Honesty

How many people do you know that are truly honest?

In my experience, most people don't tell the full truth.  Perhaps they're too afraid that they will be ostracised (after all, humans crave a sense of belonging and will do almost anything to avoid being singled out).  As a result, life is full of half-truths and mostly lies.

To be able to get through the day without losing our place in society we lie all the time.  Big lies and small lies.  For example, your boss does something you don't agree with and know is not the right thing to do but rather than say your peace you let it slide because they are in a position of power and you know you will be overruled anyway.  As such, you forgo telling the truth in order to retain a 'good working relationship'.  I have watched people seethe with frustration while others higher up the corporate ladder make poor decisions that they are unqualified to make.

Staying honest is a rare and wonderful thing. There are very few people that can be honest and maintain social connection. Our societal niceties go against telling the truth. People resort to flattery and vagaries to prevent them from having to tell the truth. Others lie to try to retain what they have or to retain others in their clutches. Some lie to cover up for something they feel ashamed about.  It can be a tiring process to attempt to separate the truths out from all the other crap that we say to each other.  As a result, we miss out on the opportunity to create real connections with the people in our lives.  Our relationships with our partners, friends, families and work colleagues suffer as a result of the little (and big) lies we spill on a daily basis.

I know I am a terrible liar.  I could never play poker.  People can see right through me when I don't tell the truth.  Yet the words spill out anyway; a conditioned response.  I say what I am expected to say but it's rarely what I actually mean.  As a result of the fact that people know that I am not telling the truth they begin not to trust me.  Or perhaps they doubt my motives.  I don't know for sure.  That's mainly because others don't tell me the truth either.

I often wonder what a world would be without lies.  I am reminded of Jim Carey in Liar Liar but I do think it's possible to maintain honesty and not hurt others.  It's harder and you need to be more selective with what you say, but it is possible.  However, as a society we generally choose the path of least resistance and elect to lie rather than find a way to tell the truth.  And do it in such a way that we don't crush others (because Jewel is right).

I have seen the fallout from dishonesty.  I have seen what can happen when people lie consistently to each other.  It's not pretty. 

Lately I have been very careful to not say things I don't truly mean.  Sometimes that means I avoid answering questions and, by default, give my position away.  Sadly this is because I have buried the truth so deep that I honestly don't know what it is anymore. 

I have come to the realisation that without honesty I am a mere shell of the person I once was.  I remember the me I used to be and want to get back to her.  I like who I used to be - someone full of fun, adventure and cheekiness; a stubborn but honest, firm but kind; daring but responsible, truly happy person.  It's been a slow and painful process to accept that I need to change the way I live my life in order to find happiness.  And peace.

This is a rock

I studied Forestry at uni.  We were a small group with each entry year limited to 30 students.  In addition, we were posted in a small rural town for two years of the four year degree.  As a result of interacting with each other on a frequent basis we were fortunate enough to build close friendships.  

Being an 'old' course (Forestry started in 1910), there were many traditions handed down over the years.   One such tradition was Christmas in July with Kris Kringle.  In our second year one of the guys gave a girl a river rock with a note attached stating "This is a rock.  Perhaps some of its warmth and charm will rub off on you".

Admittedly the recipient could be somewhat cold-hearted and callous but, to be fair, she was struggling through a difficult time in her life with her parents arguing a lot and on the brink of divorce; she was infavourably compared to her siblings and she was living out of home for the first time and had unrealistic expectations of her housemates.  In retrospect, I would also suggest she had an undiagnosed mental illness that affected her ability to interact with others in a socially acceptable way.  However, at the time I was not as aware of mental illness as I am now and thusly less tolerant that I perhaps should have been.

Furthermore, the giver was somewhat burnt by her teasing behaviour that probably left him feeling rejected and hard done by.

Despite the circumstances around the particular individuals involved, the gesture has stuck with me over the years and resonates strongly with me at certain times.

I like to think the best of people.  I like to give people the benefit of the doubt.  I like to forgive and forget.  Admittedly, there have been times in my life where people have overstepped boundaries and I have been unable to do any of these things and I have had to reluctantly walk away.

