Embrace the middle - when the familiar becomes unfamiliar at the same time

If I was writing this five years ago, it’s about now that I would do a philosophical deep dive into how embracing change…well, changed my life. Not today. Today, I’m having an identity crisis. Kinda.

Life feels like I’m in the middle of a long, slog-of-a-hike lately. I’m still walking in the right direction, but somehow, I keep losing the track markers. I stop, backtrack and walk around, and eventually find footprints or the track hidden in the overgrowth. When I’m in the bush, losing the track doesn’t worry me too much - I’ve been here before and don’t stay ‘lost’ for too long. So, why is life so uncomfortable right now?

It started as I sat in a mihi whakatau at work (a mihi whakatau is an informal pōwhiri/welcome) as I listened to my former manager, Alex, give a speech to welcome a new member in her old team. Ironically, it was also the first day in her new role as a general manager, yet here she was filling in for the role she hasn’t held since last November. I’ve heard her speak many times before, and she always smashes it. She is the Communications Manager after all. Was. I think it finally hit me, for realsies this time.

Someday, the nomad taking refuge in pages unwritten

Change, no matter how much we fight the push and pull of circumstance, there will always be an element of resistance towards the unknown. They say it’s not the change we fear, but the speed our bodies are expected to pivot when it slaps us in the face. I’ve been through this before - every five years my life comes to a fork in the road, taking my life in unexpected trajectories.

It’s been two months since the tall fella and I bought a house - two adults who’ve become extremely comfortable in their own space (and way of doing things) moving in together is quite the adjustment. Parts of me that have come to light that really surprised me: I didn’t realise how much I liked keeping the kitchen bench clean; or cooking dinner while the fire’s roaring in the living room. I have yet to successfully light the fire without a fire starter this winter, so that job has usually fallen to the tall fella when he comes home. Oh and I’ve fully embraced my Filipino-ness and proudly wear my pink tsinelas (house slippers) that my Mum bought from the Philippines a few years ago.

No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man

“Did you see anything?” A soft voice called to me at the end of my Reiki session. My eyes hadn’t opened yet as my mind and body needed time to reconnect. I don’t remember where I went, but it was somewhere peaceful. Reiki in the middle of a bustling Sunday market is an interesting, almost out of body experience. There was no escaping the excited conversations of serendipitous reconnection, live music and optimism of people basking in the sunshine. Even the wind demanded my attention as it swirled around the gazebo, squirming through the thin netting curtains that provided little privacy. I closed my eyes not to escape, but to focus.

My energy had been depleted lately and I needed to reset. In nature, winter is a time of hibernation. When some animals go to sleep to conserve energy, especially when food is scarce. A season to wait out the cold and make plans for spring. It’s been quite the opposite for me - July and August have been my busiest yet (in the Southern Hemisphere, winter is in the middle of the year here). I scored a chance to travel and perform poetry around the North Island with C.R. Avery’s NZ Tour. With performances in Rotorua, Hastings, Hamilton and Waiheke Island, it was pretty dope for someone who has never gigged before. My chapbook, “Stories from my bunk bed and other feelings' found its way into the hands of a select few - a limited print run that quickly sold out. August finished off with a bang with an invitation to perform at Rhymes and Lyrics in Mount Maunganui on National Poetry Day 2023. If winter is the deep sleep to rejuvenate the soul, then spring is the friend with a glowing tan, fresh from a tropical holiday.

The river after the storm

I'm turning 40 this year.

It feels surreal to be saying that. One thing's for sure, I've been living a very different season since my 30th. We had a low-key celebration in the dance studio while training for a national competition. My dance crew baked a cake for me, sang an enthusiastic happy birthday, and my mum even brought some treats that kept us fuelled and motivated. It's been a few years since I was about that life. A lot of rushing around that was.

How do I plan to celebrate this milestone? I'm not sure yet, but like past birthdays since I turned 36, I hope it's somewhere near the mountains.

The invisible strand: What does connection mean to me?

Ngahaka has a great smile - the kind that lights up a room without taking away the shine from yours. We both work for the Council, but don’t really cross paths professionally. Thinking about it, I had mostly spoken to her at waiata (singing) on Friday mornings. We were on a three-day noho marae together last week, and I felt like it was the first time I really ‘saw’ her.

Over the years, I’ve become comfortable having deep life conversations with total strangers in my search for connection. Beats talking about the weather anyway. But I also know that level of vulnerability doesn’t come easy. To open up like that requires a lot of trust - not just in the other person, but more importantly, in yourself. Once those words leave your mouth, you can’t take it back. You have to be strong enough to take what the other person offers in return. It can also take a lot of energy without giving back any in return.

The most powerful word in my vocabulary has only two letters with one syllable

What’s the most powerful word in your vocabulary? Mine only has two letters, yet it packs a punch greater than Goku’s kamehameha. One syllable that’s more definitive than a full stop. Some even say it’s bold enough to be both the answer and reason. Have you cracked it yet? No? Well, actually that’s it. The word is ‘no’.

Optimists are naturally ‘yes’ people, and I’m an eternal optimist! To an optimist, saying yes is the same anticipation a kid feels with a Kinder surprise in their hand. When you talk about ideas with me, I see it as an exciting opportunity to create possibilities. Think of it like a metaphorical door that I just can’t wait to walk through.

It’s a great tool to move you if you feel stuck in life. Don’t think, just say yes. It moves you from a space of fearing what hasn't happened yet to become the change you want to see. I said yes to facing my fear of public speaking and it brought spoken word into my life. I said yes to trusting myself, so I started solo hiking. I said yes to dating men that weren’t ‘my usual type’ and they showed me what I actually needed in a relationship to be happy. Those lessons even helped me to write my first book. Thanks guys! Each door I opened changed my trajectory like a pinball machine cracking the highest score.