P.S. I love you.

“You look like you’re dancing,” that’s what my friend John told me after he took that shot. Whose great idea was it to walk barefoot in the middle of the road anyway? Oh, it was mine...damn it. We were only 15 minutes into the shoot and my feet were already sore from the loose stones on the road. There was nothing graceful as I scuttled out of the way from oncoming traffic. That’s why when I decided to no longer teach hip hop at the end of 2020, I knew that I wanted to take up belly dancing again.

He was right, I was dancing. For some reason Cold Chisel’s “Flame Trees” began to play in my head like that nostalgic radio you keep in the shed. The kind that collects dust for years, waiting faithfully for you to appreciate that familiar crackle as you turn the knob to tune it into the right frequency.

Dance and I have had an all-consuming relationship for most of my adult life - to be honest, I think that says more about my slightly obsessive nature. It’s well and truly imprinted in who I am. But there’s no denying that it has shaped me as a woman. That’s why when I decided to no longer teach hip hop at the end of 2020, I knew that I wanted to take up belly dancing again.

I went speed dating once…actually, twice now.

I went speed dating once...actually, I’ve been twice now. Both in Whakatāne in fact. Seems like this adventurous spirit tends to find its away in other parts of my life these days. Now, speed dating in a small town is not as awkward as you may think, but one thing’s for sure: You will see someone you know, like a friend’s ex-husband or a student’s dad. “You look really familiar, how do I know you?” Three minutes of chit-chat later and turns out he was my neighbour from down the road. How convenient. Unfortunately, he was also my parents’ age.

If you have no clue what I’m talking about, speed dating is pretty simple. It’s a meet and greet event for singles - they try to have equal numbers of men and women in set age groups. I was in the 31-40 bunch. Yay for me. Each ‘date’ lasts between 3-5 minutes, you do your best to ask them slightly more meaningful questions beyond their favourite fruit, and if you’re lucky, maybe spark a connection. When time’s up you decide if you want to see them again or do like Beyonce…you know, to the left, to the left.

Taking a gap year in my thirties - the year after…

I came back to New Zealand a year ago today - it was a Saturday afternoon on a typical overcast day in Auckland. After spending almost a day on a plane, I was glad to be on my feet again, even if it was to wait in line at customs. The customs guy was impressed by how clean my hiking boots were and even questioned if I had even used them. I assured him that I had actually hiked several mountains with them. After fifteen minutes, I was once again officially back on New Zealand soil.

Sharing my story at Inspiring Women NZ 2020

Our lives essentially revolve around relationships - with people we care about, at work, fleeting moments with strangers, and yes, even with the style-guru at your favourite local store. I learned that the more I worked on my relationship with myself, the better I treat those relationships that actually matter to me. For the first time in my adult life, I can finally talk to my Mum with a level of honesty that gives me hope that some of the walls I’ve built over the last four years are slowly coming down.

Just Because You Can Do It All, Doesn't Mean You Should

I got sick recently, like really sick. Sick enough to end up in hospital, because it turned out that the three-day pain in my abdomen was my appendix, daring to break up with me. How can something so small cause you a whole lot of pain? Like, stepping on Lego. Or a damn prickle.

Thank goodness for free healthcare in New Zealand, aye. It’s been almost three weeks since my operation and I’m relatively pain free. There’s no longer a gingerness in each step - on the outside you can’t tell I even had an operation. But I’m not firing on all engines yet. Tiredness creeps up on me around 3pm, insisting I take a late afternoon siesta before dinner.

Feel The Fear, And Do It Anyway

Four years ago, a week after I separated from my ex-husband, I sat down and had a cuppa with my friend Steph. It was one of the last times I sat on the couch in my old house, and before she left, she gave me a big bear hug. The kind of hug that holds you until they’re sure you’re ready to let go.

I’ve spent the last four years in a constant state of transition. Healing. Learning. Growing. Actually, a hell of a lot of growing. So much so that I feel like my brain needs a de-frag to make sense of how much I’ve changed.