Feeling: EUPHORIC

  

Feeling: EUROPHIC 

Sup. I’m officially Swami Yogi Pop. 

Ok, not “Swami”. I’m not a guru or anything. But a yoga teacher? Why yes, yes I am. 

Quite chuffed to add that to the old CV; growing more colourful as the years go by. Now I can claim I’m a qualified journalist, marriage celebrant and yoga teacher. Quite the mix! Plus when I get home I’ve arranged to become a spin instructor, Pilates teacher and learn to speak Dutch. I already speak fluent English and Mandarin…. Is my favourite fruit (cheers AN). And I have a new job lined up to start a week after I get back as a nanny, which allows me to weave all of the above in as well. 

I say I don’t know what I’m doing with my life, but I know what I’m not doing with my life. I am full of respect and awe for those who completed Uni and launched careers using their degrees; absolutely good on them. My best friend graduated, moved to Rotorua and now she’s pretty much running the daily (well in my mind she is). I’m so proud of her, as well as others making a name for themselves (eg, Jess at SST). Before my ashram experience I was even getting waves of jealousy and thoughts that I should follow the same path. But now? 

Nope. 

I’ve come to realise that being one so prone to stress, such an environment is just not worth it for my health. I now know that a nine-to-five is just not for me; rather, inconsistent hours during days and nights appeals a hell of a lot more. 

I want to work for six months then spend two travelling, experiencing cultures and ways of life. Right now I’m incredibly intrigued by the idea of a stint in China, to learn traditional medicine and massage from the masters. My mind frame is moving to wellness, and I want to take on board as much as I can and make it what my life is about. Obviously it is subject to change, but I’ve set a new sort-of-goal; for the coming decade I want to spend my birthday in a different country every year. For 2016 I’m holding out for Holland.

I want to write. It’s truly the greatest thrill I feel, even more so than exercise. I lie in bed and have to have a pen and pad handy as I’m constantly leaping up to write down inspired thoughts. I’m forever daydreaming and writing posts in my mind. And from the overwhelming number of messages I’m receiving regarding my blog… Could it be I’m actually good at it? 

Yoga has started making me live my life the way I want to and I want to help others on this path. So I want to actually teach when I get back. One-on-one, in groups, whatever. I’m particularly interested in doing a class purely for guys; not so I can perve you see, but I firmly believe yoga is still perceived as a passive, feminine form of exercise and I want to obliterate this notion. So male only classes! First to sign up shall be Hank (in my hand writing, poor sod. So many asanas will be forced upon him as he tries to watch the news at night. Ever seen a lanky, lean Dutch man attempt the Scorpion pose? Pop into 2 Norfolk Drive in a month’s time and take a gander). And as I’ve mentioned before, volunteering at a retirement village really appeals too. Get those joints jostling! And chinwags as we go. 

I always wanted to be rich. Well, affluent let’s say. I always aimed to be famous. I’d still very much like for both to be the case. But it’s for different reasons: an abundance of wealth so I could share it, could use it for good and travel extensively to learn from all around the world. And fame? There’s still the notion of being notorious, but I’d want to use the well known aspect for humanitarian projects and such.

I want to so stuff I love. That I believe in. I don’t want to slope off to work on a Monday, hang out for Friday and spend Sunday evening in a state of grief. I want to find joy in what I’m doing. Love what I do. And I believe I’m slowly staring to uncover the fair few things that might entail. 

Lately I’ve been thinking, “Holy fuck I’m 23, I need to sort my life out. Get a good job, buy a house, yada yada yada….” But now it’s becoming a case of, “Holy fuck I’m only 23. Plenty of time to sort my life out, get a good job (what even does that term describe?), but a house…..” Mate, what even is a sorted life? A steady job that you dread going to each day and come home exhausted from each night? A stable income to pay off a monumental mortgage that has you constantly calculating cash and worrying with money woes? Honestly, fantastic for you if that’s the life you want, I applaud you whole heartedly. It’s just not where I’m headed. 

I want to learn. I want to see. I want to experience. I want to write. I want to help. I want to live. I want to love. 

And you know what? 
I’m fucking well going to. 
  


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