The past fortnight has been about transmuting fraught energy back into fabulous energy. So much wellness rhetoric encourages us to seep into gratitude when times feel tricky, so that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. Let me tell you, as soon as I made the decision to switch gears, an overwhelming amount of support has started to flow from friends, family and colleagues alike, mainly without my asking.
I felt the gear shift as I was invited back to a friend’s (OK, her parents) pad in the Blue Mountains; a beautiful, sprawling property that’s quintessentially Australian in all the right ways. I’m now on month 13 of living out of a suitcase. The freedom this has enabled is, of course, unparalleled but the joy of being amongst a heartfelt, beautiful collection of things is also rather magical (both my friend and her mother have marvellous taste) hence it was heaven.
While I was there something happened beyond my enjoying the beauty of my surrounds and nourishing a social connection. On Friday morning, the day before I was due back in the city, I was sitting underneath a canopy of Wisteria in a nook of the garden which appeared to be plucked from the South of France. I’d just had a really wonderful, constructive work call and was about to hop back onto my laptop to continue typing away. But then, in that stillness, feeling overwhelmed by gratitude and presence, I surprised myself by starting to cry.
Now I am someone who cries rather a lot. I’m emotional, I’m wide open, I’m sensitive. If I feel sad or hurt or happy you’ll be sure to see small tears start to roll down my cheeks. Yet these tears were something else. Not to do with my usual cycle of sensitivity but tears which came from my core. Moved by all that has happened and what is about to happen (the work call was with a colleague in my soon-to-be-home United States) this year, I continued to cry.
My friend soon came down to the garden and offered me a comforting hug. We had a lovely last night together and a day later, on the train back to the city, I started to feel nostalgic for a sense of community. I felt so grateful to have reconnected with my friend (she’s usually in London) and began to reflect on the year that’s been.
This time last year I was in Italy, where it all started, the same trip in which I met Mr Boyfriend and where I wrote How To Be Fabulous. For most of the trip I was in Sardinia, there to complete a rather life-changing writers residency named Noce Fresca. Of course the scenery, the food and the architecture there all inspired me each day. But it was the people, the community of other artists and locals, who really made it.
I’ve mentioned before but I’m now in the midst of a writing course. In a similar vein, the calibre of the content, the genius of the instructors, plus push it’s giving my writing are all unbeatably good (and much needed). But it’s the other writers, the supportive and constructive community we’re creating together, which is making it so special.
Then there’s a sense of support from those who have passed… Ok, please bear with me, but what if were to tell you about a sense of community from the other side?
When things were feeling more fraught a few weeks ago I looked up at the sky and asked for a sign. “When will things get easier? Am I really on the right track?” I asked the universe/god/my ancestors (basically anyone who was listening). Then just the other day, wandering home from the beach, I looked up at the sky and chased up my request. “Just a polite reminder, I know I’m feeling more centred and that you’re busy, but I’d still love a sign if it’s not too much trouble.” Back at my Sydney sublet, on the balcony, I sat down to wrap up some emails for the day. Then, out of the blue, my neighbour (who never plays music) began to BLAST My Way by Frank Sinatra - my late grandfathers funeral song.
As the song blared up the street I froze. Surely this was the sign. I looked up the lyrics and read them aloud. Beyond the song being a fan favourite, an anthem of self-determination and cause for arrest or even death in the Philippines, it really did speak to me. Under the veil of Sinatra’s voice I like to think I had a quick convo with my Grandad - a proud, tenacious and often tricky man, who wanted us all to achieve and succeed far beyond the norm, just as he had. The person who planted my ambition in me.
The advice he seemingly gave me was softer and kinder than I would’ve expected. In a cheesy, full-circle way he encouraged me to keep doing things my way. Whether this quick conversation was a case of me having truly lost my mind, or a moment of clairvoyance, it was the sign and the comfort I’d been looking for.
The irony in all of the above is that the bitterness and trickiness which had led to that series of fraught feelings a few weeks ago, was all due to the fact I had been fixated on how I felt certain people had let me down. My feelings were so strong that they were beginning to shroud my sense of clarity and starting to create blindspots in my own behaviour. Now, looking back on my recent past, I wish I could have seen that the support I was so desperately seeking was there all along - all I needed to do was zoom out, refocus on where it was flowing, to reconnect with community and keep doing things my way.
Read: The Authenticity Project
Speaking of community, when I was searching for authors to connect with a while bak, a friend put me in touch with the delightful British author, Clare Pooley. Clare too began her writing career with a blog-turned-non-fiction book, in which she bravely detailed her journey to sobriety. She’s since transformed into a beloved (and bestselling) novelist.
Clare and I spoke a couple of months ago and she gave me much sound advice and support (she also encouraged me to get on the Curtis Brown Creative course I’m now in the midst of). After the call I immediately bought her first novel, The Authenticity Project, which is a heartwarming as it’s advertised to be.
The book is centred around a quaint London cafe and a notebook, both of which connect an array of colourful characters, and ultimately transform all of their lives for the better, you guessed it, through a sense of community. Each character is loveable, believable and entirely different from the next. Better yet, this hodgepodge of people miraculously work together. The sense of place Clare has created with her novel is so transportive: every time I read a page I felt like I was back in London. The result is a wonderful read as comforting as hot cocoa!
Watch: The Crime is Mine
One of my most effective and enjoyable ways to self-sooth is by bunking off for the afternoon and tottering up to the local cinema (in Sydney my favourite is Palace Verona).
Last week I saw The Crime is Mine (Mon Crime in French). The film is camp, creative and cheering. The silly storyline, in which a women falsely pleads guilty for a murder she didn’t commit, all so she can become a famous film star, is topped by delicious over-acting from the entire cast.
A bit like a play, the movie is dialogue heavy and moves with velocity and consistency. Francois Ozon, the French filmmaker mostly known for Swimming Pool, spins in his usual themes of sexual innuendos and quirky, confused characters into the mix. Definitely worth a watch, especially if you’re feeling any bit blue.
Wear: Shocking Pink Vintage from Grand Days
Ahead of my book being released I have been searching for a *look* fit for an Old Hollywood starlet (not faux murder required). At my favourite Grand Days, the delightful owner, Tamara, helped me sift through a stack of gowns, all in a bid to help me find the one.
Almost sold on a lovely, preloved Lisa Ho dress, I wasn’t entirely happy with the fit. I didn’t think I could alter it on account of the inbuilt boning, so asked if there was anything else. Tamara then kindly fished around in her personal collection to see if there was anything else she was ready to part with. As soon as I saw that long length of shocking pink I was sold!
I recently wrote a piece for the fabulous kiwi platform, The Curve, all about getting to my 30th birthday with very little to show for myself. If you, like me, entered official adulthood realising you’d spent all your money on clothes and cocktails then this one is for you.
How To Be Fabulous, my debut book, is out on the 28th of November and I’m feeling all kinds of things. Anxiety, excitement, busyness and that specific kind of quiet before something big hits. A good distraction for this is the fact Mr Boyfriend is about to fly in from LA for the occasion, so I’ve been busy flitting around, tidying my tiny room within an inch of itself and generally preparing for his eminent arrival (I’m even hosting Thanks Giving on Thursday - please send tips and/or turkey).
On the book note, if you haven’t preordered my book what’re you waiting for? If it’s that you need a tad more convincing (I get it with so many gorgeous books to buy out there) here’s a little video I made explaining all things How To Be Fabulous. x
Some great, undiscovered recs as always! x