Craving Connection but Unable to Connect

It was only a month ago that I was sat cross-legged and face to face with another woman. My hand was on her heart and hers was on mine. She was a stranger, aside from a brief meeting in which she guided me, a lost and startled being, to the place we needed to be. And for five minutes we sat and stared in to each others eyes. It was weird and it was awkward but I was tearing up and all I wanted to tell her was that I love her.

I often find my self alone, not feeling alone but definitely on my own. It's my own doing. I don't take an entourage (I don't exactly have one), and I don't take back-up (cause I'm not here to fight). People always ask me why I do it. My closest friends and extended family still ask me. Well, I'll tell you this, there is nothing quite like forced friendships. You know, the kind were it's just two people, maybe more, travelling in parallel. You're trying not to look like you're following each other, but it gets a bit stalkerish anyway and so you decide it's probably safer to just talk to them. And low and behold you're both looking for an inflatable flamingo in Kmart, but you came a day late and so you both get a little bit stressed and a whole lot pissed off. And then you get a little bit jealous cause you both know that there are already three-hundred bikini-clad teens riding out on inflatable flamingos in crystal waters. Flaunting their #flamingos. But now you have a friend, cause you made a connection.

We all crave connection and we all look a little bit lost when we move about on our own. I remember a time when I was about sixteen and once again I had found myself alone, but I was in a room full of fifty other people who where also on their own. So I sat down and I made my body the smallest version of itself and I waited for someone to find me, to want me. Minutes later I looked up as a beautiful girl seemed to be walking in my direction but my mind quickly said, "why would she want to be friends with me?". But now I think, why the f*** wouldn't she? We both needed someone and let's be honest anyone would do. If I'd have just held eye contact that little bit longer, if I'd have softened my resting-bitch-face into a smile, if I'd have just said "hey", I would have had a friend. She would have had a friend. She also wouldn't have had the chance to give me one of those obvious once-overs with her eyes that kill girl friendship vibes before you can even take a breath.

So why do we find it so hard to make connections? To make friends? We are all looking for the same thing; we want to be acknowledged, we want to be loved and we don't want to be judged. Is it me or is it you who can't offer all these things? Friendship doesn't have to be difficult and it doesn't need to last a lifetime. I'm learning to accept that great people come in to my life and give me joy and show me new things, and then they go. And I don't need to get mad about it, or find a reason to hate them to help me understand why they left. I mean, can you imagine if you had to stay in contact with all four-hundred-and-fifty of your Facebook friends?

Now love. I have always reserved love for a select group of people. Our idea about who deserves love and how love should feel is warped, mostly thanks to sh** like this: signs you're falling in love; you pretend to be shy when you're with them (cause apparently love is when you don't feel comfortable enough to be yourself), you get high off their smell (*cough* pheromones *cough*), you start listening to slow songs (Nope. There is no evidence to support this statement). Who writes this stuff? I once heard a boy say he wasn't going to tell his girlfriend he loved her until he knew she was "the one". To boy, get f***ed. Sincerely, humanity. Being away from home always makes me realise that I didn't and still don't say "I love you" enough.There is more than just one person that deserves to hear those three words said by you. There are a string of people that have travelled parallel with you, that have selflessly helped you out along the way in this thing that you call life, but you can't tell them that you love them?

The last time I tried to tell someone that I love them my throat closed over and I just cried instead. This was after I tried to silently slither away, because running away felt a lot easier than emotional confrontation. I didn't know what it would sound like coming from my lips, and I couldn't be certain that I wouldn't drop a Disney film line. I also felt like maybe I needed a soundtrack playing. So anyway, this is a promise to make sure you know I love you, no Don't You (Forget About Me) required. I love you cause you make me feel safe but push me in to the unknown. I love you cause you helped me survive twenty-five years of life. I love you cause you tried to help but your directions got me lost. I love you cause you are just the right amount of selfish and selfless. I love you cause you let me use your toothbrush (actually, permission was not given, but what ya gonna do?). Also, I love you cause you set me free.

Yes, I'm Single

Yes, I'm on Tinder.