There was an instance recently where I really wanted to give out a rock with a similar attached message out, though.  Sometimes people just don't think about the things they say and the affect they can have.

I think our society is such that consequences for actions don't necessarily reach their natural end.  In small communities, when people are mean-spirited they are found out and generally meet with loneliness.  As such, they are forced to recognise their failings.  With the way our society works people can treat others inappropriately and there's a big enough pool of other people out there for them to be able to move on without modifying their behaviour.

Furthermore, the corporate structure means that those in power can overstep the mark and are not reprimanded for their mistreatment.  The anti-bullying policy introduced in 2009 are a step in the right direction to remedy this but cultural change always lags behind policy and it will take some time for these principals to be applied in full.

Walk it off

Somewhere in my history I was told that the solution to a problem was to "walk it off or rub some dirt on it".  I have no recollection of where that saying comes from.  I am guessing my early childhood as it has been with me for as long as I can remember.

I have always found solace and peace in walking.  It's a mundane activity that requires very little mental input and so my mind can wander and find it's place in my troubles then work through them as I plod along while "left-foot-right-foot" plays on repeat.  

I often use walking as a means for ridding myself of stress and tension; letting frustrations disappear as I pound the pavement.  I believe the reason walking is so effective is two-fold: firstly I get the time and space to look at what's bothering me and think it through and, secondly, I am blessed with an endorphin rush that makes the world look like a better place to be.

It was only recently, though, that I truly realised what the "rub dirt in it" part meant.  I had always taken the phrase to mean that you needed to toughen up; likening it to rubbing dirt into a wound and forging forward (perhaps risking infection along the way).  However, I have recently acknowledged that it's much more likely to be a reference to the benefit of reconnecting to earth.   

I have known for years about the therapeutic benefits of gardening (and have attended formal courses on the same). I am well aware of the importance of "green space" for positive mental health.  I marvel at the fact that the mental health benefits of the green space increases with increasing  biodiversity and know that's the reason people are attracted to rainforests and coral reefs.  

There's something pure and honest about digging into the earth, planting a seed and watching it grow.  The forced delayed gratification is an important component of this, I believe.  Generally speaking, with gardening you see the fruits of your labours long after you have put in the effort.  In the time between effort and reward there's generally maintenance required - weeding, watering, fertilising - but the benefits outweigh the hard work required (which is probably why the Royal Horticultural Society of Victoria lists 420 clubs in metropolitan Melbourne).  

Furthermore, there's a responsibility to care for plants if you want them to grow well, especially when working with non-indigenous varieties as is generally the case in many gardens.  This creates a connection between gardener and garden akin to owner and pet.  I believe it's this connection that provides therapy.  Knowing something else is relying on you makes you feel important and needed and gives a sense of responsibility.  I believe human nature makes us desire a sense of belonging and encourages us to form connections.  In doing so, our own problems seem less significant and more easily surmountable.

Awesome

I had the pleasure of spending the afternoon with the Gentleman Builder, Young Padawan and Little Miss at the beach over the weekend.  It was a glorious winter afternoon.  The sun was shining, there was no wind and the air had the first hints of spring.  It was purely awesome.

There are few things in life that take my breath away but the ocean is one.  There's something awe inspiring about the expanse of space and the consistency of the waves.  I love the beach in winter for the space and the lack of crowds. 

A starry night involkes similar feelings of awe for me as does a forest.  In fact, a view across a forest overlooking the ocean is the pinacle of awesomeness for me. 

This had me thinking about the effect of moment of awe on my perspective of life.  Everything feels better and looks brighter after an experience like this.  It would appear that I am not the only one - a little research shows that moments of awe actually have the effect of time slowing down and alters people's mental state.  I guess that's why people flock to the beach and why real estate is more expensive when equipped with an ocean view.

Mirror mirror

I've spent much time recently pondering the vagaries of self image and the connection between self image and self worth. In our body-obsessed culture, it is hard to escape the media attention placed on the perfect body.  Despite the fact that few people are genetically blessed to have the capacity to achieve what our society defines as a "perfect" body; those of us that hold a full time job simply don't have the time to hone our outer vessels into something society accepts as perfect.

