A beautiful quote by Paulo Cohelo; “Too often, we decide to follow a path that is not really our own, one that others have set for us. We forget that, whichever way we go, the price is the same: in both cases we will pass through both difficult and happy moments. But when we are living our dream, the difficulties we encounter make sense.”
Coming out in style March 15, 2010
I am the daughter of two head teachers. 
Many of my earliest memories are of being in classrooms. I have swirling recollections of pre-reception class years, peeping out of the Wendy House and studying the “older” children as they worked. I remember being in a playground, surrounded by boys and girls that seemed to be eight foot tall, spinning all around me like whirling dervishes whilst knowing that mum was somewhere else, deep within the staffroom.
When we moved to the Isle of Wight and I was of school age, we would arrived an hour before the day began and go home an hour and a half after the home bell had rung. Being the daughter of the teacher made me feel different – not out casted or “wrong” – but somehow apart from the other children. When they had all gone home and even the cleaners had finished hoovering the halls, Mum would finally pack up her crate and come looking for me to take me home. She never had to look far. She knew where I’d be …. the Stock Cupboard.
The stock cupboard was heaven to me.
In there I was the queen. I sat on my stool, surrounded by gleaming fresh paper, paints, crepe paper, glue sticks, felt tips, and my favorite …. brand new blank exercise books. This little room was my temple, my safe haven, my creative empire, my heart-centred kingdom. In here it all made sense why I felt different to the others – it was because I had access to the back stage of “Life At School” … I had access to The Stock.
Since those childhood days I’ve never lost the feeling of being set apart from other people. Sometimes, when I’m in the midst of creativity I have no worries about that feeling. But other times, when life is feeling uncertain, I start to get anxious. I wish I could think normally. I judge myself for being a bit unhinged. I especially wonder if I’m doing the right thing by following my own path and publicising it!
Yesterday when me and Mum were having our high tea at the Enchanted Manor, she told said, “I’m thinking about selling the house.”
Baring in mind that The House is the last anchor to my lost family, I guess it’s not surprising that today I’m feeling insecure. Instead of enjoying the spring sunshine, I’ve found myself looking around and asking myself what the hell I’m playing at. Why am I writing this blog? Why am I talking about gorgeousness? Am I mad? Should I just join the classroom of life, try and fit in, try to be like the other “kids”?
Then this evening I did my meditation and it occurred to me that somehow, for some mystifying and uncertain reason, I was born as the teacher’s daughter. I could have been born as someone else, but I wasn’t. I got to see a beautiful Victorian school in it’s peaceful, quiet dawn. I also experienced it later, when the ghosts of the day lay to rest. When you see a school – and when you see life – from a different angle, that doesn’t make you or it wrong. It doesn’t make you mad. It’s simply another perspective. And that’s okay. It’s a gift.
I believe that throughout your life, your outer world teaches you deep, profound lessons that are perfectly designed for your growth.
Throughout my life I have stumbled upon ways, means and tools to create my life in the way I want it to be. Just like the resources in the stock cupboard, I’ve had access to these understandings. I’ve snipped them up, collaged them, rearranged them and glued them back together. The books I’ve created and sold … this blog … both are my attempts at coming out of the stock cupboard and into the light and noise of the world, whilst bringing my creations with me.
Now all I can do is place them on the table, keep playing with them and wait to see if anyone else wants to come and look. That’s all.
The Enchanted Manor March 14, 2010
Today was an opening up day.
First I opened my eyes to find Aysha and Rowan beaming down and singing “Happy Mer-thers-Day!” They thrust gorgeous handmade cards into my hands, so it was inevitable that I opened them next. They then bounded downstairs into a living room where heavenly Spring sunshine flooded in and demanded that I open the box of chocolates that Andrew had bought on behalf of them. I concluded that well, it is Mothers Day and everything … so the box was opened and we’d finished most of them off before breakfast.
Later on, the sun was still dazzling, so I opened both the front and back door. Fresh air, spring warmth and sunshine gushed through the house. The children ran outside to make teepees and hedge-dens while I sat on the table, my feet on the window ledge, gazing out at them and feeling the sense of openness all around.
Sometimes openness feels scary. The freedom, space and openness we crave to create our art arrives and suddenly life stretches around us in all directions, largely unmarked. It all seems limitless and so full of potential that it’s hard to know which direction to take … which way to start walking. There’s a large chunk of faith required to leave the beaten track and begin walking the way of your creativity and gorgeousness.