And it seems I have a type. Male, a full head of hair (preferably ginger and a full blown beard, apparently), straight teeth, a respectable amount of tattoos, a nice shirt and the owner of a dog. 

Easy.

I get to sit at home picking my nose, picking men. Yum. Slut-swiping until Tinder tells me 'There's no one new around you'. 

The Tindersphere has taught me a lot about men in a very short amount of time and I can now confidently stereotype them all into a category called 'Men', they're all the same. They: 

• All like their tigers sedated
• Take way too many selfies; in the bathroom, at the gym, in the car, at odd angles, in bed...
• Have dogs that make up for their complete lack of appeal
• Never wear shirts (there is a scary amount of six-packs and oversized deltoids in the world)
• Are all Tough Mudders
• #CrossFit
• Looooove to travel
• Fish
• Think lip piercings are badass, 
• Think middle fingers, shakas and tongues out 'wid all da boys' is badass 
• Drink giant bottles of Belvedere
• Think women care about their cars
• Can't spell

Thank you Tinder for progressively lowering my standards by a rather significant amount in just one week. So why haven't I left the Tindersphere?

I've spent the last 2 years laughing at one of my friends because she's hopelessly single and destined to forever be that way. Then it dawned on me; I am that girl, I just never cared, and I still don't care. And to prove I don't care I'm still on Tinder, cause who the fuck manages to start a meaningful relationship through Tinder?

Maybe I've become one of the Tinder girls seeking validation from a thirsty pool of fish. It undoubtedly ignites your ego after a day of couch-bound activities and Tim-Tam smashing. 

And admittedly I've uninstalled and reinstalled the app a total of four times already, cause I can't decide whether it's wasting my time or will soon enough see me meeting a likeable weirdo. Must be FOMO.

Anyway, I'm always off on my own little mission, and I don't have time for faff, which probably makes me quite a difficult human being. I literally can not comprehend how a man is supposed to fit in here. But something about these last couple of weeks has got me thinking, maybe I could use a man. You know, for reaching the higher shelves, and to tell me that the orange light on my dash is my car announcing terminal illness. It's also probably just exam-time-blues and I'm doing anything to keep myself from downing wines whilst studying alcohol metabolism. 

Or maybe it's because I'm 24, prime for the picking (or childbirth), my friends are married, moving in together, popping out kids, and buying puppies. A small part of me is wondering why I'm not getting in on this settled-life-business. My closest friends have even started to not-so-subtly set me up with strangely distant friends and old flings. So I get the hint; I'm single, and maybe you think I must be lonely. I'm not.

I don't want any of that. I want to be able to run away at the drop of a hat. I also want to be able to pick my nose without judgement and make strange vegetarian foods for one. 

And as the Pussy Cat Dolls once said, "I don't need a man to make me feel good,
I get off doing my thing".

I'm Afraid I Might Be Boring

I think my biggest fear is that I may become a boring person (or maybe I already am). That some day somebody might ask me what I did today and all I can respond with is, "not much". That's the poorest answer. That's a boring answer, a conversation ender. Where do you go from there?

I have slight heart palpitations when I know that my day is going to turn into me donning my sweats too early, consuming copious amounts of tea and overly buttered toast, and pretending to do uni work. I have a million other better ideas about what I could be doing, should be doing, tormenting me. Should I go and explore a new trail or start that assignment that's due in 3 days? I could probably do both if I stopped working at a Facebook to study ratio of 1:2.

I've been living a life of routine for about 11 weeks now. Work here, study there. Do something cool on Saturdays, shop on Sundays, meal-prep Mondays, repeat steps 1 through 5. That's right, my weekly planner includes the words "be cool" on Saturday. I have to plan for that kind of spontaneous behaviour. I really hope it's just a phase. But I feel shit if I don't have a good story come Monday morning. I want to tell tales of frolicking through fields and sliding down waterfalls. This rarely happens.

The best way to overcome the shitness of realising your living a pretty average life is to take a holiday. Take a solid chunk of time and make up for all those lost hours you spent milling about doing what can only be described as nothing.

