and until now have not been ready to click Publish at risk of worrying
my nearest and dearest or future clients.
I have omitted any images, including a feature image for my homepage
as I believe it would detract from what I am saying here.
Future clients, I thank you for starting this journey here, as it
may give you some insight my earlier posts were deprived of.
Please understand that I wear my heart on my sleeve, and cannot
expect you to be at your most vulnerable if you do not see me there first.
I am an open book, and it is my unique way of adding soul to my images.
With the recent & devastating loss of Robin Williams,
I feel compelled to share
find yourself struggling, you feel you can tell me.
I feel as though I can release these words now, in more ways than one.
I am blessed to have so much support & love in my life, and I steered
because of you too, so thank you. x
There are times in your life, where you are not present, but simply
looking on as if watching a young child freely navigate a toy train.
You watch him disconnect the tracks, add bridges for highs and
tunnels for darkness.
Not so long ago, I had one of those moments.
I was driving home late – never a good thing for an anxious mind.
I like to blast my stereo on nights like this, and leave the window ajar,
regardless of the temperature. The blast of cold air is chilling to the
bone, but keeps me alert and safe.
Bon Iver’s “Heavenly Father” begins playing.
“I don’t know how you house the sin,
But you’re free now
I was never sure how much of you I could let in
Am i free now?”
I responsibly sail down main roads, reflectors flashing past
me as if winking to the melody and dancing to each lyric.
My mind wanders, as it so often does, and I feel a familiar tumbling
towards a pool of errands and failures. Past, present, future.
“I’ve just been up here for god damn years
Can you see now?
Filling up hulls with god damn fears”
It is a quick descent from a place like this, to a pool like that.
From scrawling in my journal ‘Inbox is full but fuel tank is empty’,
to ‘I’ve had worse days, but it’s not a good one either’.
My head starts buzzing as my shoulders grow wary under the
small yet never-ending pressure I am so fond of putting on myself.
“I know about it darling.
I’ve been standing here”
As scenery swims by and the crisp air sends short tendrils of my hair
flying, my eyes are unmoved. Blinkless as the music hums truths.
I continue along the road, streetlights slicing each shimmer of luminance
physically and metaphorically.
How can I start anew? I am not the best version of myself.
And suddenly I am no longer steering. I am watching myself be directed
by the young child. He is changing the tracks, laying new directions, but he
has not connected them. They are disjointed and hold certain tragedy.
As road barriers pass, and telegraph poles near on a curved path, he is
pushing me towards them and he is not steering away.
I am not steering away. I need to turn the wheel but I am not
present, and calm struck as I found myself not wanting to be.
I am hurtling towards a telegraph pole at 80km p/h and am unmoved.
is all that he offers
a safety in the end?”
And all together, fleeting as it is, the feeling is gone.
That little boy has morphed into an image of my beautiful
and deserving son, with his wayward hair and Vegemite face.
He is laughing as he sends his favourite toy Monkey down
the slide and the sun is illuminating his face in a way that
makes me feel in awe that he is all mine.
His hands are dirty, he is wearing odd socks, but he is joyful and loving.
And I remind myself, as I gently climb our driveway, careful
not to disturb the slumber inside, that I am doing a good job,
and I must continue to steer.
You are doing a good job. And you must continue to steer.