Falling Down Stairs

"Dungeon watch out". It has been a little how I feel lately. Falling down steep stairs, and not really knowing how to stop. I keep tumbling.

I've been dizzy for the last two weeks. My body is telling me to slow down. I have slowed down. But my head keeps spinning. And spinning. Litterally.

Fortunately I have two more days of work, then a week and a half off. Hopefully that will stop my head carousel.

And maybe I sould balance it out with a couple of glasses sauvignon blank.

Little Man Life Lessons

I often wish I was a kid again. Those simple pleasures like being allowed to have the whole cinnamon bun, and eating it like it's the most amasing thing in the world.

I like to take lessons from Little Man. His ability to be completely in the moment is such a source of inspiration, and something I strive to do every day. His ability to notice details is uncanny, and he points the worlds wonders out to me every day.

I really loved being a kid. I felt so safe. So self confident. That everyone should look at me, listen to what I had to say, and to take me seriously was a given. I miss that confidence, and when now and then I get a glimpse of it again, I try to think about what gave me that feeling. The people? The situation? The country?

Fact is I'm a lot more secure in situations where people don't know me, than the other way around. And I crave to be thrown into  new situations, simultaniously craving safety. Confused? I was untill I saw it in my own offspring. Fact is that I want the same feeling of freedon, the feeling that the world is open to me, but keeping safety close by. When I was a kid, safety was my parents. As an adult my safety comes in various forms. Like behind a book/paper/mag. Behind a camera lens (Canon, of course). Clutching a glass of wine.

And as much as I want to be (and am) spontanious I do need my safety nets. And every day, like Little Man, I try to learn something new, do something different. Pushing my safety boundaries a little further. My rule of thumb is, if I feel anxious about it, I should try it. It's got me here. And most of the time I like it here.

I want cinnamon buns now. And a trip to Japan.

Magical Oak Prayer Come True

So I'm taking Julochkas challenge. Apparently writing is the new praying, and so I thought if I added an ancient oak on top of that writing. A magical one from the gardens of the Lund cathedral. Then my dreams, hopes and aspirations definitely will come true.

I'm always looking for lessons in life. From lessons come wisdom. So every time I make a mistake, which is pretty often, I try to find some meaning in it.

So I'm going to try to tell you about one of the biggest lessons I ever learned. The one about staying true to oneself. And maybe, just maybe. With the power of nine, the power of writing and the power of the oak it will be easier to stay true. 

In many ways I'm the typical middle child. My big sis (bless her) paved the way for an easier life. So she got to be the good one. I got to be the rebellious one.
Now please don't misunderstand. My rebelliousness did mostly revolve around chosing to study the environmental sciences and dyeing my hair purple. All done to be recognised as special, of course. Not to be mistaked as one of the masses.
Even though I worked hard, I was told I was cruising, and I was lazy, and if I really put my heart into it I could go great places. Nobody, I felt, noticed my specialness.
So after years On My Own. I came home. Purple hair now a normal shade of brown. And with a degree in Environmental Sciences. And a degree in Life. Now my Life Degree is far from complete, but I did gain som life study points in my years in the Big Abroad. Equipped with my degrees I was ready to face Life. But life was obviously not ready to face me. After fruitlessly applying for jobs my Dad decided to sit me down an give me som Precious Life Advice. It summed down to something like:

"If you want to get ahead in life you can't be you."

I was crushed.
Here I had spent 20 years of life trying to find me, and he didn't see it. He didn't see me. 
I wasn't good enough.

After about an hour of crying I decided to tell my Dad that enough was enough. We cried. We hugged.
But ever since (and probably before then) I have always struggeled with the notion that what I am is just not enough. And I continue trying and trying to be better, more special. I call it Good Girl Syndrome.

It has made me sick. Me trying to please everyone.  It ended up giving me a depression twice. And this spring my body just said stop. And froze in a painful position. And stayed there.

She's rambling, you're thinking. How can she stay true to herself if that means making herself sick with trying to please everyone. But staying true is about learning lessons. And not making the same mistakes again. And staying true to oneself.

So I started blogging. And here, in the blogosphere I'm as close to true as I can get. And if writing is praying, then a lot of my prayers have come true. Someone is reading. Someone is (hopefully) touched. And someone thinks I'm special.

I've ditched the blue hair. My science degree come journalism degree has given me a great creative dayjob. I have a beautiful son. I have a man who loves me even though I yell at him in the morning.

And now I keep trying to please you.

Is there a lesson waiting to happen?
I hope I catch it before it catches me.