Admittedly, the last time I went away I was on one of those under 30's holidays. I spent most of my nights with my hands around a mug of Lipton and getting tripped out on K-Pop in my hotel room. My counterparts were out getting drunk, smashing walls and loosing each other. I may have been playing it safe but at least I got to laugh at the guy who mistook some innocent sweat bumps for something more sinister and sexually transmitted. And you know what, I don't even care that my tour nickname was 'Mum'.

But let's be fair here. I had just spent the previous two months as a lone-wolf climbing hills in Nepal. And I function best when I have to look after myself. It was a stereotypical (Australian dominated) tour that got me feeling like I was being shepherded (Charlie) around a communist county (Vietnam). It was all, go here but not there, try this but don't bother with that. When there is no challenge it's easy to shut off, and that's when things get boring and life looses it's excitement.

You don't have to take that solid chunk of time I suggest for an expensive getaway to a far away beach to sip on coconuts. But you need to revel in the real world, gain experience and value your existence. Cause you're better than the sweat pant (or the fancy-ironed-chino) wearing over-consumer who for 48 weeks of the year pretends life doesn't exist outside of their 50km radius. There is no need to be 95% boring 100% of the time.

Your ambitions should be greater than your fear of breaking routine. And your relationships should be challenging and engaging. Inspire one another to have great life stories. And if it's your love life that's rubbish, don't try and fix it with a puppy. It's probably rubbish because you're both boring and you don't have the heart to tell each other.

Be excitable, don't be two boring people being boring together.

I believe passion makes an average person an outstanding person. And I need to remind myself of this all the time, to be passionate about what you are learning and what you can teach. And if you're more passionate about the toast to peanut butter ratio than the vodka to orange juice, that's okay. It's also okay if you enjoy your nights alone rather than out grinding under strobe lights. Know what you love, do what you love, and when you want to; share what you love.

The Problem With Doing a "Lifestyle Degree"

I have all the resources to be the fittest, strongest, healthiest, coolest person and I don't use any of them for my own selfish self. 

Instead I just see the faults in everything I do and glaze over like a deer-in-the-headlights cause there's so many of them.

Depressing really. 

I've mentioned this previously, I'm doing two degrees; one in Nursing, the other in Exercise Science. So essentially until I graduate with the ability to advise others, I'll just go about self-diagnosing and self-prescribing. I'll spend hours writing myself a program that's going to see me running 5km in under 25 minutes. Then I'll promptly remember I hate running. And that's ok. I'll repeatedly remind myself that I need to eat more vegetables. And I'll end up eating more peanut butter instead. 

I love writing plans and mapping out every aspect of my life. I write them all down on nice paper and I even include pretty pictures. I'm hopeful. I'm also spontaneous, so this planning for routine really doesn't stand a chance. This makes me laugh, it also makes my brain feel like a battle field. 

So here are some problems that ramble through my mind on a regular basis:

1.   Don't sit down

But I'm trying to study, surely that makes it ok? It's called a TreadDesk, and it looks difficult. I can hardly manage searching reputable resources on my Mac and trawling through Instagram on my phone at the same time. Now I have to walk too? Lucky there won't be any lamp-posts to walk in to in the comfort of my own home.

I've even started to feel guilty about sitting down for lectures. Mainly cause every second day we talk about why we shouldn't be sitting down for lectures. Oh the irony. 

2.   Healthify everything

Orthorexia, this is new, heard of it? "a fixation on righteous eating". Yes it's totally possible to make a healthy Mars bar with ice cream and cover it in caramel sauce. And, you can definitely make it raw, vegan, gluten-free, sugar free and low-carb. And, no, you won't have any friends because they would all prefer to cut the crap and just eat a Mars bar instead of your green creation that looks like an oily piece of cardboard. But go you, I think you get to post a photo on Instagram and caption it, '#guiltfree #paleo treats cause I don't crave sugar EVER anymore'. 

3.   Goals need to be SMART otherwise you'll probably never do them

Specific, measurable, attainable, realistic, timely. Don't just let your goals fly around loosely like helium balloons, hone them in and tie them up. 

