Inside and Outside

Whoever invented Skype (and made it free) is my hero! I am sure it must be some military tech guy who missed his family terribly. The ability to ring up my mom, my dad, my friends and see their lovely faces and talk with them, albeit sometimes over computer glitches and bad connections, is priceless. Particularly on days when you can really use a friend, when advice is in short supply and you need inspiration, a late night skype with a loved one is an amazing tonic.

Last night I was feeling forty shades of blue. Jason and I had a bit of a row and he had gone to bed. It was late. I sat in my studio watching the rain slap itself across the balcony and began to snuggle into the wallowing blanket, when suddenly there was my dear friend Ema, popping up on the screen, almost as if she had popped over for tea (and brought the bright, cheerful Parisian sunshine with her, no less!) It was heavenly to talk with her! The last time we had talked was before I moved to Okinawa, so just a chat in itself was a treat. The fact that she brought her special brand of wisdom and peace to the table was an absolute blessing. You see, the thing about Ema is that she is the antidote to gloom. Now she and I are very similar. We both travel the world, are expats, we're both creative in our own ways, and we have been through a lot of similar life experiences, but where she walks into a room and it lights up, I tend to hit the dimmer. Last night she made me full of light.

You see, Ema reminded me to explore inside myself. To find the quiet joy in stillness and internal reflection. My brain has been on overload. I think to much anyway, or so it has been said of me. I ramble over three thousand things in seconds, and confuse the hell out of my emotions because, say for instance, I have a fight with my husband, my head has already argued, found fault in my arguments, freaked itself out and started thinking about what to do next before my eyes even know if they should cry or my fists even know if they should ball up. Because of this rapidity of thought...well, cumbersome quantity of thought, rather...I have been numbing my mind for some time. TV and facebook are great for that. If I get engrossed in a movie there are 2 whole hours to think about nothing! This works pretty well except when the movie suddenly brings up some thought that I had been trying to avoid, which is why I assume I have been sticking to zombie movies as of late.

So how do I let myself back inside my own head without wanting to run screaming like I am being chased by a bunch of Romero corpses? Well, thanks to another good skype from Beau, who always listens to my madness with patience and a cocktail, I am writing again. Not Earth shattering tomes, but after six months of writers block, it feels pretty damn good.

Another great suggestion came from my typically Sagittarian mother. "Get OUTSIDE," she said, in that manner that makes you feel like you, perhaps, were very silly and naughty for cooping yourself up with your cats, your "True Blood," and your candy corn. But she was right, as she usually is. The only way for me to get inside myself is to get myself outside of this gorgeous, damn house. After all, I moved to this country for a reason, TO SEE IT! That doesn't mean memorizing the view from all the windows and balconies. It also doesn't mean I have to wait for Jason to have a day off to try to experience things. Hell, I lived in London on my own several times, I traveled all over Britain and Ireland and France with just a backpack, and did so for half of my adult life! Yeah Japan is different, WAAAAY different, and the public transport is almost impossible to decifer, but if I get lost, I am on a bloody island. It won't be hard to get found.

Backpacking in Paris

I always found that exploring, out on my own, was the best way to overcome so many of lives problems, to really get my head on straight.

Riding in Ireland


Seems the only way it works for me. So I now vow that I will make an effort the rest of the week to get inside and outside. To walk around until I find a new bit of Earth and sit on it, and write.