Dazed and Confused...

http://www.kinneybrothers.com/FLASH%20CARDS/confused.jpg

Dazed: because I haven't had to:

• wake up before 9am;
  
• use the old noggin for longer than it takes to complete a sudoku puzzle;
• act PC;
• say "hi how are you" more than twice a day;
• think about what to wear;
• think about what to eat;
• think about how to talk;
• think about what to say

for the past 7 weeks.

Confused: because against all hope:

• I got a job, and I feel a little overwhelmed.
  

Not only do I have to get my derriere, brain, mouth, manners and outfits into gear, but I don't know the faintest about the job I got myself into. Well, I do, sort of. But only what I'd overheard from my previous job. Certainly, none of it's firsthand knowledge and I feel like I have a mountain of stuff to learn before I can even hope to look like I know what I'm talking about, let alone actually feel it. Finance jargon slips back and forth like repartee between my work mates, as they debate the whys and wherefores of complainants and their loan facilities, industry rules and guidelines other stuff that I can't remember because I got lost somewhere at "Hi, how are you".

Don't worry, it's my first day, it'll get better like it always does. But I don't think I'll ever get used to how uncomfortable first days of everything always are. The forced "happy face" that is reserved entirely for occasions such as these, the fact that you need to figure out where the bathroom is, how to log on, when everyone eats lunch, where everyone eats lunch, when does everyone get in?

Having said that, it's all rather a bit of an adventure. Everyone there is really nice, young and welcoming, so I can't ask for more...and obviously, being at less than optimum brain alertness is affecting my capacity to react and act bright-eyed and bushy tailed, but that will hopefully subside by the end of the week.

Ciao fellas and bellas, hope your week is off to a more flying start than mine.

Timed to perfection...

www.thebeatles.com

Is there a way to rush for the train, get your ticket, and make your train, without looking like a mangy street cat at the end of it all? (hereafter "Mangy Streetcat's Best Friend")

In the last three days, I have found the answer, and I urge you all to follow my winning ways, so that you can spare yourself the pain, sweat and tears that comes with being Mangy Streetcat's Best Friend who has sadly missed their train.

Method #1:

On Tuesday, I arranged to meet up with a friend from my previous work. I call her Mussus D and she calls me Sharon, because we both think Kath and Kim is hilarious and find it easy as pie to switch on the Aussie strine. She's more of a Mussus D than a Kimmoi and is definitely not a Kell, while I'm more of a Sharon than an Ebony-Ray and am also not a Kell. She recently had a baby girl (maybe she can be Ebony-Ray?) and Tuesday was the first time I would be seeing her post-birth.

Factoring in the walk to my local train station, I left myself an hour to get to Chatswood. The walk was relatively speedy by my standards and I got to to the top of the station steps with 25 minutes to spare. Chatswood from my stop takes precisely 16 minutes, and I felt good, I was in control. For once, I wouldn't have to run lopsided like Bambi on Rollerskates down two flights of stairs; for once I wouldn't have to thunder across the platform, with my jangling buckle boots announcing my arrival and inviting all on the platform to stare and follow my chunky sprint to the ticket counter, only to see me inevitably fall short, fumble my change and miss my train by a matter of seconds. I basked in the luxury of feeling ahead of schedule, and ambled slowly up the platform.

The key to knowing whether a train is coming without looking to the very end of the railway tracks, is to observe the actions of the elderly. Why, you ask? Because, they are the one group in today's society who will always be early. Everything takes longer, moves more slowly, requires more preparation time, so of course they'll be the first to stand for approaching trains, buses, trams, cars, horses, ferries, lions, tigers and bears.

I remember recalling this self-imposed tip as I ambled up the platform because I noticed a little granny steadying herself to stand up from the bench and inching cautiously towards her tartan trolley full of goodies. But how could this be? I had been at the top of the steps only 20 seconds before and there was no train to be seen!! I reassured myself that it was just granny being super prepared and super ready for the train when it should turn up, and continued at my snail's pace stroll.

