Identifiers and hashtags

For the love of Blog if there's one thing that really gets this girl a wee bit frustrated it's the overuse of hashtags!

Look, I kind of get it. You use hashtags as a means of categorising a post, a photo and an idea so that when other people are looking for similar posts, photos and ideas they can search using the hashtag they're interested in and, bingo! There you go! A whole pile of relevant (and often irrelevant) stuff to trawl through. It's quick, it's easy and sometimes easier than Googling.

But lately I've been seeing a lot of hashtags in relation to the word dwarf  and it's making me do a #headdesk and #facepalm at the very sight of it.

For the purposes of not being trawled by hashtag users I'm going to write a general list here (some made up, some not) without the hashtag symbol so you'll see the object of my ire.

Hashtag:

Dwarfproblems

Dwarfkickingass

Healthydwarf

Fitdwarf

Prouddwarf

Dwarfconqueringtheks

Dwarfstrength

Sexydwarf

Grumpydwarf

Sleepydwarf

Dwarfonamission

Seriousdwarf

Gaydwarf

Dwarfparty

Dwarfhittingthetown

Thisdwarfiskickinggoals

Get the picture?

I totally understand, accept and applaud everyone who embraces their short stature. I do. I too am in a place where I love being in my own skin and I celebrate this body I'm in and love all the experiences it's given me. I have met the most incredible people and done some amazing things that I may not have done if I missed out on the random mutation that resulted in achondroplasia. 

But...

It's not my identifier. It's the genetic anomaly that makes up my physical stature. It's part of who I am physically but achondroplasia/short stature/dwarfism is not me. It doesn't come into play with everything I do. If I'm eating a healthy meal or running ten kilometres or doing my grocery shopping or paying my taxes there's not a hashtag in front of it to identify that there's something unique about me doing it simply because I have achondroplasia. I'm simply getting out there and living.

Actually, I don't really give my dwarfism much of a thought most of the time - unless I am writing this blog or doing some public speaking or seeing a medical specialist. That's when I do a lot of thinking about it. 

I'm not ashamed of it; not by any means. In fact, especially since taking the time to care for and appreciate this body I've had a newfound sense of pride in it's strength and the way it just keeps on keeping on even as Father Time marches across my face and makes these joints a little more stiff as the years go by. 

I am not ashamed to go out in public, despite society's curiosity and occasional rudeness. I speak openly to others about dwarfism, answering questions and explaining issues involved. I enter into discussions surrounding disability, inclusion and diversity. 

But I don't constantly refer to myself as a dwarf and I am baffled and curious regarding those like me who do. It's not that I disagree with it...I'm just sincerely curious about the reasons why they do. I'm told that they're proud to have dwarfism. Maybe I can relate to that in the way I am proud to be an independent woman, a mother and a runner.

But I don't have the same pride in being a dwarf because I don't see it as something that defines me - in the same way that my hazel eyes and brownish-greyish hair don't define me as a person. My height isn't me. My dwarfism isn't me.

It's just part of what I look like.

Does that make sense?

I think Lena Dunham says it all quite succinctly actually.....

Image source

Celebrity Service Announcement

Dear every TV star, Child Entertainer, Rock Star and Personality that were part of my formative years and reckless youth.

You are all officially on notice.

Stop it right now.

You've all gotta hang in there a bit longer, ok? At least another twenty years. At least. 

It's all getting a bit much, you know. I turn on the news or log onto Facebook and I hear that another one of you have gone on to that big Maltshop in the sky unexpectedly.

Ok...so for some of you it may not have been so unexpected...but you're all still going waaaay too early. Living only until your fifties or early sixties is not cool you know.

Rik Mayall...you old anarchist you...56! What's that about? You know, I quote you a fair bit. 

"Snotface! Wake up!"

"Shit yourself?"

"Does anyone here like The Human League?"

"Great joke, Your Majesty!"

So many faces and voices from my growing up years gone. I don't think I can take another one today. 

For all you new kids on the block, how about you study some of the oldies who kicked on for the longest time and discover their secrets to longevity?  Take a look at the lives of George Burns, Mickey Rooney, Betty White, Dick Van Dyke and all those people. Some of their stuff might surprise you. They say smoking's bad for you but did anyone ever see George Burns without a cigar? 

Vale Rik Mayall. Your leaving took me off guard.

Rik - The Young Ones

Rik - Drop Dead Fred

Rik Mayall

In which she danced, Skyped and performed all in the one day

Sunday.