Living a creative life and following the way gorgeousness, is not a life of security or guarantee. We could trek for years through a creative project, only to have it turned down. We could create script after script, design after design, canvas after canvas, only to never get “there”. Along the way, doubts can easily slip in and we may glance over our shoulder, squint into the distance at the people walking the beaten track in secure, conventional lives. Sometimes, in the midst of openness, self doubt can slip in and at times like this it’s great to meet other creative travellers.
For Mother’s Day I took my mum to a place called the Enchanted Manor. This rambling Victorian house has been converted by the owners, Rick and Maggie, into a grotto of fairy magic. The ceiling are festooned with scrambling white roses and peacock feathers. Vibrant, mysterious paintings by artist, Josephine Wall surprise you around each corner. Fairies lean out of cupboards and peer from behind mirrors. It’s like being in Sleeping Beauty’s castle.
When Rick and Maggie bought this place they had no idea whether turning it into an enchanted boutique hotel would pay off. From the moment they began this wild, outrageous creation, they stepped into a void. With each room they designed, with each vine they twisted around a bed frame, they steered themselves through the wilderness of creativity. They followed what made them smile and the Enchanted Manor has become a huge success.
Talking to Rick today restored my sense of adventure and love of openness. As we nibbled our “high tea” – heart shaped scones, delicate meringue, sandwiches and Australian tea (Rick is Australian) – I was reminded that people who dare to follow their He-Art must hold a steadfast inner belief in what they set out to do and keep that faith burning.
It’s our passion, our creativity and our commitment to our own inner gorgeousness that propels us into the openness of life and it’s our persistance, trust and openess to surrender that keeps the trail evolving.
Fortune Teller March 13, 2010
It’s my brother’s birthday on Wednesday. He would have been 31 years old. I am now 29 – which is the age he was when he was killed. Lots of feelings creep up in me around March because its also the anniversary of Dad’s death. It’s a month of birth and a month of death. A month of creation and a month of destruction. A month of making things and breaking things.
To give some of my feelings a little vent, I decided to get my paints out this afternoon. As I painted and stuck and tore and scraped, I suddenly felt this grinding cathartic, self destructiveness need to rip up one of Harry’s books. I’m not sacred about much when it comes to radical artwork. These books had been found in his room by the Argentinian police. When I took them from the police I wanted them because they smelled like Harry. The smell has now faded so I tore out some pages so they could become the flesh of this picture instead. As I painted over them, three words emerged through the colour …
The Fortune Teller.
And when I stepped out of the flow and looked at what I’d painted, I saw a woman, naked, fallen, sprawled on the ground beneath heaven. Is she dead? I don’t know. Does she represent the wild nature of women? Perhaps. Does she represent planet earth? Is the spirit of the wild feminine and nature enmeshed as One? I believe they are. Perhaps she represents me, completely surrendering to the past and what has happened?
There was something mysterious about this image … added together with the words “fortune teller”. Gazing at it, I turned the picture around. I carefully explored how it looked from different angles.
To my delight, as I turned the page upside down, the woman now hovered like an angel, looking down on earth. This way up, the natural feminine had risen up. She had transcended. She was looking down, free, lifted. It was such a relief to see her like that. Now the painting is sitting in the kitchen and I am in a quandry about which way up it’s supposed to go …
But I guess, that’s the beauty of it. The observor must decide. We are the fortune tellers of life.
Prosperity Consciousness March 13, 2010
Yesterday, the aftermath of the Emotional Deluge, felt good.
It wasn’t like, Oh My God What Next, but … wow, I’m in the New World. This is the New Normal. Let’s explore. My first impulse was to quickly fill the gap with some other job, but then I had a serious word with myself.
What I need is time now … time to just sit on the beach of this new place, look out to sea and see where I’ve come from, then build a little fire and sit beneath the stars, sussing out what I’m going to do next. I have enough work lined up until the end of the month. I’ve got rations. But more importantly, I’ve got my Prosperity Consciousness.
Prosperity Consciousness is possibly the best ally I have right now. It’s the awareness that I have enough and will continue to have enough. It’s looking around and seeing the abundance of opportunity and new life rather than focusing only on the negative “not enoughness.” All people, wealthy in mind, heart, soul and material assets have this prosperity consciousness. They all know deep down that they will always be okay.
It’s funny, because last night I was curled on the sofa watching a property programme. The people looking around had just come into a huge amount of money, having been very poor before. As they looked around these houses, all they could focus on was what wasn’t good enough, what wasn’t up to scratch, lack, lack, lack. Even though they had a fortune in their bank accounts, their experience of life, their mindset was still on what was missing.