But what was this? This time an elderly man, a classy one dressed in his Sunday best, was reaching for his hat. Was there really a train coming, because then I ought to have gotten a wriggle on right there and then- For the record, I could hear no train, there was no announcement about a "train approaching platform 2" and I was annoyed that these two were misleading me. What was this man doing? I mean, there is such a thing as being too early- it just means you have to stand for longer! In fact, I was just about to walk up to him and tell him that "the train's not coming yet", when the ghost train that I had neither heard nor seen coming suddenly chugged into view.

Of course, my body reacts as it always does in times of hurry; there is no surge in adrenaline, I just stop. I stopped cold in my tracks, stood with my mouth agape, and debated whether to run and snatch my ticket from Doogie Houser (my ticket guy looks like Doogie Houser) or act Cool Cat, and keep walking as slow as I was because I dreaded having to become Mangy Streetcat's Best Friend, and anyway, there would always be another train. I watched as the train stopped, and the doors snapped open. That was all it took.

I sprinted full steam ahead to the ticket counter: Please let Doogie be fast today, please let Doogie be fast today, I thought as I ran. But alas Doogie had chosen that precise moment to leave his post and was caught in the act trying to sneak out for some lunch (Who does that, when there's an approaching train?!!). I rapped my knuckles on the counter and he whipped back around, saw my frantic waving and sauntered back ever so leisurely to his post. I only had a 50 note, and he only has two hands and ten fingers, so obviously it was going to be a big ask. I told him my destination. He feigned not having heard me. I told him again. He fumbled the notes, the coins, the ticket and even he seemed to lose hope as he shoved them in one mighty mound under the slot in the plastic screen. I tried to scoop everything up and dropped a coin. By this stage the train doors were zooming shut, I scooped up the stray coin and lurched towards the train. They were shut.

F*ck! I walked all Mangy Streetcat's Best Friend-esque down the platform and that's when a super Cool Cat with the skinny jeans and hoodie who had just gotten off the train, used his brains to save the day. I myself have never seen this manoevure being used before, but it sure is effective. He feigned jumping back on the train- and I don't mean halfheartedly, I mean, he committed to acting like he was running for the train and jumping on, and this trick of the eye, was enough to fool the train man into opening the doors to let him on. In the instant the doors opened, Cool Cat stepped aside and without a word bowed towards the train as a waiter would when guiding customers to a table. "Aww thanks!" I huffed, and on the train I hopped.

So there you have it, Method #1 to winning your battle against the Mangy Streetcat's Best Friend. Clearly, it is a little tricky as you need:

1) A good Samaritan who
2) knows this trick

but it's a fine trick nonetheless and I reckon everyone should spread the word and give it a go.

Method #2:

Yesterday, MasterChef (aka My Sister who is a top notch cook) shouted mum and I to an afternoon of high tea and opera at the Opera House's Guillaume restaurant. This restaurant boasts a consistent record of two to three hats and the food, never-ending tea and bubbly, and Opera Singer to boot, did not disappoint. All you high tea fanatics out there, take the plunge, ignore the poshness and austerity of the oldies who comprise a large chunk of the diners, and eat, drink and enjoy every minute because it's an awesome way to spend an afternoon.

Anyway, so on our trip into town, mum and I found ourselves teetering dangerously close to Mangy Streetcat's Best Friend territory. We had finished descending the double set of station steps and were a metre away from the ticket counter when the train arrived. Third in queue, could we make it? Always the reliable one, Doogie was at the counter once more. "Two Returns to the City!" I barked and had to resist the urge to pull out my hair as he thoughtfully thumbed slowly through the notes, grabbed clumsily at the till and dispensed with the tickets. Doors closed. Mum and I looked at each other. She doesn't travel on trains much and looked forlorn and sad. We had been so close.

From somewhere up above or below, or to the side, a voice shouted "On you get love" and the doors burst open again. Only for an instant. No sooner had we leapt on had the doors closed again, and we rejoiced in our good fortune. Victory!

So: Method #2 is a little easier. It just requires some well directed sad faces, slumped shoulders and dejected posture, and the train ride will be yours.

Method #3:

On the same trip to high tea and still flushed from our earlier success, we got off at Wynyard and went down the steps on platform 6 for the final stretch to Circular Quay. We shouldn't have been surprised when we saw that the train was already there. And frankly I wasn't. I was becoming quite the pro and I was confident in my ability to coax those train doors to open if they ever closed. Mum who was none the wiser scuttled down the stairs, calling to me to hurry up. I rolled my eyes and kept walking down slowly. When I got to the bottom, mum was frowning 'til her frownlines could go no deeper. The doors had shut. I hooked my arm with mum's elbow and scanned the scrolling screen to see when the next train would arrive.