Want to go grocery shopping today? There's your goal. Now be more specific. Coles or Woolies? ALDI is pretty close too. With whom will you be taking on this quest? Probably not Tim cause he sneaks Chicos into the trolley. Time frame? Shopping list? 

Have you considered the possibility of a broken trolley wheel and how that will affect your progress? When you enter the supermarket how do you plan to avoid the sweet calling smells of hot cross buns? 

And finally, there's no point in doing anything if you can't measure success. You get the gist. I know I like to feel like a winner or at least set some kind of a PB for it to be worthwhile. 

4.   Being passionately pissed off about unqualified health-industry money-makers

Yes, I will question the beautiful young model who has 2.6million social media followers. I can't tell whether you are just another genetically skinny bitch or if you did work your ass off to get that figure. But just cause you fit into a tiny bikini doesn't mean you can advise 1000s of others on how to fit into a tiny bikini. Show me your credentials. Yes, I'm a little jealous of your slender physique and looking at you makes me want beat myself up, and I know I'm not alone. 

Women of the world, you don't need a thigh gap big enough swing a cat to be healthy, fit, or beautiful. You also don't need violent collarbones that injure others when you embrace, or cheekbones that jut with more structure than your life.

5.   I should be better than them.

My best friend can run 5km faster than I can. We do Southbank Parkrun most Saturdays and it gets quietly competitive. For a couple of weeks I struggled to even hear her tell me her time. It felt like she was gloating, bragging. What a bitch (not the right word to describe your bestie, EVER). I study Exercise Science, I should be better than her. 

So then in my little mind I think of all the things that I'm probably better at than her and now I'm scoring 25:1 and she can't even defend herself. That warms the spirit. Then I remember how different we are. Not just her and I, but you and I. We look, act, value, believe in and do completely different things. And I will support you where ever you decide to go and whatever goals you decide to kick. And well, she set a 5km PB. Fuck Yeah! 

We are all great at completely different things. You are not my competition. I am my own competition. 

6.   Die old and healthy, not choking on cheesecake.

Based on projections calculated by the ABS I might live to be 96. But will I age gracefully? I imagine I'll die in my own bed, in my own home, and as peacefully as the closing of a jasmine nightshade flower. But in reality it's a toss up between being incapacitated in hospital, a heart attack in the middle of a cross-fit WOD or choking on cheesecake. Cheesecake is my favourite, so I choose that.

So let's take a moment to remember that Mars bars are delicious and people are beautiful and strong in different ways. Go be friendly to one another.

  

Making a Start

I'm a day-dreamer.

So I'm here. I'm in front of my screen and I will let my wildest dreams (and accomplishments) be known. Maybe if I write them down I can contain them. Well, maybe not "contain" them, but manage them. To contain sounds like 'to stifle'. I'd prefer to see all my ambitions written down and I can view them like a check list.

Once it's been said, it has to be done.

I am Faye, I am young, I am a woman and I'm strong, stubborn, temperamental. I have been living in Brisbane, Australia for just over two years and I'm nearly over it. Nursing and Exercise Science are my areas of study, sometimes I love them, sometimes I want to ditch and run from the whole uni thing. Then there is work, which is both a blessing and a curse.

I have a theory of myself which is: two years is my max. I feel like a shaken bottle of lemonade and the lid is getting unscrewed. This year marks the longest I've held a job, the longest I've lived in the same place since I was sixteen, and the longest time I could have thought studying. And yes, I'm ready, I'm ready to run for the hills. But I won't. Cause I'm an accomplisher.

The only thing (beside my amazing will-power) that has kept me on track is the constant escape that I humour myself with. If the word  adventure (or peanut butter for that matter) sneaks into a question always say yes. It can be a 10 minute walk in a green park or a multi-year-inter-continental-pilgrimage, I'm in, sign me up with permanent marker. Let me go!

On a side note, here is a link to my last outing:
That time I went to Nepal: 6 Lessons I Learned While Travelling Solo In Nepal
Some people liked it so I will continue to write.

I have decided I will share my ideas (some dumb), my plans, and my adventures here. It would be quite an amazing thing if I managed to inspire someone.

Faye.