Alone In A Crowd

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I've decided that I have chosen to pursue a very lonely sport.

Maybe I just came to that conclusion as a result of being in a bit of a funk, but it's something I've been thinking about since I participated in The Color Run last Sunday.

Honestly, I don't mind running alone when I'm....well....running alone! Getting up early in the morning and running before everyone else is awake and the day is still fresh and new is something I enjoy very much. It's my time; a time where it's just me and the road and my thoughts and by the time I get back home I am invigorated and awake and set to take on the day.

Events are a different matter.

Most of the events I've entered into are Fun Runs, although The Run Melbourne I did earlier in the year was a little more serious. Fun Runs are normally done as a group and they're supposed to be...well...fun! You and your friends get together and run, take selfies, engage in some friendly competition and generally encourage each other to keep going to the end. Trouble is, I don't have a running partner, or a friend I run with so I normally enter into these Fun Runs as a solo participant, get there, run, go home. The end.

Standing on my own in a field of over 20,000 other Color Run participants last Sunday was a pretty lonely feeling, I must admit. It made me wonder why on earth I do this....

But I love it. I love to run. It's as pure and simple as that. I've chosen to do something that people I love are unable to join me in....and I've chosen to do something that I have to participate in on my own level, not trying to keep up with others, which means that I slow people down if I'm running with people who want to make a good time.

I'm getting faster. After three years I have finally started to run under 8min/km. Today I really pushed and ran my fastest yet - 7.31min/km over a 2km distance. Something has finally clicked. I don't know what...but whatever it is, it's making me faster. I'm going to keep practicing these short "sprints" until I can try pushing harder over longer distances. I think the frustration of trying to get around walkers at The Color Run on Sunday might've done it because when I got a break I ran like the clappers to make up some time!

Why I made it all about the time during a Fun Run I'll never know. I just wanted to get out of there to be honest.

I was a little emotional when I got home. It was good to be not so alone anymore. I've asked for some company when I register for the next Run for the Kids.

I've set myself some running goals. These goals have been on my mind for a year now but for some reason I have baulked at achieving them. Over the past week one of my fitness idols (who is also short statured) achieved a pretty amazing feat, inspiring me to push further, train harder and showing me that it is actually possible.

Watch this space.

The One Thing

I saw this list of questions over at Random Acts of Zen and felt inspired to ruminate on them myself.

The one thing I should do less often is: Doubt myself. I find myself thinking that there's always someone else so much more qualified than me to do practically everything, so when anyone asks me to do something really terrific I am always scared that I'm not going to live up to their expectations. Fact of the matter is, I'm always encouraged by others after all is done. The only one who doubts me is me.

The one thing I should do more often is: Take the time to spend with people I love most. All work/committments and no play makes Leisa a very dull....and lonely....girl indeed.

The one thing that makes me smile is: Hearing, "Mum, I had such a good day." Still.

The one thing that does my head in is: Passive-aggressive comments. Please! If you don't really mean something, don't say it. Passive aggressive comments also make me doubt myself. "Do they really mean that the way it sounded or am I just being too sensitive?" GAH!

The one thing I should eat more of is: Protein (plant based) and foods high in iron. Sadly lacking here...

The one thing I can do to make the world a better place is: Smile and believe that everyone is just trying to do the best they can with what they know in this journey called life.

The one thing I need to remind myself is: Don't compare my achievements with others. Just do the very best you can with what you know and the resources you have been given.

The one thing I should do for myself right now is: Release myself from the pressure of making a decision either way. All in good time, my dear. All in good time. If it ain't broke, don't fix it.

How would you answer these questions?

Tiny House

We've had one or two people over the course of our lives who wonder about our house and our furniture and have held the assumption that everything is scaled down according to our size. When our current house was being built fifteen years ago there was one particular lady who was almost squeeing with delight at the thought of EVERYTHING being scaled down - not just the lower benches, light switches, door handles, a walk in shower with lower taps and a clothesline that had been sunk into the ground a little more so we could reach it - but all our furniture as well. She imagined us sleeping in smaller, shorter beds, sitting at a table and chairs built for children and on a lounge that was lower to the ground. I wonder if she imagined that the ceiling would also be lower? I never asked...