"Which station are you going to?"

It was the man on the train in charge of the doors.

"Circular Quay", I said pretending to look decidedly lost and confused.

"Come on, get on then, this is the one" commanded Nice Train Man in Charge of the Doors.

*Vooom!* the doors opened once more, we hopped on and we were winners will be grinners once more!

Method #3: Act like tourists, lost and confused, and the train man will help you out.

So if you're like me and your timing is anything but perfect, just remember the moral of today's story:

"Thou who is punctual will not necessarily beat Thou who is not punctual."

Deep, huh?

When common sense deserts you, pretend it never happened...

The older we get, the wiser we get- or so the old saying goes.

Older? Definitely. Wiser? Probably, we do after all, learn from our mistakes. But does that actually mean that we ever reach a point in our lives where we have exhausted every mistake possibility that exists for ourselves? By the time we're 85 or 90, will we be such wise owls that every action is prefaced with caution, that we've been there done that so much, that we're mistake-proof?

Two things happened within the last three days which demonstrate my point.

Since I was about 6 years old, I've crossed many a road by myself, without the assistance of a parent, thanks very much. Likewise, Man from Mars (aka Boyfriend) has reversed many a time out from his driveway to embark on countless nights on the town.

So how is it that one day you just happen to do what you've done so many times before, so very very wrong?

Incident #1: Crossing the Road

http://www.kidscolorings.net/coloringpages/b/medium/brand-gevaar-politie-kleurplaat-auto-balmedium.jpg

So on this particular day, I decided to leisurely make my way into town to meet up with Man from Mars. He's volunteering at the moment- another GFC victim, but at least he's busy, scuttling around at his community legal centre and doing a grand job at that.

I felt like walking to the station. Now, anyone who knows me, realises that this is a big deal. Only because I walk very very slowly. I blame it on my "hippo legs" (as Man from Mars likes to call them). They're short, inefficient and get in the way of each other. So, I meander, stare at the sky, trip over sticks, roots, leaves, ants, and generally have a difficult time.

My expectations for this trip were no different but I was a little more upbeat having taken on this new "live in the moment" outlook and all. I plugged in my ipod, Lily Allen started pumping and, like a first class filly, I was off! The first stretch of the walk was a success. I was light-footed and nimble; you could even say, coordinated. I strode confidently past the dogs at 121 who bark too loudly and salivate with their fangs bared through the holes in the fence. I walked past the house that of late has consistently stunk of horse manure (new garden reno perhaps?) and made sure to avoid any ominous looking mounds that might justify the strength of the pong. I got to the roundabout, amped myself to locate a gap in the stream of cars and readied myself to run.

Now, I know as well as the next person that roundabouts are childsplay; you just gotta look to your right and you're good to go. Or, in the case of crossing them on foot, you just have to wait for one to go in the direction you're heading, and run with it. On this particular day, with Lily faithfully ringing in my ears, I found the gap to make it halfway in no time- no man is an island on the good old median strip! Only two more bounds and I'd be safe. But as I balanced in the middle of the road, the minutes ticking by, and each opportunity to cross being missed as I hesitated and retreated again and again, I began to feel increasingly uncomfortable; that feeling you get when you know you're taking far too long to do something which is meant to be pretty easy. I began to resign myself to the fact that I'd just have to wait until somewhere on some street, the lights turned red and this car jam would be forced to stop.

Then I spot an opening, one car going straight across; my gateway to freedom- I wasn't going to hesitate this time.

Lo and behold, I should've known better. My reflexes are no match for turbo engined Beamers that whiz past faster than I can say "What the frick!" and within a millisecond I found myself facing off with a SUV that was coming from the opposite direction. Had it not been for my hippo legs being fuelled by adrenaline and my magnificent lunge towards the footpath, I think I might've been hit: "STUPID GIRL!!!" yelled the driver.

I turned around, pretended not to hear, eyes to the ground, Lily long abandoned and practically sprinted the rest of the way to the station.

