Deciduous Heart

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I think I have a deciduous heart.

According to Wikipedia, deciduous means “falling off at maturity” or “tending to fall off”, and it is typically used in order to refer to trees or shrubs that lose their leaves seasonally (most commonly during autumn) and to the shedding of other plant structures such as petals after flowering or fruit when ripe. In a more general sense, deciduous means “the dropping of a part that is no longer needed” or “falling away after its purpose is finished”. In plants it is the result of natural processes.

Hmmm. I might just have to stop and read that again.

The dropping of a part that is no longer needed.

Falling away after its purpose is finished.

That’s got to be about more than just leaves, right? That’s got to be about the soul too. Maybe it’s a deciduous soul thing, rather than a deciduous heart thing. Whatever it is, it’s a metaphor I can dig.

Maybe this is what #theviewfrom48 is all about? I wrote about the view here and even though I haven’t written much more about it, I have been thinking a lot about the where, why, who and what of being me. That’s nothing new for me, it’s a theme I return to often, and gladly.

It feels right for me to regularly take stock, because I think it serves me well to be mindful about my life, to look at what’s working, what is no longer needed, and to observe what’s fallen away.

Change can be so incremental that you barely notice it, and it can sometimes feel immensely unexpected and violent, leaving you reeling. I’ve known both types of change.

The things that I have let go off, that have fallen away, are as important, if not more important, than the things I’ve collected and added over the years.

I’ve let go of fears – that I wasn’t enough, that I was broken, that I was damaged goods.

I’ve let go of the idea that another person can complete me.

I have let concern about what others say about me fall away.

I have joyfully let go of living by others’ expectations.

I’ve shed plenty of leaves, heck, I’ve dropped branches.

And the falling leaves are beautiful. And the branches make great firewood.

Living isn’t about what we’re sold, or what we accumulate.

It’s about growing, and it is about letting go.

I’m growing.

I’m letting go.

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That’s the thing with seasons, they don’t just happen out there, in nature.

They happen to us, in us. We all experience seasons of ease, of change, of growth, of barrenness, of renewal.

I think the thing I’ve learned is not to fight that. I’m still learning that.

That’s the beauty of having a deciduous heart.

Autumn leaves aren’t afraid to fall.

I don’t want to be afraid to fall either.

I’m going to keep looking up,

Annette x



The Curiosity Show

Hello 2016! 

How are you? I hope you have been able to take enough time off from your 9 to 5 to relax and forget what day of the week it is. That’s the best thing about holidays I reckon, having no idea if it’s Wednesday or Saturday. I miss those days already!

I’ve been thinking about time, reflections, resolutions and intentions. I wonder how we became so hard-wired to hit the reset button every three hundred and sixty something days. Just FYI, 2016 is a leap year, so all those memes floating around about the next 365 days of awesome have been making me especially twitchy. 

I’ve been reading about people’s hopes for this year on social media, from decluttering to diets, to doing more of what makes you happy or less of what’s expected. 

Will this be your best year ever? Honestly, I don’t know. It’s worth a crack, if you can manage not to turn your resolve/desire into a yoke around your neck. 

A lot of people seem to be moving away from resolutions, and choosing a single word to express their intentions for the remaining 356 days of the year. I’m not sure if I think that’s more than semantics, but hey, whatever floats your boat, right? 

As I read more blog posts and Facebook soliloquies about setting intentions, I began to wonder if I could distill things down to a single word. I don’t think I change tack drastically on an annual basis, so that aspect of it doesn’t appeal to me. I don’t need to pivot from one annual goal to another, that’s not how I roll. 

I pondered, came up empty, and moved on. No biggie. 

Yesterday, I went to the library, and as I scanned the shelves and picked out books on botanical art, the sun, planets and the universe, and artists I want to know more about, I realised that I could pick a word that describes me, rather than my annual intention, with ease. 


I’m curious. 