This couldn't be further from the truth. Yes, our home does have lower benches, door handles etc, but that's where it stops. Come into our home and the average statured person would be quite comfortable with the furniture. Washing the dishes? Maybe not. We've had taller-than-average friends actually choose to sit on a stool if they offer to do the dishes for us. There are times where we muse about having a Japanese-style table where we sit on cushions...mainly because this is how we are most comfortable, and I love that style!

But oh my goodness! I would LOVE to have a TINY HOUSE! Not because I am short, but because I dearly crave a minimalist lifestyle! To only have enough room for the absolute essentials would be a dream, and would encourage living mindfully and meaningfully without the excess clutter and possessions that we really don't need.

And on wheels too! Perfect for being a nomad in comfort!

For those who want to put down some roots.

Ok...so maybe it's not very accessible for those who have mobility issues...hmmm....

Images taken from here. 

I've been thinking a lot about this lately as my partner and I are on the verge of moving into a smaller place so I have been starting to sort through our possessions and divide them into those things that can stay in the "family home" and those that can come with us. I am learning to let things go. I even have a large, plastic storage box that contains baby clothes from when the kids were little and have decided to donate them to The Salvation Army. I've only kept them for sentimental reasons and realised that all the box is doing is taking up space...so I'd rather give them to someone who could use them.

It's going to be hard letting them go though!

Isn't it incredible, the amount of "stuff" we all accumulate over a lifetime? Why do we do it and why can it be so hard to let it go sometimes? I find that when I do declutter, simplify and let go it's like a weight gets lifted from my shoulders and I begin thinking clearly. I can actually do more with less!

So yes, my dream is to have a Tiny House. Not just for the cute factor, but to help me become mindful of the simple things I need to have the simple life I dearly long for.

Video Killed the Radio Star

l-r Hayley, Carly, Michelle and me. (it's only when I see photos of myself that I think, "Gee! I AM really short!)

Now that title may be a little misleading...or narcissistic. Yes I am on radio from time to time, but I am in no way a star. It was just the title that popped into my head and I went with it. Let's give a round of applause to The Buggles for penning that little earworm....or karaoke favorite...

On Saturday I made my way into the city to the studios of Channel 31 to film an episode of No Limits. My dear friend Carly Findlay recently asked me if I would like to come into the studios and sit on a panel of other bloggers to talk about our experiences of blogging from the perspective as a person with a disability. I was thrilled to be asked, regardless of the fact that I struggle with the fact that my blog is in no way the calibre of Carly's or the two other wonderful bloggers I shared the panel with - Michelle from Living With Bob and Hayley from Rellacafa.

(Please head over and give these bloggers some love. Great reads and you'll be educated in the process - just like I was!)

Filming No Limits was such as positive experience. Everyone was just so friendly. It was a real experience having my makeup done for the harsh lights of the studio. Although I love it when I have a makeover my eyes inevitably start streaming when someone approaches them with a mascara wand, undoing a lot of the beautiful work! The atmosphere on the panel was relaxed and friendly - more like a chat than an interview. It's so easy to forget cameras when the conversation is so interesting. I learned so much from the other writers - particularly in regards to just getting out there and writing and telling my story. 

I think that's my biggest struggle - feeling as though my story is mundane; or sometimes not really feeling as though I can share the harder, more personal stuff. My life is so very ordinary, filled with work and commuting, crafting and cooking, catching up with friends and contemplating life, so I find myself wondering, "What exactly is the short statured perspective in all this?" I consider myself very blessed - a family of origin that modelled nothing but acceptance, a body that is fit and healthy without many of the issues that can be  associated with achondroplasia and a workplace that is diverse and accepting - not just of my difference, but of ALL difference. What is there to blog about?