I don't know if Sunday is actually the seventh day where God was reported to have rested from his work or if Sunday is actually the first day of the week so it's all hands on deck and let's get this party started. In my case, last Sunday was a crackingly busy day where I was supposed to be in three places at once. No rest for the wicked so they say, which means that somewhere back in the days of yore I possibly did something positively evil. *insert maniacal cackle here*

Seriously though, regardless of the fact that super busy days are not amongst my most favourite there's something about them that makes me feel alive and purposeful. And, if I really want to be honest, two of the three major things I did on Sunday were things I was really happy and excited about.

The first was a rehearsal with the Weave Movement Theatre over in the central northern suburbs of Melbourne. I was going to talk about Weave in detail in this post but feel that it deserves a more indepth post in it's own right so for now I'll just say that I am so honored to be a part of such an amazing ensemble. It's been nothing short of joy to explore movement and dance with the group and I find that each time I do I come away feeling energised, inspired and thoughtful. I was disappointed to have to leave early but I had already indicated to another group that I wanted to be a part of a Skype meeting to discuss some upcoming workshops and needed to go before rehearsal had finished.

The Skype meeting...........

I think this was my frustration for the day. I found myself wishing that I hadn't dobbed myself in to be a part of the discussion, even though the topic was something I have been passionate about for a very long time and was looking forward to getting my teeth into it and being part of instigating some change.

Alas, no.

Sometimes, I feel as though I'm the crazy salmon trying to swim up Niagra Falls when it comes to certain groups - groups that I have been a "part" of all my life and yet have never really felt a part of things. The group has it's own "culture" as it were and it is so deeply, deeply ingrained that I cannot ever see it changing. I came away from the Skype meeting feeling extremely lost and wondering why on earth I bother even trying to contribute. Still, I feel as though I should still keep plugging away doing the things I do and contributing where I can in the hope that the results will speak for themselves.

And speaking of speaking, Sunday night was all about that! 

A couple of weeks ago I was invited to be one of the guest writers to do a reading of their works at the Writeability Salon at the Wheeler Centre for the Emerging Writers Festival. Sunday was the big event and so it was with excitement and great trepidation that I joined four other writers with disabilities hosted by Carly Findlay at The Wheeler Centre.

Back row: Carly, Fiona, Sam
Front: Giovanni, Michelle, me, Jax, Kate

Let me say that it was such an honour to be up there amongst such fabulous, talented writers, each writing passionately from their own experience. I always come away so enthused after events such as this and spurred on towards taking my own writing further and exploring my own creativity.

I read from my piece It's all fun & games until someone loses an eye. I wasn't prepared for how vulnerable I felt afterwards. It's a very exposing piece, I guess, and I did feel very exposed after getting up and virtually saying to a roomful of people, "I was a bully." I thought a lot about it whilst driving home after the event. It was cleansing too in a way - as though those times from way back then no longer had a hold on me. I guess if you recognise something, own it and learn from it you free yourself from the guilt that holds you to ransom otherwise. 

A group of us went out for a meal afterwards, riding the adrenaline and euphoria of a job well done. It was so lovely to connect with new people and discuss our own experiences and writing journey. I think we were the loudest table at the pub! I loved every second of it and have made new connections as a result. 

I feel as though I've found a place of likeminded people where I fit - people who tell it like it is; not sugar coating things behind forced positivity but who speak about their experience with passion, whether it be with joy, sadness, rage, humour or sensuality; inviting others in. I've found a place where I feel safe to explore my own self and, on reflection, pride at being able to identify as a person with a disability. Is "this" a disability in the truest sense of the word? I don't know, but I don't shy away from the word. I'm keen to explore this notion further.

And finally, I guess that's what Life At My Level is about for me. 

The weekend that was

I write this in the relative comfort of my seat on the train after the mad dash of "Oh-shit-I'd-better-run-because-if-I-don't-get-this-one-I'm-gonna-be-late!" And "Oh-damn-WHY-didn't-I-top-up-my-Myki-on-Thursday-night?" Good news is that I both topped up my Myki and caught the train in the nick of time so you can all relax because the story had a happy ending.

I had a fabulous weekend. It was the weekend I've needed for a while. I totally cleared Friday and Saturday of any real responsibilities and ticked off some boxes of things I wanted to get done. 

Friday saw me loading up the car with boxes of books, toys (yes, we still had toys!), appliances we no longer needed and and bags of clothes and taking them down to our local Op Shop that supports the Epilepsy Foundation. Don't you just love the feeling you get after you do that? It's like a cleansing - letting go of excess stuff. I love it. We're all trying to reduce the clutter round these here parts. We've still got a long way to go but I kind of think that any step forward is a positive one. After all that was gone I got into the shed and reorganised the shelves a bit. There's possibly heaps of stuff in there that we could still get rid of but it's a process, right? 