Of course, I’m other things too, but I think curious is an over-arching descriptor I’m comfortable with. 

I’ve always been a “why is the sky blue?” kind of person. I read the answer again yesterday, it’s something about lightwaves or blue being god’s fave colour or something super technical. 

I love questions. 

I’m a wonderer. 

Right now, I’m sitting in my house, on a planet that’s spinning around a fiery star that is millions of kilometres away. How the heck does that work? 

As I read about the sun and orbit paths and how many moons Jupiter has yesterday, I wrote this down: 

        SO MUCH IS GOING ON RIGHT NOW to keep us alive. 

           That’s a BIG thought – a source of WONDER.

Dry, scientific answers don’t quash my curiousity/curiosity**. The facts don’t rob me of wonder. 

Trees and blue skies and skittish clouds sometimes take my breath away. 

I think cameras and television signals and fax machines are magic. 

Don’t even get me started on the immediacy of the interweb! 

The way our sense of smell can transport a person through decades, that’s incredible. 

Birds flying and swooping without stacking into each other – I mean, come on, that shit is cool! 

I’m curious. 

I’m filled with wonder. 

That won’t be changing as January 1, 2017 ticks over. 

I hope it never changes. 

One way I can ensure it never changes is to feed my curiousity**. That’s why I love the library. As I stood in the reference section yesterday, my curiousity was piqued. Languages, birds and animals, flora, biology, physics, art, so many topics to explore, all within arm’s reach. 

If you think about it, everything stems from being curious. Everything. 

If someone didn’t wonder what was over the hill, or dream of sailing beyond the horizon, or ponder the seasons or plot the stars or invent electricity…. well, you wouldn’t be reading this blog, would you? 

Do you set intentions each year?

What word describes you? 

Are you curious like I am? 

Do you remember The Curiousity Show?? 

Tell me everything. 




**Now I’m curious about whether I’ve misspelt curiousity/curiosity in this post! Damn you US-centric spell check!! Which way do you spell it? 

The one about the sky

I think the cat’s out of the bag, I am obsessed with the sky. 

Shape shifting clouds, the more than 50 shades of blue, and how the sunset throws pinks and oranges and slowly morphs to deep grey as it fades to black… OB-SESSED! 


On Friday morning before work, instead of just rushing inside, I stood in the alley behind my workplace, coffee in hand, and I looked up at the vast blue sky. It made me happy. 

Happy is a good way to start the day, don’t you think? 

Anyway, I could go on and on about the sky, or I could just let it speak for itself.

I headed to the beach last night to catch the sunset and it was SUBLIME. 



I decided to throw my sketch book in my bag… 

I love how these clouds look like someone’s dragged a fork through them. 

I was thinking about the way the sky never ends as I stood and took these photos, about how even if we’re far from people we want to hug with all our might, when they look up, it’s the same sky above us all. 

Are you a sky gazer? Got a thing for clouds? Seen any great sunsets lately? Know someone who needs a hug? 

Want to get happy?

Look up. 


Annette ☁️☁️


Routine Questions

Today I’ve been pondering grown up routines, or the lack thereof, in my life.

I’m not a follow the rules/routines person. In fact, I often kick and fight against them with the ferocity of a toddler who doesn’t want to wear that top that was on high rotation last week, or eat another slice of watermelon, even though it was my most favourite thing at lunchtime. I tend to thrash about, arching my back, crying ‘No, no, no, NO!’ or ‘I do it myself!’

Sometimes though, I don’t do it myself, not if the state of my house, my finances, or dare I even type it, my fitness *cough*, are anything to go by.

Perhaps I just suck at being a grown up?

Yet, for all the kicking and screaming, I crave my own routines, I like sameness.

When I think about it, I have never liked imposed rules or authority. Ever.

Well, that’s not entirely true. There was that brief, or not so brief, decades long dance where I tried so, so, so hard to find all the rules of christianity (version whoknowswhatpoint.0) and live exactingly by them, which of course I failed miserably at.