But then I realise that that's exactly what I want to blog about and why I started blogging in the first place. I was tired of news stories, media coverage and newspaper articles about people of short stature taking one of three different directions - wildly inspirational, focusing on the problems that can be associated with being "four foot tall in a six foot world" or capturing a short statured person in the role that ridiculed both the condition and the person and didn't do anything to educate the public in any form.

I wanted to tell my own story. The story of a woman - who didn't even get to the lofty four foot in a six foot world (I'm only 3'10.5") but who just does life and is sometimes confused by a world who still has this tendency to discriminate and judge by appearance. For the most part though, I realise that on a daily basis, most people are just letting me do my own thing. I choose not to look for the people looking or staring or smirking or giggling. Is there a look of surprise when I walk into a business or shop and a customer service person encounters me? Possibly...but I've chosen not to see it, which means that I am free to simply go about my business and perhaps educate just one more person about difference in some small way.

I've also realised that by telling my stories I'm also putting things in order in my own mind. I'm exploring the impact some of my past experiences have had on my own journey towards self-acceptance. Hopefully these stories will help others out there as well - not just people with a condition of dwarfism but for others who struggle with accepting themselves and their appearance.

Encounters: Lady

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Your hands were what I noticed first. They reminded me so much of my grandmother and the last moments I spent with her. I had taken my camera that day, capturing the last few images of her. I took one of her hands, clasped together under her chin as though she was in prayer. Someone had painted her nails I noticed.

Your hands were like hers, spotted and wrinkled with age. Hands that had possibly done a lifetime's worth of honest work, held lovers, stroked a baby's newborn head. I couldn't help but look and be somehow comforted by them; hands so much like hers.

My eyes drifted to your face. I noticed you weren't wearing glasses yet you were reading the newspaper. Your mouth was relaxed; the corners turned slightly upwards as though smiling. Your eyes reflected that smile. Did I imagine a twinkle as you looked up from the paper from time to time, taking in your surroundings and the people in it? They were kind eyes; ones that reflected an inner peace.

Your skin had relaxed with age, settling into wrinkles that possibly held countless stories. I wondered what your young face had been. I'm sure it would have been beautiful and I felt glad that you seemed to be content to let age have it's way and create a new kind of beauty that time can never erase. You were dressed warmly, so much more so than me but I could tell that you had dressed with care. Perhaps a hint of your personality was revealed in the ruby red earrings that twinkled from your ears?

All too soon my tram ride was over and I disembarked, leaving you to continue your journey. Where were you going? Were you meeting with a friend? Your grown child? A grandchild? I can only wonder.

You crossed my path for ten minutes yet I have spent the morning thinking about you. We did not speak yet you seemed to tell me countless stories. You taught me the value of relaxing my face into a subtle smile and to let that smile extend to my eyes to shine out to others. You showed me that aging is nothing to be feared but something to accept with grace and love, for not all of us are gifted with longevity. The lines and wrinkles that come can hold many secrets and come almost as a reward for a life well lived.

Thank you dear lady, for all you imparted to me today. I will remember.

Rolling with the punches

When I was a younger mother I would say at the end of each year something like, "Surely next year will be the year where things will get better!" There was always something going on. Someone would have to have surgery, someone would be out of work, we would lose someone we loved. Life just seemed to be in a perpetual holding pattern of coping. 

These were the years our specialist would see me in clinic and ask me, "And how are you going with it all Leisa? " and I would answer with a stoic, "Yeah, I'm doing okay! "

And then there came the years of, "I-can-no-longer-deal-with-this" and, apart from feeling like I was losing my mind, I had a very unhealthy hatred of everyone and everything. I succumbed to the rage of, "It's not fair!" and, "Why me?" Well meaning platitudes of, "God only gives someone as much as they can handle!" only served to fuel the rage because I was NOT coping. Not by a long shot. I was surviving. 

