the face of the earth. Still orbiting. 7 //Today I drove up to the highest beach lookout our town has, and the waves stretched as big as my feelings (about you). First day back at work already exhausted, first day back to real life (without you around) exhausting. I'm not sure if I'm talking about myself or him when I say 'you'- who knows.

Is it break up tired, endometriosis tired, back to work tired, covid tired, being human tired. I’m not sure but I’m simultaneously all of them but totally alive and on fire. My body feels itchy on the inside, like a kid who is bored. I’ve done more exercise this past week than I did all of last year just to feel less uncomfortable. I’ve finally text friends back, made rice paper rolls, read books without falling asleep.

My intuition is saying ‘eat chips’ and ‘you are doing absolutely nothing with your life’ and ‘you’re special, keep going’. It’s asking a lot and nothing of me. But here I am at the beach- I'm sitting with my leg up on the dashboard, pulling the hairs out of my leg one by one. I think I’ll drive home to greener pastures now. Coconut Whittaker slab awaits.

I love him.

His skin, hair, eyelashes, freckles.

I suppose that means I love myself- I have all of those things too.

8 // Second day back to real life, it challenged me in patience and clarity of expression. My job is to talk all day, which sometimes puts me here 4 hours later at my desk, fed, watered, washed, walked and leaves me with not much I want to say. But to write is to understand what you feel so I'm appropriately propped up on my kitchen chair (awaiting my new foam back rest). I have my friends Spotify playlist running whilst eating almonds by peeling the skin off with my teeth then grinding down the flesh until it's gone. I was just scrolling through Instagram waiting to remember something to write (really for me writing is a remembering not an imagining) and Angie McMahon sang 'I don't want someone, I wanted you.' She always knows what to say. 9 // Songs for the soul: To Perth before the border closes - Julia Jacklin Damn Right - Audrey Nuna Motion Sickness - Phoebe Bridgers Woman Like Me - Adele Takeover - Ngaiire 10// Today we're moving forward, like we did all the days before. The next right thing, one after the other. I worked, stretched and cooked the best steak, mashed sweet potato, green beans and butter a girl could ask for. I don't feel like this blog needs to have a grand conclusion, sometimes life doesn't give you grand conclusions. Sometimes, someone sees you swimming alone after you dove off the boat, pushes you their spare dinghy and you slide in. You sit yourself on the frustratingly thin metal bar that's built as a seat, put your hands on the paddles and start moving your arms. Sometimes, diving off that original boat is the best thing you ever did, because you never know where the dinghy is going to take you. Ever hopeful, ever raw, M.

Image: By me, comfort food.

Daily Ceremony acknowledges Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples as the traditional custodians of the land we work on, and we pay our respects to elders past, present and emerging.

Ceremony [ ser-uh-moh-nee ] A unified ritualistic event with a purpose, usually consisting of a number of artistic components, performed on a special occasion. Aka, life.