“Trust yourself with it. Know when it is going right and allow it to unfold. You don’t need to know where it will lead, you just have to trust it.” Tom, my art tutor was demonstrating to the class, drawing faint lines on a sheet of paper in front of him, gradually allowing a form to build. “As you get more confident with it, be bolder, be more decisive, as you begin to trust be confident with it.” The lines that Tom mapped out before him grew deeper, stronger and sure enough, an image began to form. “When you go to dinner, you don’t know what you’ll talk about do you? You just let it unfold. Life and paintings are the same. Trust yourself.”

This is why I love my art class. I seem to find inspiration that goes way beyond any artistic talents; Tom’s tips for painting and drawing are often tips for life. His words resonate with me. It’s often hard to just trust yourself and let things be, to let them unfold but he is right, so very right. When you paint, you know when it’s working and you know when it’s not. We can often overwork a piece of art, with repeated efforts to salvage something that is not working out and this mirrors itself in our lives. Yet I know when my paintings work. I know when I can trust them and let the images build. I know when I can be bolder and more confident and more up front, braver even. I sometimes have brave moments outside of art too.

“What is the worst that can happen?” Tom asks. “So a painting isn’t quite what you hoped it would be, but don’t throw it away, simply hide it away then get it back out again in six months and I guarantee you’ll learn to appreciate it for what it was, for the lesson you learnt from it.” It never ceases to amaze me the parallel that his words have with life outside the art room.

I have recently started to reflect back on an ‘old painting’ or two. Moments in life that have been hidden away, blocked out as something not to be looked at or thought about, only for me to find the moment recently to dig them out and consider the learning in them. Tom is right in every sense – time and distance allows us to see the lesson in everything and to appreciate the purpose of a moment and a point in time.

I am enrolled on my fourth term of the art class now. I took a moment, just last week when I returned to class, to stop and realise that it has now been 12 months since I took up painting again. I quickly put my easel up and watched a few newcomers struggle with theirs; many were telling Tom that they hadn’t painted for 10 years or so. Their nervousness engulfed the room. I smiled slightly to myself, remembering being that person 12 months ago and wondering what it was about these new class members’ lives that had led them to enrol on this course. Had they, like me, been trying to find a little piece of their creativity again? Had they been trying to create space in their life for something, anything but their hectic daily routines? Had they been trying to find a place where they could be still and in the moment? Were they looking to find their creativity, their voice, their confidence, their right to do something for themselves?

It occurred to me how far I’ve come. 12 months ago I had only just begun to blog again, trying to tap back into writing, something that I had put aside for the last 10 years, despite having a passion for communicating in the written form. It was only a year ago that I purchased a digital SLR and discovered the buzz I could get from deep within my stomach when viewing life through a lens. These things, and my art class, were catalysts to open my eyes and open myself to new possibilities, to being able to trust myself and let things unfold.

These creative pursuits have created the space that I’ve needed, outside of my hectic work schedule, to figure out what it is that I want. It is easier to find it and recognise it when we know what we are looking for, but so few of us take the time out to stop and think about what we want. Some of us that do, do not always take the time to re-evaluate this, as it evolves from time to time and new experiences shape our thinking further.

It can be liberating to figure this out. Suddenly, you find yourself able to articulate clearly the things that matter to you and the things that you want and need. When I started this blog, I wasn’t very good at communicating what I wanted, partly because I didn’t really know. It’s so easy to get a little lost along the way and not trust the world to unfold, not trust the things that feel right but space, time and wisdom allow us to reflect and to know and to learn to articulate.

Life’s experiences, we learn, are stepping stones; points in time that ready us for our next step. Each step becomes more exciting, the closer we get to knowing what we want and seeking it out; little trailers along the way that ready us for our main feature. Paintings and sketches that are not quite right, that don’t quite sit comfortably but that which we can look back upon in time and understand their place and purpose.

Only we know when we are ready to be braver and bolder and to trust ourselves that things are right. Only we know when the painting is going to come together yet when we get there, it will be a kaleidoscope of colours that unearths a feeling of pure satisfaction and contentment. Then we’ll know that we really do have an artistic masterpiece that we can be proud of.