Andrew said something interesting then. He said, “last week there was a rich couple on here. They came from a financially wealthy background. They were lovely; really pleasant about all of the houses even if they weren’t particularly nice. First they listed all of the positives and all of the assets but then said “it’s not for us though.”
This perfectly illustrates Prosperity Consciousness. When we look around at everything that we have in life, how gratitude for the abundance, we will naturally begin seeing more of it. We’ll gravitate towards new opportunities for growth and wonder, both on the inside and out.
Prosperity Consciousness is my friend. Right now, he’s my right hand man. It was in a space of Prosperity Consciousness that I created the two Goal Maps above and I believe that it was probably Prosperity Consciousness that encouraged me to quit what wasn’t working in making my life gorgeous.
Do you have Prosperity Consciousness?
Are you a half fuller 0r half empty sort of person?
What thing in your life makes you feel truly wealthy?
I’d love to hear about it. In fact, I’d love to make a prosperity list right here if anyone else is up for it!
To Walk the Way of Gorgeousness March 11, 2010
Today I’ve been doing tree surgery on my life.
When I awoke this morning I had no idea that it was going to be that sort of day.
In fact I was feeling pretty good considering that yesterday I wanted to be a cat. I got up, got dressed and shuffled through to the bathroom, calling to Aysha to “Wake Up It’s Morning Time”.
She mumbled something, staggered out of bed loudly, waking up Rowan and then the day began. Except the day hadn’t really begun.
It turned out to be only five thirty in the morning and the kids were awake and according to Andrew I allowed them to thump about, move furniture around the bedroom and yell even though I was downstairs making tea by this point.
When the time to actually time to get up came around, Andrew was grumpy. The kids were bickering. So, just to complete the scene of domestic bliss, I started to have an anxiety attack.
Yes. An anxiety attack.
I have never had one of these before, so I’m kind of guessing that this is what it was. The symptoms went kind of like this … heart racing, stomach fluttering, feverishly hot (on the inside) but skin feels cool and clammy and finally an uncontrollable need to cry for several weeks.
This did not feel gorgeous. As I sat there, I realised that something (ie. Life) was very loudly shouting for me to STOP, LOOK and LISTEN. I did none of these, however and instead started to cry.
And cried.
And cried.
I then cried when Andrew said he’d call work and say I wouldn’t be coming in. And I cried when I called K and asked her to drive the children to school. I cried when I drove to my mother’s and I cried as I drew a Mind Map to illustrate to everyone why I felt like I was in a washing machine on spin cycle. I managed to stop crying, when, on my Mind Map I saw the Grow Your Own Gorgeousness Branch and how it flowered and towered up above all the rest.
In fact, that touched a tiny smile to my lips. It was enough of a sign.
I then got in my car and drove to work and quit and cried a lot while I did it.
The quit bit is a vital. By the time I’d got back into my car and driven to my favourite coffee place, the tears had stopped. My eyes looked like swollen orange rinds, my cheeks were blotchy and red and I was still shuddery, but I no longer felt like I was going to cry every two seconds.
By quitting my job today, I have chopped down a major branch that has been dominating my life tree. Suddenly all the sunlight that it was blocking out, has flooded the space where that branch lived and the new Grow Your Own Gorgeousness branch can thrive and flourish instead.
I am now understanding in a much deeper way, that the way of gorgeousness must be life-affirmative.
If your life fills you with delight, you can be sure that you will bring all of your rich values, wonderful truth and creative endeavour to the world. If your life feels stressed, riddled with anxiety, overburdened or bad in any way, it might be that you (like me) have been forgetting to nurture your true path, your deepest calling, your higher purpose, your gorgeousness.
Ever since I wrote the book, Grow Your Own Gorgeousness, that way of life has called me, beckoned me, guided me.
But to walk this path means following my own way – away from the crowd. My path of gorgeousness is completely unique to me just as yours is to you. To walk it means trusting in myself. It means not following the masses. It means living from my set of values, beliefs and principles and shrugging off those that society happily provides.
Until now, I’ve had one foot on and one foot off. Half in, half out.
Today the decision got made.
The way of Grow Your Own Gorgeousness is the branch I am committed to pursuing.
Ever wish your were a cat? March 10, 2010
I’m quite interested in this longing, because before I accidentally promised the children they could have a pet and they immediately wanted a kitten (each), I wasn’t even a cat-sort-of-person. And now here I am, watching our two pussies frolicking and chasing around the garden … and wishing I was one.