Never mind that I couldn’t get it right, I somehow ended up as the rules police for anyone within cooee. The saddest thing about it all was that I was surrounded by numerous people who thought that the best, most loving, most follow the rules-y way to get someone else to live by the rules was to restrict, to monitor, to judge, to enforce ‘accountability’ – so I became one of those super helpful,  but actually the antithesis of everything good you allegedly believe in types.


I’m mortified by some of the things I did, said and believed in those days. Mortified.

And worst of all, we were so wrong about so much of it.

My attempts to live right finally came crashing down around my ears, when one day at bible college (there’s so much I have yet to tell you) I realised, excuse my French, that fuck me sideways, I was in love with the RULES and not the Big Man Upstairs.


Utterly, terrifyingly thunderstruck.

I loved the (perceived) black and white, the definite, the do list and the don’t list, and the layers of self-righteousness I had slathered myself in over the years were revealed in that one moment, and it was, well… sickening. My world fell apart.

So, the whole follow the rules for Jesus thing hasn’t really been that successful. No gold star (or halo) for me.


Fast forward a good decade or so and I’m still pondering routines and rules, though they’re more broad societal expectations these days. What does it mean to be a 47 year old adult, without many commitments outside of myself? How should I live?

The thing is, I get that routine isn’t the enemy. It’s just a thing, a tool, a way of being in the world that helps people stay on top of all the stuff.

But I don’t have that much stuff to juggle.

No kids to ferry to 17 different extra-curricular activities a week, no community-based save the trees/lemurs/parks committees to attend, no date night to squeeze in around my busy career, meal planning, all the ferrying and worrying about keeping all the plates spinning.

So why can’t I get my shit together and get organised?

Or is that the wrong question?

Better still, what does that even mean? To have my shit together… I’m not sure I know. Do you?

Should I be a meal-planning, outfits laid out the night before, of course I have a savings plan, thrice weekly gym-going kind of girl?

Do I want to be that girl? Could I be? Is that inherently better?

I don’t know.

I don’t.

Maybe the single life has allowed me to skip over some of the ‘get your shit together’ stuff that being a grown up seems to require.

But being a grown up isn’t simply a matter of maturing, marrying and raising a family, is it?

It isn’t just about having a mortgage, or laying your younger self’s dreams aside to work in a ‘safe’ job until we retire.

Well, it is that to a lot of people, to varying degrees, but those things aren’t the core realities in my life.

Even though single person households are on the rise like never before, there is still a sense of being outside the mainstream as an older single person.

I am an unencumbered adult.

I guess the first thing most people think about being single (aside from maybe thinking it isn’t ideal) is that it means I can do whatever I want, whenever I want. Sounds great doesn’t it?

Mostly, I do just that, whatever I want, without having to negotiate with anybody. I want to be at home, watching TV, painting, writing my blog, reading a book, and eating copious amounts of chocolate. So that’s what I do.

I go to work because I have to, not because I want to. I mean, some days it’s enjoyable, but mostly it’s about that hourly rate, paying the rent and then getting out of there. It’s not always like that, but it is the season I’m in.

And it definitely means I want to wear a bra as little as possible outside of those working hours. Done.

The solo grown up life means I can live a life free of a lot of routines. Is that the best choice though? The jury’s still out.

Single adult life means self-reliance, which is something I’m proud of, but which can also be scary.

It means standing alone, but needing a community.

Maybe it is just an inescapable part of human nature – we default to measuring our worth by external things, by comparisons, and quietly (or not so quietly) tut-tutting when others don’t walk the same path. We wear our badges: married, single, parent, careerist… and in some ways those badges help us navigate our way through. I think they also serve as roadblocks. We may see what we don’t have in common before we see what we do have. For instance, just because I’m not a mum and you are, doesn’t mean we couldn’t be great friends. I feel that roadblock every now and then, and it makes me sad.