Written – 10th April 2012 – published 11th April 2012

When I first started this blog, it was to focus on my travel adventures yet it has, over the last year or so, evolved to capture how far I’ve come on my own personal journey, with or without air miles.  Tomorrow, I fly to Geneva for work again, though just for the day this time and I am looking forward to being able to return to my flat and my own bed tomorrow night, even if it does end up being a very long day.  Even now, there is something about when I travel that seems to inspire me to write, regardless of the reason for my journey.

Strangely, I am never short of inspiration for this blog.  Throwaway comments, articles in magazines, song lyrics or the ramblings of friends; everything seems to inspire me and I never have enough time to blog for all of the ideas that I have.  Strangely, I often find inspiration for a theme emerges from several sources, with a bizarre series of events coinciding to emphasise my own musings until I become fixed on the theme and realise that everything around me is pointing towards the latest topic.

Something that has inspired me this past week, through several sources, is the concept of exploration.  I have, in the past I think, been very focused on making the right choices and selecting the right options, often denying myself the potential to just explore something that may or may not work out, for I have always preferred to select the options that I have carefully evaluated and identified as the correct course of action.  The freedom to just explore something, free from concern over whether or not it will work out, has been quite alien to me.

A friend of mine recently told me how she had been coached to realise that it is perfectly reasonable and indeed, quite healthy, to just explore things.  Her sense of utter freedom from being able to make a choice, and relinquish any pre-conceived ideas over whether it absolutely had to be the right choice, was refreshing and invigorating to be around.  “I have learnt,” she advised me, “that it is okay to just explore sometimes.  It’s a good thing – to just see where things lead.”  Not knowing whether exploration will lead can be exciting, it seems, and most often surprising.

That discussion was only last week, in the midst of my own period of exploration and contemplation, then just today a friend reflected back to me on my own journey.  “The thing is Nicola,” she commented, “that you have recently started to realise that exploring things, whether they do or don’t work out, can be a great way to learn”.  Exploration, it seems, is the perfect way to perfect our choices, as only those who have explored well will truly understand and know how to make the right choices.  In that sense, it is a lot like travelling.  You only know what you’re missing of the world when you’ve been out there to see it.  I used to think I knew, from TV, articles and the internet, but it’s not until you actually stand at a wonder of the world or shake the hand of distance cultures, that we really do know.

This exploration goes way beyond any desire that I have to explore and travel the world though.  It is more than just physically travelling and seeing and smelling and experiencing.  It is about suspending judgement and seeing where things lead, whether that is a job, a relationship, a friendship, a new hobby or listening to our gut when we have an urge to do something and simply cannot explain why but we follow it anyway.  It is about packing up those voices of reason and telling them to get to the back of the line whilst our instincts take over and we allow ourselves to just feel and wonder and explore something.

I’ve spent a long time over the last 18 months or so exploring creativity again.  Photography, art, writing this blog, painting pottery in my local neighbourhood.  I’ve also spent time, as I always do, exploring places.

I now find myself trying to explore even more.  I find myself trying to turn off my natural inclination to rationalise everything.  I find myself in a strange situation of finding options coming to me, without even asking for them, waiting to be explored and considered.  It is odd, how when you stop looking for the right choices, a variety of different options seem to crop up, just waiting for you to open your mind and explore them.  The right choices, it seems, can sometimes emerge through this exploration, from the places you would least expect them.

“I wouldn’t be exploring what I am now” I began to tell my friend today, “if I hadn’t been exploring what I’ve explored over the last few months.”  My willingness to consider new options is borne from my own experiences that are routed in exploration of other parts of me.  I am starting to slowly realise that exploring gives us the freedom to not have to always make the right decision, but rather to think of everything as an adventure and a learning curve, that supports further discovery and contemplation of the things that are important to us.

