Back to Belgium for a bit where the insight hit, but in India to be written up.

On my last night with The Pedaller, we went to the backyard (seriously, that stretch of lawn is so long you could build another five houses on it), rocked out some core (“#coupleswhocore togetherstaytogether”; don’t stress, I’m completely taking the piss) and then he went inside to start prepping his dinner (he’s mad on sweet and sour pork ATM and was fizzing at getting it going from about 9am that morning). I stayed lying on the grass, and a really serene sense of just being took over.

For me, this doesn’t happen. That state of complete relaxation is extremely rare, and if it does make a little appearance it’s fleeting. But there, at that time, in that moment, it was absolute and utter.

I loved it.

I’ve mentioned before about how I froth on watching planes flying, especially in Europe where they emit a clearly seeable powder of their path. It just so happened I was in a prime viewing spot; with Belgium the popular over route for many trans country flights, planes were flying over at an extremely regular rate. I didn’t count them and I don’t know how much time went by; all I did was observe and be.

And in my state of serenity, I made myself some non-anxious-in-any-way promises.

I look back at the past four years and feel like nothing has changed. I’m still battling that fucker Ed, I haven’t made many inroads career wise, and while I have roamed and explored a fair few countries, I have no real assets (aside from my key ring collection; who wants a house when you’ve got one of them?).

But as I was lying there I compared myself to the girl I was when I finished Uni, and realised so much has changed.

My mind is so much more aware of myself. I catch Ed out rather than just let him take over, and sometimes my rationality even wins out. I can identify my shortcomings and not-so-admirable qualities, and while I sometimes (ok, often) act in their way, I realise it and feel repentive. If anything, I not only recognise them but get hung up on them, and they eat me away and overshine my good qualities, making my self esteem take a plummet from the self disappointment. I let myself down.

I need to turn back to my good attributes and give myself some self praise more often instead of beratement.

A question to really ponder: do I love myself?

It’s a hard one. In NZ we naturally have that Tall Poppy Syndrome where you’d never tell anyone you love yourself. You kind of talk yourself down and declare your lackings rather than your skillset, even if it is different on the inside. But do people love themselves underneath that? Do I?

Sometimes. But I definitely need to nurture it and extend it over the dislike.

So my promises? That chestnut of the “attitude of gratitude”. Be more thankful for my wonderful life (because my word, I am fortunate). Not take things so personally; fuck I am a sensitive being, I didn’t realise the extent. Release bitterness and resentment, because I definitely do let it fester. I mean, why expend time and energy on things that don’t bring you joy? Modify how I sometimes view myself, situations and others. Negativity and judgement are at the forefront, and need to make them take a back seat. (Or seperate vehicle, most preferably).

And just be more.

But not rip myself to shreds if I stumble; human beings are not perfect, so I shouldn’t aim to nail it every day in every moment.

Peace is defined as “freedom from disturbance; tranquility”. It made me wonder where my peace really is. Writing, most certainly. The Pedaller’s presence, absolutely. The stage you get to when you find something really, really funny and cannot stop laughing; totally totally.

Travelling transforms me somewhat. It makes me far more in the know of myself and blossoms some self love and acceptance. It opens both my external and internal world up. Whenever I go home for an extended period of time, I usually lose of bit of this insight and retreat into old habits and ways. Then get angry at myself for doing so.

(I just reread all of this and my word, my mind is a chop-changey place. So hard on myself, so insistent on changing aspects of me right now that need time and patience. I need to chill the fuck out. Do other people’s minds work like this?).

I was watching a movie on the plane and in one scene, the girl asked a guy for his Instagram name. He replied that he wasn’t really on any “of those things”. “But how do I see what you do?” She asked, genuinely at a loss.

“You don’t,” he said. “Because I get to live it.”

I love that.

I’m checking out of being so screenful. While I won’t stop sharing photos on FB (works as my back up and it’s the easiest way to share them with Mummy Deb and such), I’ve switched my main convos over to What’s App to get away from Messenger a bit more. I’m a phoner, I know I am, and I want to not, eradicate (a lot of my life does depend on it – writing, working, etc) it, I want to lessen it.

Philippa said something lovely last night that really resonated with me: “You’ve got to have a breakdown to have a breakthrough”. Makes me feel better of my multiple a day. I feel weak for having them, but realise I’m going through them to make me mentally stronger.

This self realisation stuff is a bumpy ride mate.

And I’m proud of my detaching. I’m not hoarding away all my boarding passes like previous trips. Just before I bought a new toothbrush, and managed to throw away the now-munted one The Pedaller got me in Spain with only a little hesitation and pang as it went in the bin (the spur to let go – literally – was the thought of me heading up to EBC with it in my backpack pocket).

But I’ve changed my phrasing of what these “wants” for myself are. They’re no longer “goals” after Priyanka’s (NOT Bianca) wisdom I talked of in the previous post; “goals” to me stirs a mass pressure to absolutely achieve. Rather, I’m labelling them as “hopes” to be naturally.

(Kind of the same as “goals” but to me the connotations are different).

But really, it comes down to: I would love to be more, love to feel peaceful more, love to love more.

Not high hopes – just hopes. Ways to be, but not make rules to aim to. Not goals, but things that make me happy.

I know myself really, really well.

The Pedaller eventually came and got me because his sweet and sour pork was getting cold; I’d been lying in the back yard just being for almost an hour.

Here’s to more of that. I like – no, love – that Poppy.

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