In case you’re wondering, this IS the first time I’ve ever wanted to be something/someone different. Actually … that’s not true. As a kid I used to wish I was my best friend Julie. Julie was one of those Lucky Kids whose mum always let them eat white bread and drink Coca Cola at for breakfast. My mum was a “Your-So-Boring-Mum-Why-Do-We-Have-To-Have-Brown bread-All-The-Time?!!” sort of parent. To me, white bread and coke, became like heaven in a household. I’d have switched places with Julie in an instant.
Interestingly, since then I have turned into a parent who doesn’t buy white bread. I have grown out of wanting to be Julie. But now here I am having secret wishes to live like a cat. Why?
Well, in a nutshell, today has been a pretty shit day. I feel so tired, so done with deadlines, with pressure and jobs and responsibility that I feel like turning to the whole world and saying “So sack me!” I am now back at home, Andrew has gone to collect the kids from school and everything is peaceful. I’m sitting on the back door step in a patch of sunshine and yet, despite the warmth, the beauty, the peace, the birdsong … I still feel rubbish.
Watching the cats play, I’m thinking, “Why does my life and my brain resemble a washing machine? Why is everything flopping and whizzing around me, tangling and spun with obligations and relationships that I find difficult? How do I crawl out of this washing machine?”
Watching the cats play and chase butterflies, it occurs to me that if you were really caught in a washing machine, you probably can’t open the door from the inside.
So far today I have come up with various washing machine escape routes;
1. Sell house and move to India. Problem = couldn’t leave cats behind.
2. Quit everything and invest all our money in some luxury yurts to put on Mum’s field and rent for obscene amounts of money. Issue = need mum to agree and she’s not feeling very agreeable at the moment.
3. Hold breath, continue with washing machine life and hope that the spin cycle ends fairly soon.
4. Become more cat like. Worry less. Find pleasure in watching ladybirds. Take cat-naps. Worry about the important things – such as what flavour Kitti-cat you are about to be served. Enjoy strokes at every opportunity. Play fight with your nearest and dearest. Observe what goes on in the Life Household, but don’t let it get you down. Lick your wounds. Stretch out and move on. Be Zen. Miaow.
Okay. I choose number 4.
P.S. I know yesterday that I declared I would only be posting on Tuesdays and Fridays and today is Wednesday. But there you have it. Cats are fickle things! You’ll have to forgive me. X
Mothers Day Gifts March 9, 2010
Mother’s Day is on Sunday and for several weeks I’ve been considering what to get for my mum.
Andrew is no help at all. He just says “Mother’s Days was originally nothing to do with mums, but all about returning to your Mother Church. Mother Day is just a scam to get people to buy cards and flowers.”
Which doesn’t help me in my gift buying dilemma. For me, this day is a perfect opportunity to show my mum just how much I love her. The challenge is finding something that isn’t going to cost the earth, is a little more original than the same old flowers she received last year, and yet still expresses my deepest feelings.
The other week when I was cleaning Mum’s house, I racked my brains for all the gifts I could get her. Then it occurred to me that I should make her a book … her own personalised journey into motherhood. So, abandoning my duster, I went up to the attic and crawled to the end where the ancient box of photographs lives.
This box is full of everything treasured and kept. It holds love letters from my dad to mum when they traveled to Sicily as young lovers. It contains ancient photograph albums full of Mum and Dad looking young, in sepia, strolling around Stone Henge with Grandad From Wales. I sat in the loft, piling album upon album onto my lap and surrounded myself with Mum’s journey from a young woman, into motherhood and then into motherhood No.2. There were brighter, glossier photos of our family holidays and pictures of me and Harry nearly grown up. Finally there were pictures of Mum and Dad alone again, after we had both left home. The photograph above is one of Dad and his two most precious loves … Mum and his Sax.
Once the box of old photographs was thoroughly ransacked, I collected my loot, slotted it carefully into a bag and then bought it home. Since then I’ve been photographing and playing with the photographs, documenting Mum’s journey. At the same time as creating the book, I feel like I have gone on my own journey. It’s like I have time travelled back and forth along the timeline of this woman’s life and in her expressions, smiles and postures, I see my mum, but also I see myself.
As a mother, I understand that when you have children, it’s as if “you” are replaced with this all encompassing role of “protector, nurturer, provider.” But it’s only through looking at these photographs now I’m older, that I truly “get” the woman she is – independent of being a mum. Having now stitched together her journey into motherhood, I see my own journey as a woman reflected.