It could be the same for you. I don’t know. I don’t think I’m the only one that sometimes feels these things.

Perhaps I can meal-plan or schedule my way out of these bigger questions…. or perhaps, in some cases, all that organising, scheduling, ferrying, and planning is a way of avoiding things too.

Can you have your life honed to a routine that runs like a Swiss watch, and still not have your shit together? Most likely.

In the same way, all my lack of routine could be something that holds me back. What from, I’m not entirely sure.

All this questioning. I need a nap.

It’s definitely something I do though, and mostly enjoy, even if the questions prick me a little as I ponder them.

Perhaps that should be my blog’s tagline? I Give You The Verbs: asking questions since forever.

But I think questions are a good place to start, don’t you?

It may not lead me to any immediate action, but it has lead me here, to writing, which is one of the ways I get my thoughts in order. Then they swirl around some more, like the un-attended dust bunnies under my non-routinely vacuumed couch.

What do you think?

Are you a routines person?

What works for you?

What does being a grown up mean? Are we there yet?

I’d love to know what you think about routines and labels, how you navigate the choppy waters of adult life.


Annette x









Have to believe we are magic…

That buzzy feeling when you finish a great book is upon me. The feeling that there’s magic in the air. That anything’s possible.

I want to run instantly to a book club meeting where I can discuss all the nuances and share the ‘me too!’ light bulb moments with other readers.

I’m not in a book club at the moment, so I’ve run here to my blog to share my thoughts, not only on this particularly fabulous book, but on some of the themes I see in it as they relate to being creative, and more broadly, as they relate to living a full, satisfying life.

Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert is the book I’ve just closed, and it’s left me with plenty to ponder. I laughed out loud, agreed out loud, and I was surprised and delighted by what I read. I recognised myself in Liz’s words and that gives me such hope. I am living a creative life. And I even stopped myself from writing ‘perhaps’ at the start of that sentence. Victory is mine!

Liz writes about creativity in such a refreshingly down to earth way, while acknowledging the mysteriously otherworldly aspect of being a creative person. She acknowledges that creating is a task that requires work; it’s not like finished paintings, books, songs, sculptures just fall out of the sky. Creating is a cooperative process.

This got me thinking about the internal forces that are at work when we try to create, or even just get through the day; not leaving ourselves last on the list, or worse still, not even putting ourselves on the list of people, things and tasks that require our attention and love.

Why is it so ingrained in us, that self-care is selfish?

Seriously, I want you to think about that for a minute. It’s something I think about often.

What a ridiculous, not to mention debilitating double standard, especially for women, and especially it seems, for mothers, that the job description can seem nothing more than loving slave to the needs of others. I’m not denigrating the acts of service that mothers, and women generally perform, but I think it’s high time to question this notion that everybody else in your immediate reach is more deserving of your time, love and many skills and gifts than you are.

This discussion could go in a million different directions right now, but the one that seems to be waving its arms at me most is the notion of needing permission.

We seem to have become trapped by the idea that we require permission from someone else, whether that’s from society, or our husbands, or something we read, or our best friend, or a book or a blog post, or a pithy meme on Instagram, just somewhere, anywhere, other than within our own minds and hearts, to proclaim: Hear ye, hear ye, I grant thee permission not to think more lowly of thyself than any other living creature.

That permission might relate to making taking time to catch up with a friend for coffee regularly, or take a painting class, or go to the gym, or simply say no to doing every single thing that needs doing around the house, as if nobody else has any capacity to pick up a towel or unpack a dishwasher or help with dinner, or even, dare I even suggest it, just to do NOTHING AT ALL for a few hours on a weekend.

Why is that?

Why do we struggle to give ourselves permission to simply be or to do something that feeds our souls rather than our schedules?