Incident #2: Backing out of the driveway

http://dapoandtomi.files.wordpress.com/2008/03/bad-drivers-handbook.jpg

Man from Mars prides himself on the fact that he can drive any car, whether it be his little red Barina ("My dad uses it now"), his big Ford or a mammoth Campervan in the middle of New Zealand. He expertly performs reverse parks, illegal u-turns, hook turns and can read a map with his eyes crossed. In the time I have known him, he's only ever had 2 accidents. Both apparently weren't really his fault and I believe that, because despite the odd illegal manoeuvre, he is a pretty safe driver.

Now, reversing out of a driveway is like the warm up before a workout. You just gotta do it, otherwise you won't go anywhere- sure it's boring, it can be tricky, but it's an undeniable fact of life: driveway before journey.

On this particular day, Man from Mars claims he left his brain on the plane (he'd just returned from an interstate trip to see me, you see). He unlocked the car, after having walked around two other cars parked in his driveway, and snuggled on down into his car seat. Ignition ignited. Brake in reverse. Handbrake down. Accelerate.

What the frick, forgot there were two other cars in the driveway!!! *Smash!* *POW!* *Meep Meep!*

And it was all over red rover in a matter of seconds.

Man from Mars felt very foolish indeed.

"I was thinking about something else and I just crashed into them!" he lamented.

I listened, "Mm-hmm, Mm-hmmed" and gave him my condolences for the cars.

Poor cars. Poor SUV driver.

Ah well. Better luck next time.

Such are the vicissitudes of life, right?

Take a Chillpill, Relax, and get more out of Life...

http://www.geocities.com/vibestothemax/chill_pill.jpg

One of the benefits of being unemployed is that in between the procrastinating, job searching and resume tweaking, you have time to really think about life.

As uncomfortable as it is (being without an income or a purpose as you go in and out of each day), you finally have the time and space to go all existentialist without having to make any apologies for it.

I confess that my initial approach after being made redundant was to test out the advice cited by many: “Something will fall into your lap.” i.e. I literally flopped around on the lounge waiting for someone or something to spark the epiphany, bestow me with an opportunity, bounce through my door across the floor and into my tracksuit clad lap and give me the answer. But after a week of this, I lost all faith in the theory and sunk into extended periods where I would just consider what the point of life was. Redundancies are brutal, unfair and make no sense. I knew that. “It’s not you, it’s the economy”- I know that. But the timing of it, the fact that there was no cause for it, (or actually, in my case there apparently was cause for it: “You’re not hard arse enough”) and the fact that it happens without warning, makes you realise how quickly things can change.

While I was working I wanted nothing more to be outside, enjoying the sun, travelling the world, feeling the exhilaration that I felt when I was on exchange. And now, now with all this time, what do I do? Spend my days in front of the computer mirroring my days at work except that I’m not working, but searching, blog-surfing and constantly checking my email. It seems that old habits die hard. That, or I need to start following the principles of the “Lazy Manifesto”(http://zenhabits.net/2009/01/the-lazy-manifesto-do-less-then-do-even-less/).

According to Leo Babauta, life is infinitely better enjoyed if we declutter and do less. Be lazy. Turn into a bonafide sloth. And frankly, I agree. I used to revel in the fact that every minute of my day was filled. I would work full time, do uni full time and my brain would constantly be whirring with all the things I needed to do. Add to that, I was impatient towards anyone who wasn’t as busy as me and told them off for sleeping in, eating too slowly and basically enjoying life the way it should be enjoyed. In other words, I was a great believer in the idea that the only way you could make the most out of life and succeed, is if you were constantly on the go.

But as the Lazy Manifesto suggests, if you have too many things on, you might only be working at 50% capacity because you’re not in the mood to do any of it properly, and furthermore, you’ll be forgetting to smell the roses and enjoying the good things in life. You forget to actually taste your favourite paella because you’re too busy thinking about work tomorrow: sure, it’s going in your mouth and into your slowly expanding waistline (a consequence of too many days and nights at the office in one of those ergonomic chairs that give nothing but back pain), but when the meal’s done and dusted, can you really remember what the flavours were?

