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.

Why I have struggled to write happy poetry

When people ask me about my poetry, I say that I’m a ‘sometimes poet’. Yes, I write poetry, even perform them from time to time, yet I’ve never committed to it enough to improve my craft. The words sort of just fell out. I feel like some of my best writing came from a woman who was angry, self-loathing and lacked direction, even if I was always on the move. Think of the impact Alanis Morissette’s ‘Jagged Little Pill’ album had on the 90s woman. She gave you an anthem for unspoken bitterness and a voice for the scorned lover.

These days, I’m more grounded and have learned to focus my energy better. My relentless questioning of what is possible has taken me up incredible mountains, swimming in glacial lakes, and listening to life stories of fascinating strangers. Even better, I can say that I’m finally happy where I’ve landed in life. When I got back into poetry slam last year (my first in three years), I wanted to write poetry that reflected the changed woman who came back from Perú. I felt like a butterfly tentatively waking up from its cocoon. It was interesting to discover that even though I felt I had let go of so much already, it was much harder to break the muscle memory of my writing.

For five years I was a woman on a journey - walking away her sadness after the traumatic end of a relationship. Writing and sharing those adventures was cathartic because it gave me something tangible to focus on. Writing made me experience nature at a much greater depth - words flowed because I was more present, more open to be affected by what I was experiencing at that moment.

How I found peace in a global pandemic

When crossing rivers, the first thought should always be, “Do I need to get my boots wet? Can I see a safer and easier way to cross?” I feel like the last two years have been one bloody long river crossing. As each of us do our best to navigate through these weird times, one thing’s for sure, we’re so far down the river that whatever awaits us on the other side, there’s no going back. The ‘new normal’ just becomes, well, normal.

There were plenty of times that the river looked calm and getting my boots wet didn’t seem so bad. I remember the days when wearing masks was a fashion accessory more than a necessity. Videos of Six60’s massive summer concerts in New Zealand beamed across the world and jaws dropped. Apart from a couple of lockdowns, my life pretty much went on as usual until the last six months.

As the Omicron community cases kept climbing at the start of the year, we could see the waters start to get murkier by the day. Even though we had watched the rest of the world experience our current reality, there was so much we as a country had to figure out on our own too. The river wasn’t only just rising, it was in flood.

© 2015 Five Foot Ronna

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