In fact, the preferred body shape for women has not always been slim and big breasted.  The ideal women in the 1800s was fuller figured while in the 1920s women bound their breasts to achieve what I can only term a boyish figure.

Personally, I have struggled to obtain a 'perfect' body since my early teens.  I have been known to skip dessert, whine over my muffin top and refuse to wear a two-piece in summer.  I frequently feel inferior around my fellow women who always appear to me as skinnier, more toned, less hairy and generally better looking than I could ever dream to be.   However, I consider myself lucky to not have succumbed to the pressure to achieve such an elusive goal through eating disorders or obsessive exercise (perhaps I lack the necessary dedication to the cause or perhaps I just like food too much and am not willing to give up chocolate pudding in order to have a flat stomach).

Styling advice abounds on how to dress according to your body shape.  Some people, like the infamous Trinny and Susannah, have made this pursuit their profession and have made shapewear a household term.  I recall one bridesmaid experience where a member of the bridal party was aghast that I would attend the wedding day without tummy trimming underwear, especially when I had carried two children.  Amazed by this, I did a quick survey of the rest of the bridal party and some of the guests at the wedding and found that I truly was a freak.  So much for donning sexy lacy underwear for a special occasion!  I was shocked that these women, almost all of whom were younger than me and not mothers would feel the need to squeeze themselves into uncomfortable, restrictive and, to my mind, unflattering underwear in order to look a little more toned in their frock.

It's possibly no surprise to hear my reaction to a sub-30 year old friend who recently had botox on her forehead and dermal filler for her lips.  I was floored.  Not only did it look like she had been subjected to an encounter with a hive of angry bees, she'd paid $700 for the privilege of spending a weekend with an ice pack on her lips.  To top it off, she's now committed to going every quarter for repeat treatments.  I look at that and equate the money she's spending to have a smooth forehead and fuller lips with an annual holiday and I know which one I would choose!

But on a grander scale, I am saddened to think that a woman in her 20s is so upset with the way she looks (and how she is perceived by those around her) that she willingly injects neurotoxins into her body.  And she's not the only one.  Botox is increasingly popular with 1.5 million injections delivered to Australians in 2010.  We spend billions every year on treatments to seemingly halt the aging process.  It's the plastic fantastic phase.

I am relieved to know that there is an upsurgence against the body obsession with some governments banning advertising (and airbrushing) that portrays unhealthy bodies and rare journalists reporting on the perceived strength of media to manipulate women and the torture they put their bodies under. 

I have, over the last few decades, come to realise how much more important my actions are than how I look.  I like the reflection in the mirror more on the days where I have done something for myself or for someone I love, regardless of the wrinkles and imperfections.  My children care not for my orange peel thighs but love that I will play with them on the swings or attempt to amuse them with handstands and failed attempts at round-offs.  My friends don't know if I move from a size 8 to a size 10 but appear to like that I deliver dessert when I visit.  And I am guessing my husband prefers black lace over nude shapewear too, even if there is bulging of skin here and there.

I feel better on the days where I exercise.  The endorphins help me ward of stress from work and living away from my family during the week and I get some fresh air and outdoor time which I love.  Ideally my exercise would be in the sunshine but even a walk in the rain in the dark of pre-dawn sets me up for a happier day than I would have ordinarily had.

For me, it has taken a long time to get to this point.  I have put in a lot of work to be able to turn against the media pressure to look a certain way.  Some days I still fail. 

Perhaps I am a freak but I like to think that women are smarter than society gives them credit for.  I'd like to think that women would make a conscious decision to live a healthy life, an authentic life.  One where they are comfortable in their own skin.  A life where they eat food, mostly plants, not too much (Michael Pollan); exercise and get enough rest.  But, to butcher the lyrics of Carly Rae Jepson, call me crazy.

Natural building products

I've mentioned this before but it continually amazes me how hard it is to source natural building products.  The latest is natural paint.  We have tried making our own casein paint with limited success.  The volumes needed, however, have forced us to seek alternatives.

It's relatively easy to find truly natural, zero VOC (volatile organic compound) paint in the UK.  There's  Earth Born, Bioshield and Ecotec Natural Paint.  But we struggled to find suppliers of these paints in Australia and the weight (and wait) involved in shipping from Europe made them an inviable option.