It may not be something I can sum up with four bullet points at the end of a blog post, in fact, I know it isn’t, but it is a topic that I really want to start a conversation around. This pervasive, false idea that we have to wait for someone else, someone out there, someone that isn’t us, to grant us permission to do, well heck, anything… it’s poisonous.

Any of this ringing any bells with anyone?

I could be off on a loopy solo expedition here, and that’s okay, but I don’t think I am. I see and hear people struggling with this, all too often.

To mangle a well known saying, who died and made someone else the captain of your soul?

It’s YOUR soul, and it’s a treasure you should protect and nurture with equal, if not surpassing ferocity, to the ways you nurture those around you.

If this were a four bullet point kind of post, which isn’t my thing, I’d be listing some points right now.

The first would be that I know, from my own experience that turning off the messages that tell us that self-care is selfish isn’t a simple thing. Not at all.

What permissions am I alluding to here? All of them.

Permission to challenge ideas you’ve held on to since childhood about who you are, what you’re worth and how you allow people to treat you, they’ve got to face the music.

Permission not to question your choices or downplay your smarts. Who does that serve? Certainly not you.

Permission to define yourself as more than who you are in relation to others – whether that’s as someone’s partner, mother, sister, friend, daughter, even as a great {insert career choice here}. And before you send any angry emails, I am not denigrating any of those roles. They are all important and worthwhile, but they are not who you are.

You are YOU.

Can you describe yourself without those relational ties? (Again, it’s not that those ties aren’t important, I’m absolutely not saying that here.)

Try it. Go on, you know you want to! Or maybe you don’t and it feels icky.  To me, that’s even more reason to give it a go.

I am…. now think of a few things about yourself and rattle them off in your head. Were they about who you are, on the inside, or were they about functions you perform? It’s okay, it takes practice.

I am…

Here’s what comes to my mind:

I am creative.

I am fiercely anti-authoritarian.

I am making my own way in the world.

I am smart.

I am funny.

I am stubborn.

I am listing too many things!

Did I always have a list like this on the tip of my tongue? No, I did not.

But somewhere along the way, in increments so small you could hardly measure them, I began to give myself permission to explore things I believed were set in stone, things I believed about myself, about my place in the world, things I had told myself and felt had been reinforced about who I was, at the very core of my personhood… and then shazam, just like that, I fell deeply in love with myself, all my problems disappeared and I got swept up by a dashing prince and lived happily ever after.

Um. No, not quite. Let’s try that again.

… and then I cried so hard, from such a deep well within myself, that I thought I might break in two.

I can still feel that moment in time. It is beyond description. I know some of you know that place too.

And then I ran away from it. Over and over and over again.

But the idea that I could be wrong, about things I believed were as certain as gravity, lured me back. That curiosity began what I believe will be a lifelong practice of thinking, pondering, wrestling, changing, creating new boundaries, speaking up instead of staying silent, and of appreciating, liking and yes, loving, who I am. Just me. As I am, right now.

Not when I lose 5 (or *cough* 30) kilos, not when I find a man, or have a cushy bank balance, not once I have the ‘dream job’ or ferret out and rid myself of the dark places in my soul, not when someone else tells me I’m ‘there’… just as I am, right now. Typing this in my pjs.

This is my Big Magic. This is the magic that I wish, above all other things that I could actually, literally sprinkle on your soul.

But I can’t, because if I did I’d be just another external voice granting ‘permission’, so I bash out words on this laptop and I put my trust in forces greater than myself, that someone, maybe just a handful of you, maybe only YOU, are the person who needs to read these incomplete thoughts today, or when you find this blog post a week from now, or five years from now.

And even though I want this for you so, so, so, so much, I don’t (I can’t) write with the hope of changing or saving anyone, I write for my own heart, to celebrate the freedom I have now, that I once didn’t have. It’s the most precious thing in my life.