So I urge you all to explore – to withhold natural tendencies to not pursue things that break the normal moulds we set for ourselves.  Open mindedness, it seems, can be a source of satisfaction.  It can also be a source of short-lived success, but with it comes an appreciation of making the effort to try and the permission to acknowledge when something hasn’t worked, but that it was worth exploring anyway.  You never know where it will lead.  What direction you could end up going in.

So explore.  Know that you will get it right sometimes and know that you will get it wrong at other times.  Just learn from it.  From every exploration and every success or failure.  Exploring other people, places and things is the only way to really explore ourselves.

A lot can happen in 3 weeks.  Since my last blog, I’ve been in Hamburg, Geneva, Amsterdam (twice) and Paris.  I’ve also just got back from spending a weekend in Rye for a friend’s wedding and last week, I enjoyed my first full week in London since the end of January.  I cannot even begin to explain how wonderful it was to be able to come home, to my flat in West Hampstead, all of last week.

I even made one of my Art classes, though sadly it was the last of the term and I felt a pang in my heart that I’ve made only 4 of the 10 classes this term.  On my work-life balance barometer, I’ve definitely been struggling a bit of late but I’m trying to take steps to change that.

Perhaps in the past it would have been all too easy to ignore those early warning signs of a project starting to take over too much of my day-to-day life.  A missed class here, a late arrival at dinner there, a few e-mails to be checked at night, just in case.  All too often I might find myself ‘just taking that call’.  I remember , with absolute clarity, the horrendous moment when I not only turned up to a friend’s birthday dinner two hours late, only able to make the drinks afterwards, only to be interrupted every 15 minutes until midnight by a client making a call to me from the US.  The worst bit of it all?  I let them do it.

You have to be quite brave to say no, I think.  When you’re used to trying to please everyone, and your natural tendency, like mine, is to try hard at everything and make things work, it’s not easy to admit when they’re not working, or when you need to stop and put an end to an unreasonable request or a situation that just isn’t working.  I do think I’m learning to be braver though.  Sometimes I don’t feel very strong when I am, but I know that I at least come across this way.  I guess I would rather crumble and struggle out of sight, confiding in those closest few rather than letting those that know me less well witness my difficulties in my plight to be brave.

I have been told, by two separate people in the last couple of weeks, that I am strong and brave.  That, it seems, is the persona that I portray.  It’s similar to how I am at work I guess.  I think about the many, horrendous times, I have in the course of my job, had to manage a large-scale redundancy programme and sit and negotiate hard on behalf of the company.  I’ve tried always to be fair, but there are times when your personal ethics clash with the needs of the business.  I doubt those individuals have ever realised my struggle.  I like to think that my struggle to rationalise the business need with an individual’s personal needs, helps me ultimately deal with people with respect, but there have been many a time that I have come home and felt like a truly awful human being.

My tendency to always try hard to make something work has, in the past, landed me in situations that ultimately haven’t worked but I’ve become so invested in them that it’s then even harder to accept it was never going to work.  I struggle with endings and unfinished business you see.  Things that I cannot control, that no matter how hard I try will never succeed.  I’m not used to that happening very often, as in many ways, when I put effort in I’ve been lucky enough to be rewarded with the outcome I’m after, so those times when this is not the case are when I struggle the most.

Maybe part of it is admitting to myself that I was unsuccessful.  Or that I was wrong about a situation, a person or an expectation.  But I am learning that it is not about being wrong, it is about being honest about what is and isn’t right.  Honesty, as I’ve said before, is the hardest thing in the world.  It’s often easier to flog several dead horses than to admit they’re dead in the first place.  I’ve done a lot of that in the past, but I am now starting to recognise when the horse is on its way out.  I’m learning to confront the now, even when it hard to deal with it, because in the long-run it will be even harder to deal with.

So over the last couple of weeks I’ve been brave.  I’ve confronted a dying horse and I’ve been forced to deal with that, rather than procrastinate over it.  I’ve forced a conversation with myself about what I do and don’t want and what is and is not acceptable to me.  I’ve taken myself off to Paris for a weekend, even when the last thing I’ve wanted to do in the world was travel again, and I’ve made the most of it.  I’ve got myself lost in my camera, finding that watchful attentiveness of mine to the world and its ways, when I’ve got my SLR in my hand.