There's the less natural option of  Volvox that is available in Oz but we were firm on the need for paint with no VOCs so kept looking.

There is method behind the madness.  The high vapor pressure of volatile organic compounds (VOCs) is caused by a low boiling point, which means that large numbers of molecules evaporate and are discharged into the air at ordinary room temperatures.  One VOC in paint is formaldehyde which is colourless but has a pungent, irritating odour and is a known carcinogen (i.e. it causes cancer).  Now, I am not one to look kindly on deliberately installing products in my home that are likely to cause my family ill health.  Ergo, the need to find paint with no VOCs.

So, we continued on our quest and eventually contacted the lovely staff, Hartmut and Elke, from the Natural Paint Company, based in Port Macquarie New South Wales, and managed to purchase some brilliant natural paint and vega primer from them.

The paint that we purchased is casein marble paint, such as was used by the ancient Egyptians in 1300BC.

The vega undercoat dries clear.

The casein marble paint goes on clear

and dries white.

Best of all, there is no smell. 

The paint comes in powder form and is mixed with a drill bit attachment.  The best bit about the paint is that we made an oil-based version for use in the bathroom and on the roof in the kitchen as it is much more water resistant.  To ensure the paint is still white once the oil has been added (we used tung oil but for a cheaper option safflower oil can be used) we purchased some titanium white pigment to include in the oil paint.  For the walls and roof in the bathroom we used about 30% oil.  We plan to make a richer oil-based paint for the windows.

Busyness

I've already spoken of switched on living and reflective practices that, I believe, are fundamental to living a full life.  I've touched on authenticity and living organically; true to yourself and your ideals.  An overlay on all of this is the pressure to be busy.  I see so many people that have back-to-back activites - Monday is netball, on Tuesday there's gym, Wednesday is social night, Thursday partner night and Friday the kids get taken to McDonalds and the weekend in punctuated with appointments and gatherings.  I see people rushing through life - doing what I can only describe as "stuff".  The time they spend bustling around in the morning and evening after work does not seem to generate anything.  It's just activity (see the eloquent writing of Tim Kreider). 

There are so many people rushing around all the time .  And, most of the time, I am one of them.  My days in Melbourne are punctuated with long hours in the office, catch ups with much-neglected friends and desperate attempts to squeeze in some form of physical activity.  In amongst all that I try to make meals for the family for the following week, plan further education for myself and the kids and collect supplies for the build.  Weekends are spent building the house, catching up on washing and cleaning at home, paying bills and caring for children. 

I can cope with this current level of busyness as, I hope, it's a short-term gig for us.  I took a job in Melbourne to pay for the build; so I can see The Gentleman Builder's childhood dream come true; so I can provide a better life for my gorgeous children and so I can spend some time with my terminally ill father, my family and my friends that I haven't spent much time with since moving to Gippsland 5 years ago.  I have a brilliant job that I really love and get to work with some exceptionally talented, interesting and stimulating people.

But I freely admit this is not the end for me.  My plans do not live a life where I am away from my family.  My goal is to settle into country living.  Not the idealised country life where everything is scones and leisurely walks (though I do plan to include those things in abundance) but the reality of country life; where I will get stuck into the seasonality of life.  A life where we will fertilise and plant furiously in the spring to be able to harvest in the autumn.  Where activity comes in bursts interspersed with moments, days I hope, of nothingness.  Where, should the weather be fine and the wind be weak, I could choose a good book from the shelf and settle into the hammock to soak up some vitamin D and get lost in another world.  I dream of a life where I could decide to pick up the camera and take photos all day.  I envisage our block set up with sheep, goats, pigs, chooks, geese and ducks; where the flowers grow in abundace and I spend many long hours enjoying the view.  I hope for a life that is reflective, honest and peaceful.  A life that is overflowing with fresh organic produce for long lunches and dinners with friends that feed both the stomach and the soul. 

I dream of, even crave, times of hard work - I am not averse to work; even in abundance.  But I believe work should be followed by rest.  Time to relect on life.  Time to share thoughts and ideas with others; time to soak up sunshine; time to let the wind blow through your hair and take your troubles away; time to just be.