I've been meaning to get my veggie garden sorted out ready for planting winter crops but with everything that's been happening over the past few months the beds have remained empty. It's most definitely on the MUST DO SOON list as I'm really keen to take Rhonda Hetzel's advice and start becoming more self sufficient by planting and harvesting our own vegetables in season. I added some more soil to the beds on Saturday ready for planting next weekend. It will be the Queens Birthday Holiday then and I plan to celebrate by starting to grow things. I'm sure Her Majesty will be pleased. I wonder if she likes pottering in the garden? I've seen her in some pretty full on old lady gardening clobber before. 

Anyhoo! The garden beds are now nice and juicy and ready for some seeds and seedlings to be planted next weekend once I go down to the local Bunnings and get them. 

On Saturday afternoon I laced up my running shoes and took myself for a run down the highway. At first it felt like I'd lost every form of fitness I'd worked so hard at building up and I thought I'd have to call someone to come and pick me up at around the 5k mark. Then I got my second wind as I normally do at the 6k mark and felt amazing. Have I told you before that I love running? Well yeah...I do. 

Honestly, I needed that Friday and Saturday. Life has been just way too full on for my liking lately and I couldn't seem to get motivated for any form of housework, running, training or....anything really! Do you ever get like that? Where you feel as though you're just riding some sort of juggernaut over which you have no control? That's what it felt like for me. Since the X-men Red Carpet gig it's just been go go go so it was nice to just...be. I need that.

Sunday was a completely different story. More on that later.

Chatting with The Dink

Ok, sincere apologies for this but I can't seem to upload the actual video on YouTube but here is the link to my interview with Peter Dinklage (plus a minute with Mr Jackman).

Leisa Interviews: TW, Hugh Jackman & Peter Dinklage.

Serious fan girl moments in there folks.

Enjoy

It's all fun and games till someone loses an eye.

I don't ever want anyone to think I was all sweetness and nice growing up.

The mindfulness that is now mine in adulthood did not always exist and sometimes, despite parental guidance and encouragement, I too engaged in the teasing and ridicule of other children who were deemed different...or who may not have been as clean as me, or those my peers saw as weird, or strange or annoying...or...worthy of being picked on just because...

Why do children do that? How do they start doing that? Why do they follow a pack mentality? Why do they engage in such behaviour even though their parents  may model and encourage acceptance and love?

I don't know. I can cast my mind back and see it all happening but I cannot understand the mindset.

I remember a little girl called X who was part of a friendship circle we were in. All was well and fine until one day...we decided it wasn't. No rhyme, no reason. We decided to let her know that we hated her by writing her a note telling her she was as yucky and smelly and ugly as cow poo - complete with pictures. I remember contributing to that note by drawing the pictures with such glee! No thought to the potential consequences of such a note - just the pure enjoyment of writing such venom.

I believe the average age of the girls in our group was ten.

It was all fun and games until someone got hurt. I don't remember who delivered the terrible note...but I do remember that sweet little girls face crumple with grief and the way she sobbed and sobbed and showed the teacher.

I was mortified. Ashamed. Grief stricken. In my gleeful involvement I had not had the foresight to think of the consequences for this dear, sweet little girl; what it would feel like to be singled out and have your friendship group turn against you like that - with no warning! But I saw her face...and I knew...and I was ashamed.

The next morning we surrounded the girl of our own volition and told her how sorry we were. We asked forgiveness. I think there was an element of punishment avoidance behind our apology but I cannot forget how horrible I felt watching that little girl sob.

Obviously the teacher saw that there was a heartfelt resolution to the whole incident because she never got involved. I think she saw us all happily playing together and let us be.

Even though I never forgot that incident it didn't serve as enough of a lesson to stop me engaging in other forms of subtle bullying. In Year 9 at High School (why is Year 9 such a feral year?) my best friend and I made up nicknames for other students and teachers - those who were different, others with mental illnesses or disabilities or those we just didn't like and teachers with odd quirks. Blockhead, Spoon, Dude, Mr Jellylegs, Fräulein Lizardface. We never called them those names to their faces but I find myself wondering if they ever knew and sometimes I see their faces even now and wish I could turn back time and be less of a minion and more of an understanding individual. 

Still...time goes on and thankfully I left immature childhood behind. The faces of the past still flit through my mind sometimes and I remember them and send out good wishes to them in the hope that they are having a happy life. I remember and know what it's like to be the object of ridicule and a target of jokes and instead of becoming bitter, draw from those experiences to make changes for the better and reach out with understanding and compassion. I simply love people. I love our differences and diversity. I've discovered that there are so many levels to connect with others and so many ways in which we are the same. 