I’ve indulged myself.  Shopping, massages, manicures and a blow dry.  I’ve focused on exercising, eating healthily (except of course on a wedding weekend fish and chips binge by the coast or a chocolate cake induced couple of days in Paris) and seeing my friends and family.  I’ve reminded myself of the things I have in London.  I’ve appreciated with my whole heart having one week totally in London.  Not having to dig out my passport this past week has been amazing.

I’ve painted in my Art class, even when my stomach was in knots, finding ways for my paintbrush to iron those knots out.  I’ve forced myself through a day long presentation in Amsterdam, switching into ‘brave and strong’ mode when all I’ve wanted to do was run back to London or at very least, my hotel room.  I’ve made myself go out in Camden and talk to strangers, joining travellers on their bar crawl.  I’ve reminded myself of the fun that is out there when we’re prepared to suspend judgement and be brave enough to open conversations up with random people.  I’ve made an effort to be brave and strong, or perhaps more than effort, but rather a conscious decision to be this way.

Then this last weekend, I was faced with being brave again, or at least, I thought I would need to be.  Armed once again with my SLR on the cobbled streets of Rye, I took an hour yesterday morning to get lost in my lens and felt a sense of calm transcend through me.  Then I realised, that I have learnt something these last few weeks.  I’ve learnt that endings don’t have to be sad.  Endings can be a chance to reflect on the learning we’ve done through the journey, from beginning to end.  Finding a way to look at something that’s finished and find the lesson in it can be a wonderful way to heal.

You see, there are some people in our lives who touch us for the briefest of moments but leave a lasting impact.  But it’s the memories that we share with them and the lessons that we learn that can last a lifetime.  They may not even realise their impact on you, or you on them, and we sometimes do not realise it ourselves at the time, but reflection and time can highlight these things.

From simple things, like learning to relax in front of the television, to inspiring someone to work harder or to remember what it’s like to spend time with someone authentic and true, it is all part of a journey.  I guess that I did not realise until this past weekend that my most recent ending, has moved me considerably on from my past.  This ending I can almost celebrate, because there is a strange healthiness to recognising something isn’t right but that it has shone a light on past experiences that were perhaps held far too highly with rose tinted glasses.

 

It doesn’t mean we ignore sadness though, because endings are, of course, emotional, and we must give ourselves time to heal.  But it does mean that I can stop and know that I have learnt something.  That timings may not have been right but that there is learning to be taken from the experience.

You see, I know now that regardless of the effort I put in, sometimes endings are inevitable.  Getting the timing right can be the hardest thing in the world and we sometimes must accept that not only have we learnt something from these journeys but that perhaps, we have taught others something as well.  Whether that something allows them to move on without further endings or not, we may never know, but we must recognise our place and purpose at a point in time.  Endings don’t have to be so sad then, when we understand their place in our long-term journey.

Our lessons, just might, prevent an ending in the future.  Who knows, we may even find ourselves on a journey that is destined only for success as we embark on a new beginning.

Today I am sat in a hotel room an hour and a half from Geneva airport and just a few minutes from the border of France.  My client said this was a middle of nowhere hotel and he was indeed right.  We went for a wander earlier tonight, through the little village that we’re staying in, and saw nobody, except for a small boy, no older than six or seven years old who was wandering home with a backpack and trudging through the snow.  He stopped to say hello to us in French and I mused for a moment at how different it is out here, to be able to allow such a young child to wander the streets alone at 9pm at night.

Ah yes, the snow.  We are surrounded by it.  Over 1,000 feet up in the mountains and piles of snow more than 20 foot high meander along the road through the twists and the turns of the mountain passageway.  Unlike England, the snow is not shutting down the entire transport system.  The roads are in fact clear, despite snow still falling this evening and settling along the sidewalks, piled high and creating a wall.  It’s moments like these that I feel lucky to be able to travel with work, but I cannot help but feel a sense of sadness with it; sadness that I cannot explore this country the way that I would on holiday.  Sadness that I am missing out on my London routine to be here.