This is unfurling itself as my life’s passion I think… more and more I see it in my conversations with people, in my interactions when I’m out here online, we are people whose hearts are maybe a little bruised, or smooshed, or boarded up in an attempt to protect them, and we are people who are on the road to freedom, hearts filling up, shining and sharing our light with others.

And that’s why I chose to title this post a line from a cheesy ONJ song, because I do believe we are magic. I am, and you are.

So, sister-traveller, grant yourself permission. You’ve had the power within you all along.

Big, big love,

Annette xxx


I’d love to hear from you on this topic… please keep the conversation going in the comments, or send me an email.

Danger! Words Falling

Or, How to use your words and not get in a virtual punch-up.

Or, How to ask a question in a conversation without it being interpreted as defensive.

Or, How to count to three before becoming defensive and typing something you’ll regret.

Or, Use Your Words! (a refresher course for grown ups).

So many words, so many ways to use them.

Lately it seems that there’s been a spate of word wars going on – from the national level all the way down to the whispery back alleys of Facebook Messenger. Is it the weather? Do we all just need a bit of sunshine? I’m not sure.

I’ve been ruminating on the whys and wherefores, while I’ve dodged missives, and read posts about people feeling misunderstood, and found myself wondering about intent and purpose in some of the words I’ve been reading. We often talk about the new landscape we’re in, the digital world, that our kids are growing up as digital natives, while dinosaurs like me remember using a manual typewriter for some of the tasks in my first job.

I wonder if we need to form a whole new etiquette around how to interact online. Actually, I don’t wonder, I know we need it.

Rule no. 1 seems a pretty good one – Don’t be a dick.

But what about Rules 2 – 286? Who is writing those, and how do we agree on what’s acceptable and what’s not? (I know blogs are supposed to be useful, but I don’t think I’ll actually be able to tie this one neatly up before I have to get ready for work today. It’s a start though!)

What I’d like to do, with my words, is start a conversation about online civility. Eek, how totally old school is that?

Let’s start with an example around the Adam Goodes furore that’s caused a lot of heated words to be exchanged.

A blogger I like and follow was talking about this topic on her Facebook page last week. She was saying that some people react very strongly to any statements about Australia being a racist country. The observation was made that if you react strongly, it’s possible (read that word carefully) that it is because the accusation stings, that perhaps booing Goodes isn’t just about the nature of sport or ‘Australian tradition’ or whatever else you want to call it, it’s a demonstration of what is perhaps a sadly unconscious level of racism at play in the general population. I’m only using this as an example, let’s keep that in mind.

Of course, that started a long conversation with people chiming in with their points of view, myself included. Then someone else that I ‘know’ online replied to my comment, and I didn’t understand what she meant. I read and re-read her words but couldn’t work out her intent.

I knew right then that I could go one of two ways. I could get all huffity and assume (a very important word in the online world) that she was perhaps saying my response fell into the ‘she protests too much’ category – which seemed at odds with my other interactions with her – or I could ask her a question about what she’d written.

I took the latter route, asked a question, and by morning, clarification ensued! I didn’t need to be offended or start badmouthing her, or the blogger that started the conversation, I just needed to stop, think about whether the comment seemed in character and then ask a question. I hesitated before I did it, I don’t mind telling you. I did not want to get into a fight!

Have you noticed that asking a question on line is much harder than it is in real face to face, or voice to voice conversation? I have.

There’s something about typing, say, ‘What do you mean?’ that seems, well, a bit snarky or possibly rude. Toneless mediums are vastly different to the other ways we are used to communicating, and I think sometimes we forget that we can’t see the person’s face or hear the inflection in their words or read their body language, and that those things play a huge part in how we receive words. This can cause us to assume a defensive posture, when there’s absolutely no need for it.

Lightbulb moment, what if this is just me, and everyone else is happily asking questions online and getting through life merrily?? Say it isn’t so!!

I think it’s a thing though.