Surviving is not living. Trust me on this one.

There were many offers of help from people I loved. Looking back on it all now I can see I should have accepted more help, but truth be told I couldn't specify exactly how they could help or what help I needed. I'm really not good at delegating tasks. 

And deep down, practical help such as getting someone in to clean the house or even take the kids places was not really the thing I needed. Having someone there to do all that stuff wasn't going to relieve the pressure of emotionally and mentally coping with everything. I can physically keep going forever (or so I keep saying) and I'm pretty good at "doing all the things" (because it actually helps me by giving the illusion that I have some kind of control!) but the constant worry and stress I had in my head almost did me in.

How does one get help for that? How can family and friends relieve that? There just seemed to be so much of it that I felt as though I couldn't keep leaning on the inner sanctum of trusted souls for fear that it would all get too much for them and eventually they'd all bail. One by one they'd jump ship. 

Because they all could. Trusted others, as involved as they may be, still have the luxurious option of jumping ship. Not that I'm suggesting they would have mind you, but somewhere in my stressed out mind this was something that niggled at me from time to time. I needed them to hang in there on the sidelines so I guess I protected them from how much I was struggling so they would actually stick around.

I realized that the other side of this is that when I did and do actually lean on trusted others and let them know stuff, that's when the floodgates open and I break down, lose the plot, can't hang on anymore, drop the bundle...take your pick. I've only got to get a phone call from one of my sisters asking, "How's it all going?" and I become a blubbering mess. I don't like it when that happens...so I remain closed and come across as this able, capable woman who has her shit together...

...when in fact nothing could be further from the truth. I don't have my shit togther. There are days where I'm like a li'l duck swimming in a pond - looking calm on the surface, paddling furiously underneath.

Furiously is a good word. Deep down I think I was furious. I was brought up in a church that preached "pie in the sky when you die, steak on your plate while you wait," meaning that if you followed Jesus then your life would constantly be wonderful, joyous, full of blessings, healing, deliverance, prosperity...all those nice, powerful words. After Googling that phrase I can still find pastors/teachers/evangelists who preach it. *headdesk* I was furious because no matter how much I prayed, how much I believed, how much I tried to have faith, attend church, tithe, learn...there was still another surgery to go through, another meeting to have trying to get schools to understand our specific quirks, another unsuccessful job application. If there was a God, I felt like He defininitely wasn't interested in us.

I think things started to turn the corner when I started seeing possibly one of the most incredible psychologists to ever grace the planet. For the sake of anonymity, let's just call him Peter. Peter was as tall as I was short. He too was a Christian but was open minded and curious about lots of different alternative ways of thinking. Instead of feeding me the same lines I had grown up with he offered me the idea that most of life is actually mundane, some of it is hard and it's all about finding the peace and joy in the everyday routine and simple pleasures of each day. Life isn't about going from one peachy keen moment to the next thanks to the grace of God. It's about just getting by and making the most of what you've got. I spent a lot of money going to see Peter, but I don't regret a cent of it. Our sessions together helped me to unlearn what I had always believed to be true and start searching for my own truth. 

Since then, and since really contemplating and grasping that concept I have had a lot more peace. More peace than I could have ever imagined. I've let go of the striving and the hoping and the wishing and just accepted that this is what life is for me, for us. 

And I'm ok with that.

That doesn't mean to say that things have all of a sudden got easier. There are days where I feel I am still rolling with the punches. Some days bring about a new thing to cope with and I find myself thinking, "Really? Another one? Enough already!!!" But after a brief time of getting angry and maybe even shaking my fists at the heavens I find myself once again squaring my shoulders and trying to use these new opportunities to grow, learn, gain understanding, wisdom and empathy. I'm far less judgemental than I used to be. I find myself looking at people and wondering what their stories are; what they are struggling with and end up cutting them some slack. 

I think we all need to do that sometimes.