Mum’s are amazing. Womankind is amazing. Our mum’s deserve so much thanks, so much respect and so much love.
Do you remember thinking that your mum was the most beautiful woman in the world?
Remember being somewhere completely unfamiliar, yet her face was like an anchor of safety emerging from the crowd?
When was the last time you delved in and time travelled back to the days before you were born?
What are the values for life that your mother taught you without you even knowing?
My Mum’s journey hasn’t been an easy one. Seeing her face “back then” I am once again hit by what a staggeringly courageous, strong, intelligent and beautiful woman she is. I love her so much. Now I just have to decide whether to her the book – or keep it and put it away in my own special box of keepsakes and old photographs for Aysha and Rowan to find one day.
A Quick Note March 9, 2010
A few days ago – or was it weeks?! – I was writing about balance; life balance, brain balance, inner balance. 
Life on earth evolves from the constant play of duality. Light and dark, love and hate, east and west, man and woman … the list is endless. All of these aspects are constantly shifting and moving, balancing themselves and each other in a constant, dynamic dance between Yin and Yang.
Your dreams have a balance too. There are the dreams we have that add more to our lives, expand outwards and build upon what we have “out there”. Then there are our dreams of cutting back, simplifying, drawing inward, calming down. These dreams are usually about improving our state of well being – creating more quality of life, inner peace and relaxation rather than “World Domination”.
Sometimes in order to evolve where we are and what we’re doing, the first step is to cut back, prune and trim other areas of our life. By doing this we will create fresh spaces of time to work with.
A while ago I had a major Mind Mapping session around my creative dreams for this blog. I now realise to do these things and also continue to have time to create my new books, I’d need to rearrange my other activities a little. Following on from this, I have to design a slightly different publishing schedule.
From now on I’ll be posting twice weekly. These days will be on Tuesday and Friday. I am also going to change the face of the Grow Your Own Gorgeousness blog to reflect more of what Gorgeousness is about (and suit it’s hand-rubbingly gorgeous Wabi-Sabi style).
If you have anything you’d like to see more of, know more about or have a specific question about Gorgeousness and how to step onto that magical path of life, just let me know.
Creative Clans (and lunch dates) March 8, 2010
Yesterday I had the best afternoon EVER. Andrew, the children and I went and spent the afternoon with some of our friends in C’s converted bake-house.
There we were, two glass blowers, one comedy script writer, one designer, an entrepreneur/property developer and his Romany-beautiful wife who is in the midst of creating a vibrant textiles business.
We ate delicious lasagne and seafood pie. We sipped vintage red wine and laughed and talked, while the children (nine of them in total) ran around in the garden, throwing sticks on the bonfire and setting off Chinese lanterns as the sky began to darken.
At one point I stopped and looked around me. I felt this huge gush of gratitude to have such great friends. Not only are these people warm and friendly and hilariously funny, but each one is so unique, open and creative too. It’s been the encouragement of such generous hearts that has helped my ideas, opportunities and dreams to grow.
Other people through the years, haven’t been so encouraging. They’ve been quick to judge, to pull away emotionally, to say nothing mildly enthusiastic or even declare “you’ll never be able to do that.”
When you are nurturing yourself and your art, it’s vital to hand pick the people who have your best interests at heart and share your ideas with just them to begin with. This may not be the case forever, but in the beginning stages your dreams can be vulnerable and easily trampled by clumsy, thoughtless friends.
On the other hand, keep on giving your support and love to others who are stepping onto the path of making their creative dreams real. I have always been massively wowed and uplifted by people who dare to live their dreams and straight away I am there behind them – cheering them along all the way. It’s because of this Giving that I have Received.
My first books were passed onto a publisher by a friend who I’d helped and encouraged creatively. Many exciting opportunities now bubbling up at work are thanks to my ability to be generous with support and any expansive ideas. Only yesterday I sat and talked with a friend who is keen for me to write some scripts for her next TV production. She says it will be a great opportunity and wanted to say thanks for the help I gave her with her own creative struggle.
I’m not telling you any of that to blow my own trumpet. I’ve shared those experiences because it shows how Creative People Need Other Creative People.
None of us need to be around stingy, miserable people who are only interested in their own advancement. We need to feel safe and supported. We need to reach out our support and encouragement to others freely. We need to carefully choose the special, warm, heart centred people who deserve to hear about our art and then begin growing little communities with them. It is by doing these things that our creative clans can grow and our success begins to trhive.
Do you feel you have a creative community? Would you like to belong to one? Where do you go for creative support?