Feeling Dispersed

Feeling a little like the fruit strewn around in this picture. All dispersed. I have to gather myself. Digest the pictures. And tell you all about Blog Camp.

It was great, by the way.

Seasonal Changes

So I've been thinking and writing a lot lately.

As a journalist in a local paper I have to be versitile. Writing in the same little town that you were raised in also poses some interesting situations. Like a source being one of you best friends mothers (not too hard to get around). Or knowing someone involved in a crime you're covering.

Anyone who has lived in a small town knows about this. Knowing both the good and bad things about someone, but still having to relate to them in one way or another.

I've noticed that the closer I get to a source I know, the less critical I get. It's natural. Most of the time I can get someone else to cover for me when it gets too close. I have not gotten into trouble, yet...

I've also been thinking about being a public person. I'm used to being recognised. I'm used to people I don't know having opinions about me. I hope they treat me with the same courtesy that I treat them. I'm not so sure. All that I can rely on are the good ones.

Lately I have been writing a bit about identity. I've always thought that being the only person im my country with my name has made me vounerable. Apparently not. When it comes to identity theft at least. Having a unique name means you don't blend, and so I'm not interesting to potential theifs. The drawbacks of having a unique name were pretty clear to me when, after a particularliy grusomme story, my previous editor in chief wanted to know if he should tell the police to drive by my house a few times that weekend. I declined.

It's tough when it gets personal.

When I got a call from a businessmans wife wanting to know why I wanted to hurt her husband it felt like a punch in the gut. Fortunately I managed to communicate with her in spite of wanting to pretend to be someone else. I'm very used to confronting sources, and also being confronted myself. But that's easy when I'm the professional journalist. Harder when I'm only me.

It might be the season slowly morfing into darker evenings and rusty colours. But I find myself thinking about where my life is now, where I want it to go, and how I will get there.The last year, for various reasons, has been like a changing season in my life. Me morfing from one person to another.

And.

Plonk.

Right when I needed it.

This amazing oppertunity crosses my path.

And it makes itself hard to miss.

So suddely I'm off to Denmark for the weekend. Most of the people around me think it's the most crazy thing I've done since I coloured my hair blue.

But I'm so sure. It is so right. Meeting kindred souls in the world is not as easy as one thinks (although I'm exceptionally lucky to have met quite a few in my relatively short lifespan).

Four people ready to get to know me.

Not the journalist, or childhood friend, or mum, or girlfriend, or collegue, or public person, or any of the other roles...

But me.

Only me.

And I'm sure I'll find friends for life.

Confession #4

Picture from here

I'm scared of the dentist.

I really am. And lately I have been admitting to it. And getting crap for it. Deserved crap.

Because, hey. I have given birth. And how can a stupid dentist compare to 24 (yes!) hours of labour. That's what I tell myself in the gym, at work, when I fix things (etc etc).

Example:

- I have given birth so I have the strength to lift sofa. Or:
- I have given birth so I have the energy to run for another ten minutes. Or:
- I have given birth so (insert the appropriate sentence here)

But for some reason that scary scary dentist makses me draw a birth blank.

And I'm a sensible girl. I do what I'm supposed to, but at the moment I really think I need someone to book me that appointment, shove me in that door, and strap me to that chair.

(Please)

It's out.

Feeling Guilty

So I'm feeling dead guilty for not blogging in a while. Which bums me out. Because the whole point about this blog was for it to be something purely for pleasure, and not out of all the Need Tos, Should Dos, and Must Get Tos in my life.

I have enough of them.

So I'm washing my hands off the guilt.

This is my positive Build-Up-My-Soul place. So I'm going to post another beautiful flower picture, and sigh, and feel a little sad about Autumn arriving already.

And I'm going to pause. And remember all the sights on our family drive down the coast today.

• The no tractors allowed sign on the new highway
  
• The messy vegetable stall on the side of the road


• The purple pallets stacked way high and Big Mans suprise at me liking them.


• The horses (white and brown) standing in formation.


• The sheep hiding under the trees in the rain.


• The young cows (kviger) dry humping in the field.


• Little Mans excitement over seeing a digger.


• The very sweet Tibetan dog called Mikkel


• Little Mans excited-but-scared squeel


• The rain, the road and a dry car.
  

Life is pretty all right.

Even with sick kids, rainy days and Autumn blues.

Wanting more

So life has always left me wanting more. Call me a life maximalist.

I'd rather add more, than omit anyting. This leading to a mess in which I lose all my creativity.
So frugility works. Ohne. Without.

But underestimating the power of deadlines and busy schedules can leave me just as blank.

What is a good girl to do?