If I'm honest, I can't say that I've reconciled with everything my family and I have been through, have had to walk through, crawl through and hang in there through. A lot of it has been bloody hard and there are times I sit there and think, "What did I do so WRONG?" There are times where I have wished I could have just crawled over broken glass and walked through fire rather than go through some of the things we did...but we did, and still do...and we still manage to come out the other side. Maybe we come out a little battered and bruised, but the point is we come out and we're still alive. 

And we still love and laugh. Last night as I was washing the dishes I listened to my four adult children sitting around the table talking about Christmas plans. For a short while they even started singing different Christmas songs, experimenting with harmonies and melodies together. It was the most beautiful music I'd ever heard. One of them became a little emotional because things are starting to change in regards to our living arrangements and soon they all won't be living together under the same roof. They all came together in a group hug, all lending support to each other. 

I see the beautiful close bond that they have and I wonder if it's been because it's been forged through fire that it's so close and so loving. Maybe they've banded together because they've walked through fire together all their lives?

Maybe I am grateful for the punches and the fire after all....

In which she gives Eve a break.

But the Lord God warned him, "You may  freely eat of every tree in the garden - except the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. If you eat its fruit, you are sure to die."

Genesis 2: 16 & 17
The New Living Bible.

I've been listening to Triple J for a couple of years now. I like that I am hearing different artists than the usual Beyonce, Brittney and Bieber offerings of other radio stations. A few months back I heard Hilltop Hoods, Cosby Sweater and liked it from the start. I liked it because...well...I don't know why. It was different to what I normally like, it was catchy...and I liked it. I didn't even know the lyrics apart from most of the chorus. This is most unlike me. I like knowing lyrics. Always have. In any case, I enjoyed Cosby Sweater every time it came on.

Recently one of my friends posted about Cosby Sweater on Facebook, saying how much of a good song it was until she discovered what it meant.

I tried to resist folks! I wanted to keep singing along to that song and believing that it was simply referring to the sweaters the Huxtable family would wear on The Cosby Show.

But there it was - that tree of the knowledge of good and evil, in the form of Google.

And I couldn't resist...and now I know what kind of Cosby Sweater the songwriters are referring to...one that I never knew existed until half an hour ago.

*blinks*

Ignorance actually is bliss sometimes, and I find myself wondering if all we do is lose our innocence in the relentless pursuit to know things. Once you know the truth about something then you're no longer innocent...and then...guilt comes in simply because you think, "I shouldn't like this." Well....that's what it's like for me.

(I think I'm working out the Genesis stuff as I ponder this.)

I remember as a child singing the original words to Eenie Meenie Minee Mo, Rock-a-bye Baby and Ring-a-Rosie with reckless abandon. Choosing who was "It" in Tiggy or captain of a team was always decided by the Eenie Meenie Minee Mo method, and back then we didn't sing about a Tiger being caught by his toe...it was something else. None of us had any idea that we were singing about something from the days of slavery, nor did we know that we were singing a song about the Black Plague when we sang Ring-a-Rosie.  It was all innocence.

In the 1980's I heard Led Zepplins Stairway to Heaven played backwards and heard the infamous line about "My sweet Satan". I still can't hear that song without thinking about it and feeling terribly guilty and sinful if I listen to it. (Although I have been known to bellow along to it out of defiance from time to time!)

Going to hell in a hand basket...

And yet we relentlessly pursue knowledge. We just have to know what's behind the curtain, what it looks like,  sounds like, feels like, tastes like. What is there that lies beyond ignorance and innocence? Maybe it's ok not to know. Maybe it's ok to remain blissfully innocent and ignorant of things we don't really need to know about.

At our place we give up this exasperated cry from time to time;

"For goodness sake, Eve! You had ONE JOB!!!"

We shake our fists at the woman who legend says, took the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil even though she was told she shouldn't.  She took it and ate it simply because she just had to know what it tasted like.

I think we can all agree that we would've ended up doing the same.

Sorry Bill...I don't think I can look at your sweaters anymore...