It saddens me to learn sometimes that even those of us with physical differences  may not learn from our own experiences; that there are those who will target others with different quirks or an appearance diversity or even another disability and subject them to ridicule and bullying. I cannot understand or comprehend that mindset. I can't understand how those of us who know what it's like to be the target and recipient of bullying and ridicule can then turn around and inflict that kind of behaviour on another human being, simply because they may be different.

Try as I might I cannot make sense of it.

Recently I learned that a brand new friend of mine was the target of some pretty hefty bullying by a group of people who all had dwarfism. This friend has a genetic condition affecting her appearance. She is such a dear person, strong, intelligent, kind and a wonderful self advocate in educating others about appearance diversity. I am so pleased to have become a friend.

But naturally, before she met me, my friend was somewhat "put off" by people with dwarfism - and after the treatment she received from the group she encountered I really don't blame her. I'm so glad that meeting me has been a positive experience for my friend. It confirms to me my resolve to be a positive example when I am out and about and in my dealings with others.

I often wonder about bullies and wonder if karma does actually catch up with them eventually. None of us know what's in store for us. Life can change in the blink of an eye. Life can be cruising along nicely and then suddenly one may find themselves the victim of a car accident that results in a permanent physical or brain injury; a beloved family member may give birth to a child with an unexpected disability thus opening up a whole new world and range of experiences to that family; brain chemistry may suddenly change causing epilepsy or the experiences that life tends to throw at someone may see them descend into depression where everything is overwhelming and they can't seem to be the person they once were.

What happens to bullies when they find themselves in the very situations that they used to victimise others for? Do they remember? Do they feel regret and remorse? I know I do and vow to make amends if ever the situation presents to be able to do so. 

I wish we could all go through life thinking "There but for the grace of God go I." It's something that my mother used to say and something that never left me. Teasing someone may give a fleeting feeling of superiority and mirth for you and your friends...but remember that it is all fun and games until someone loses an eye...and one day you might find yourself in that persons very same spot. Tread lightly on the earth and extend goodness and kindness to others. It's not that hard. Open your heart. I know that as I have I've found myself surrounded by the most beautiful people who have enriched my life in ways I never expected. 

Try it. 

Burning the candles

Figuratively burning the candle at both ends lately. 

My eldest daughter will be pleased by my use of the word figuratively as opposed to the word literally. Our family has many a conversation about society's overuse of the word literally. 

After the excitement of the past week, changes occurring in each of our lives and four weeks worth of intensive training I seem to have reached a point where I'm dragging my feet. It's no secret I'm exhausted. I have no stores of energy now to complete all of the daily tasks that are now piling up.

I can't remember the last time I got into a made bed. The amount of dust and animal hair about the house could almost make up one small human and one extra animal. Everyone's tired of quickly slapped together meals, toasties or take-away. The search for underwear in the rapidly growing washed-dried-but-not-folded laundry pile is getting annoying, and we could possibly start growing potatoes or some other root vegetable on our dirty floors soon.

It's not pretty. 

I'm trying not to make it matter but it does. By the time I get home at night from my work in the city I'm too tired and grumpy to do anything except eat something and veg out in front of Masterchef, dreaming that someone, anyone would come into my house, wave their magic wand and everything would be clean, uncluttered, put away and I could sit down and eat one of those incredible looking dishes they submit to the Masterchef judges. I'm so jealous. I want Gary, George and Matt's jobs! How cool would that be?

As I interviewed Peter Dinklage and Hugh Jackman on Friday I thought, "I love doing this! I wish I could be paid to do more of this! What do we have to do to make this happen?" Wouldn't it be wonderful working a job where most of the time spent doing it are hours you're enjoying yourself? My niece who loves drawing, cartooning and creating characters, went to the Dreamworks exhibition at ACMI recently and was so inspired by the Dreamworks artists who get to spend their working days dreaming and creating and doing what they love. Not only do they get to do what they love, but they are paid for it. They earn a living from it. I hope my niece is inspired enough to pursue her passion. I hope she gets to live her dream.

What is my dream? What are the things that I'm passionate about and will drive me towards creating a career doing something I love? Sometimes I feel the answer is close but it is elusive. I feel it in the thrill of having a microphone in my hand and a camera beside me. I feel it as I explore my creative side during a movement workshop where I get to explore dance and movement and emotion. I feel it when I write and the words flow onto the page, no longer trapped inside my soul. I feel it when I run in the morning, when it's just me, the road and the air.

There has to be more to life than just survival; living week to week, payday to payday.

I'll find it someday.