2014 - Page 14 of 14 - Sarah Wilson

Assume the head massage will last forever

January 14, 2014 by Sarah Wilson

Do you know that feeling when you’re at the hairdresser where you’re getting the head massage at the basin and you Just Can’t Relax because you fear said massage is going to end any minute? And then you berate yourself for not enjoying the one bit of niceness in your entire week?

My surf-encrusted summer hair all tidied up! Thanks Maria — My very dedicated hairdresser Maria at Ardino in Paddington, NSW. And me post head massage. Which did in fact end. But not before I enjoyed it.

Yeah, that.

Well, I was at my hairdresser last week getting my greys covered up and I braced myself for this moment in heart-sinky self-sabotaging. As the conditioner was applied and the fingers sank in I steered my mind to the assumption that it was a massage that was going to go on and on and not end abruptly.

Two things:

Having deleted a time frame from the equation, I could focus instead on the massage. I got into the moment. Time frames ruin things.
This assumption created a vibe (an “air”) of abundance. And it’s amazing how, when you create an “air” about you, things flow from there. In this case, the massage did in fact go on and on. Or at least that was how it felt. And isn’t that what counts?

Assuming an air of abundance ain’t a bad way to set out each day, with every activity. I’m not a “manifest-y, roll around with a dolphin under a rainbow in your little puddle of abundance…with a pet unicorn” preacher. But I do know that like attracts like (on a quantum level and beyond) and that it certainly doesn’t hurt to assume the best. Indeed, the worst that can happen is that the massage does end prematurely. But a bit of disappointment is better than tense anticipation, right?

Extrapolate this out further: dealing with failure or f*ck ups or let-downs after the event is more manageable than forever trying to narrow your

Holy shit. I just turned 40.

January 8, 2014 by Sarah Wilson

I don’t quite know how this crept up on me. But here I am, 40.

I’m not ashamed of the number. Nor uncomfortable about entering into a new age category on government forms and internet dating profiles. But this birthday feels poignant. Potent.

Forty is halfway. Up until this mid-point (Lord, I’m now middleaged!), my life approach was all “run-up”. Everything was ahead of me, as potential. I’d taken jobs that were a “good experience” that would prepare me for my real job… one day. I had relationships that were good practice for when I met my soul mate. I’d not worried about certain things – committing, settling down, um, buying a couch – because I was in preparation mode. Lining up my ducks.

The past four decades have been a dress rehearsal for the “real performance”.

But today I’ve arrived. This is it.

No more run ups. No more rehearsals. I have to get out there on the stage and bear myself to the audience.

This is who I am. No hiding behind the excuse that I’m in training and still testing the waters.

And, you know what, this feels good. Like, really good.

I think some people hit this mid-point with the heart-sinky impression that what goes up most now come down, that 40 is a pinnacle and it’s a downhill journey from here.

I don’t see it this way. I’ve reflected on it a bit and I’ve chosen to see to stay here at the summit for quite some time.

I’m going to cruise at altitude for as along as I feel good about it before descending into old age.

Which is to say, a long time.

I recently finished reading Helen Garner’s essay collection True Stories. Garner’s writing is so measured, honest and unapologetic. She writes about turning 50. “The grand thing about being fifty is how tough you can be. You don’t have to care about what people think. You can let things rip, in your work…you can stop wanting to be nice.” She uses the example where some bloke accuses her of not laughing at much any more. Her retort: “Yes, I do – but not at the same things; and I don’t feel obliged to crack jokes and kick up my heels just to keep a stranger

allow time

January 10, 2014January 7, 2014 by Sarah Wilson

Sometimes solutions can be so stupidly simple. This holiday break I experimented with doing nothing. It paid off. I got some serious rest. Indeed, each day I got seriously excited about heading home in the afternoons to do nothing but lie and read and potter and make fermented mayonnaise. And so forth. So much so, I failed to pull my weight over Christmas with the family, such was my slothfulness (my family forgave me, seeing it as something of a novelty).

I also got perspective. Now at the end of the two-week period and back in the office, I feel clear and calm. I withdrew further back from the flurry than I ever have. And this is what I saw:

The secret to calm is to book in more time.

I’ve written before about buffering. I guess I’m using this potent time of year to remind myself (all of us) of the worth of padding out life with more space and time.

Thing is, getting things done in less time has become a sport. The ability to cut corners, juggle more things in the one hour, conduct a conference call while checking the mail – and so on – is worn as a badge of honour. But the longterm effects of this unmindful way of being is not something you’d want to pin to your chest.

It scrunches. It constricts. It scratches at your emotional fibre.

Over the past fortnight I realized how resentful I am of my rushing. Driving makes me tense. Meetings get me anxious (for them to move faster). Even some of the more creative, fun aspects of my work leave me cringing.

…all because I don’t leave enough time to be in the moment with it. The tight little vessel of time I allow for getting things done isn’t big enough to fit me in it comfortably. I squeeze in half a limb, a quarter of my brain…rarely my whole.

I’m not sure if I’m spelling out something too obvious. But it’s something I very much overlooked and dismissed in 2013. My clarity exposes it,