I reckon we don’t quite know yet, how to actually have conversations online, to have discussions and dialogues. I think we’ve become very good at tap-tap-tapping I THINK THIS. And depending on where we hang out online, it just sits out there, or other like minded people read it and hit the like button, or tap back, me too, isn’t it great!

Where I would love to grow, as an new citizen in the digital world, is in asking questions and in receiving questions without a single frown line or grimace or huffity-huff micro-response. I can manage that when I’m face to face with people (mostly), so I really think it’s a skill that’s transferrable.

Online communication, lightning fast as it is, also takes more patience and practice.

One of my major goals for I Give You The Verbs – world domination aside – is to create a genuinely interactive space, where questions are welcomed, where respectful, lively conversation goes on, where my awesome reader pals help each other out, and (politely, privately) even set me straight when I need it.

I don’t know about you, but spaces online that promote inclusive, engaged, inquisitive chat are the places I want to be.

It’s one of the big items on my check list for following a blog; how much conversation flows, how I feel when I read it and whether I think about what’s been written later on. Is that blog a good-for-me space? A space that builds me (and others) up and makes me see the world as connected rather than disconnected? Do the readers treat each other with kindness? Am I sometimes challenged by what I read? If that blog was a dinner party, would I be texting under the table, or fully engaged in the conversation around me?

I think we can all agree on Rule 1 of online etiquette: Don’t be a dick.

Anyone want to offer up rule 2, 3 or 4?

I’d love to hear what you think about online civility and asking questions.

Have you ever misunderstood someone online, or been misconstrued?

Do you ask questions online? Tell me everything!

Here’s to learning how to navigate this terrain together, and to being each other’s teachers and cheerleaders as we go.


Annette x




Blue skies and gutters

Some days are kinda crazy making aren’t they? 

Demanding bosses, deadlines, kids to feed and ferry about, traffic jams, spreadsheets that freeze, unexpected bills or just “wrong side of the bed” days… nobody is immune to these, much as we might wish to be. 

Yesterday was a crap day for me. Stressful, tiring, and aggravating. I cried in the car on the way home. I felt, in that moment, just FED UP with things, not massive life-altering things, but just annoying, joy-sapping, nipping at my heels stuff. 

Ugh. I bore myself even typing that, but as the great sage once said – shit happens. 

What to do? 

Well last night, I applied a raft of balms – tears, KFC, chocolate, and a bit of in-car ranting and swearing. 

Later in the evening I applied creativity, which is much better for me. 

Today was better, but those niggling things are still there, stridently demanding my attention. It’s so easy for those things to take up my whole filed of vision. I’m not the only one that happens to, right? 

As I got out of my car this afternoon, I looked up. 


That’s the answer some days, isn’t it? 

Look up. 

We are all under this vast blue sky – all of us, whether we’re having a run of the mill day, a moderately challenging day or a great day. We are all the same. All under the same sky, even if it isn’t blue where you are. 

So, look up. 

Then start counting. 

It’s something I try and do often – count my blessings. I know that this can seem super-trite in the face of genuinely ongoing shit times, sad times, times of loss and illness, so I’m not at all comparing a shit day at work with those things. Not at all. 

I just wanted to share what struck me today when I looked up at that amazing blue sky, and then grabbed my camera and took this photo. 

There’s this awe inspiring sky… so vast and such a delightful shade of blue, there are fluffy clouds and there’s the edge of my house and some manky guttering and rotting wood. 

What’s going to be the focus? I get to choose that. We all do. 

I could crop the gutter out of the shot, showing only blue sky, but that’s not the whole picture. 

I could crop out the sky and focus on this poorly maintained corner of my house – which reminds me that the walls feel wet after it rains and the plaster is breaking at the seams. Again, not the whole picture. 

It’s both, just like life.  Blue skies and gutters.  

Which do you see? 

Which will you choose? 

What we see, and what we choose to focus on, is so important. 

I hope you choose the sky. 

I do. 


Annette x