When I met up with friends in lunch breaks, the conversation centred around who stayed back the latest, who’s supervisor was the meanest and who’s work was the hardest. Like it's a competition? Who cares?

I’ve decided I’m going to become declutter, simplify and live life in the now. Shall tell you how it goes.

http://www.topicscape.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2008/05/de-clutter_mind_map.jpg

"Your 20's are your golden years"....

http://www.kartoen.be/cartoons/happysad/nostalgia.gif

So my mum keeps saying.

But I think that to declare hands down, that your 20's are unequivocally the best years of your life is a huge call to make.

Take myself for instance. I am:

- 24, fast approaching 25;
- Have finished my law degree;
- Spent my whole degree wondering why the hell I was doing that degree;
- Decided to jump on the bandwagon and “just do what everyone else is doing”;
- Attempted to do what everyone else was doing (i.e. applying for summer clerkships, winter clerkships and anything else than started or ended with the words “ships”, “seasonal” and “vacation”);
- Failed dismally in acquiring one of these lucrative “gateway to your career!” positions;
- Decided that the bandwagon was try-hard anyway, and went to Canada for 6 months;
- Came back and was faced with the exact same dilemma I had left behind- namely, WHAT SHOULD I DO WITH MY LIFE?
- Decided that the easiest thing to do would be to jump back on the bandwagon;
- Succeeded in acquiring aforementioned “gateway to your career positions;”
- Have just completed a year long traineeship at a law firm in the city where everything and
everyone is driven by money, billable hours and ridiculous, extravagant lifestyles;
- Subsequently got made redundant. (Initial reaction: “F*ck!!”, 2 days later: “Ah well I didn’t like them all that much anyway.”)

And this is where I’m at.

The last few weeks have been confusing, depressing and demoralising to say the least. Blame it on the GFC, but my outlook has been anything but "golden". Sure, my early 20’s were awesome. Besides the usual "*insert tirade of expletives* I am going to die, my brain is not geared to cram an entire course of full of boring, stupid sh*t in 8 hours” that accompanied my lazy uni days, life comprised of my mates, a little money, a part time job which I loved solely for the people who I worked with, and multiple trips to the Lansdown for $5 steak and mash. I never thought beyond the next two weeks and was as excited for Mondays to come as I was over the moon for Saturday nights to begin.

Then suddenly, it became all about Career. And Money. And Marriage. And a House. And Work. And a Safe Job. And a Boring Job. And a Huge Income that no one without kids or a family to support, really needs.

No one dares to admit that their job is as dissatisfying as buyer's regret, because with all this money, who needs happiness? Companies spout off about work-life balance knowing that it’s a promise that can’t be kept- Free gym membership! But who has time to go to the gym?

Either way this is my point. I feel like so much is riding on what I choose to do next, because I want to do something that will make me excited about life in general. But how do I start to find this job that will give me the Elusive Trifecta: Satisfaction, Enough Money and Enjoyment?

“Just do what your passionate about!” is what everyone says. Is it just me, or is this catchcry enormously unconstructive, cliché and irritating? I mean, how passionate is passion? In my mind, passionate means fanatical, living, breathing and going to die without it. I have interests, sure- but they’re hobbies. Photography, writing, watching gymnastics. But I’m neither confident enough nor qualified in any of those areas to make a career out of them.

“So go study some more!” is the next line that inevitably follows. Study what????? Study more after 6 years of studying……..

I could. If I really really wanted to. But what do I want to study? Part of the problem is the fact that my brain has been conditioned to think that I would work in the legal industry and that industry alone. The fact that the degree took so long to get doesn’t help things and given that I’ve always been one to ignore the prospect that I might possibly not even like working in “one of those premier law firms” (“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it”, I always said) means that it’s a scary prospect to consider anything that is so different to what I once contemplated. That and my parents are traditional Asian parents who thrive on the knowledge that a law degree is strapped under their daughter’s belt.

So ultimately, it all boils down to me being a wuss and not wanting to stray from what’s expected of me. But whoever said change was easy? Everyone keeps telling me that now is the time for change. That I should embrace this period of unemployment to reassess my life. But this doesn’t make me feel any more confident that I will find my “calling” or how it is I fit in the whole scheme of this complicated world we live in.

Talk about Angst on Legs.