I am truly amazed by the change in me in recent months.  I used to long for the adventure of overseas travel, and whilst I do appreciate the opportunity to sample the local culture and sample local wines, I am far less enamoured by the concept than perhaps I would have been in the past.  I want to be home.  I want to be back in London.  My friends, family and loved ones all reside there.  My routine and my passions are borne out of my life back in the big smoke.  My art class, which I have had to neglect for several weeks, is calling my name and I so badly wish that I could finish the painting I started a few weeks ago.  It saddens me to know that I will not be able to.

I am beginning to realise that the role that I do will always place these demands on my personal time.  A friend of mine realised this of her own role recently too and in a rather dramatic turn of events, has enrolled back at University in a bid to follow a creative pathway in life that is fulfilling and true.  She is making a complete career change and I have to say that I am inspired by this brave act.  I am indeed a little envious.  It gets me thinking once again, about what the next 35 years of work will hold for me.

When I first began to study, I learnt a lot about the concept of portfolio careers.  Picking up skills along the way that we can use and apply in different environments.  Switching jobs and career paths because we acquire fundamental skills that are transferable across industries and roles.   Learning not just from work but from life.  Picking up vital skills that will stand us in good stead in the future.

I think about organising my 30^th birthday party and how much fun I had arranging it. I think about painting, when I get the chance, and how utterly free, in the moment and alive I feel.  I think about facilitating workshops and how rewarding it is to see people connect ideas and concepts and develop relationships with each other.  I think about planning travels, and the intricate level of detail and organisation I put into it.  I think about my recent efforts to meet new people, and my objective based approach to making it happen.  I think about searching for a new flatmate, and the methods I’ve applied to use my network to find someone.

I consider also the informal coaching and support I can offer friends, having now spent 15 months working with a life coach.  I think about the value they gain from my insight into the world as a consequence of my own journey to personal fulfilment.  I think about being younger, and setting up the rock music website with my sister that ultimately led us to meet many of our musical idols and no doubt helped facilitate my entry into the music industry.

I think about my make it happen attitude for years.  From wanting to work in music and making that happen.  To wanting to not pay for studies and making it happen.  To wanting to  work in consultancy and making it happen.  To wanting to travel the world and making it happen.  I have always been very can do and believed there is a way to get what you want.

I guess I am a little stuck right now, as I am not entirely clear on what else I want to ‘make happen’ but I am busy trying to connect the dots of the things that I enjoy most and see how they might fit together.  How might I create a portfolio career and indeed, portfolio life for myself?  One that benefits from enriched experiences gained in many environments and circumstances.  Perhaps my goals right now are of a more personal nature, and I feel somewhat disrupted in pursuing them with a hectic travel schedule.

I am a little excited though.  Forget portfolio careers, I want a portfolio life.  One that allows me to acquire new experiences and skills along the way.  Once that opens a pathway for me to continue try new things and inspire myself and others.  One that guarantees no chapter the same.  One that allows me to be build as an individual and grow with every new experience and day.

I am realising that simple things can help provide that.  It may sound silly, but it’s been years since I spent any time relaxing in front of a movie or TV.  I’ve always been ‘on the go’ and had things to do.  I have found, recently, that this ‘down’ time can be rewarding.  It’s perhaps another chapter for me in my portfolio life and it makes me realise that portfolios do not need to be complicated.  They just need to serve a need and right now, that’s to relax, unwind and let things be… and for them to be in London.

Being forthright and not wasting time and energy on unknowns is all very well and good in theory, but in practice it is often so much harder.  For one thing, direct questions do not always lead to direct answers, nor honest ones.  Expectations can be dashed or further enhanced.  Reality and perception can become intertwined.  One person’s articulation is another person’s misinterpretation.  Resolving issues and getting clarity on something is rarely a simple task.

At work though, this is to some extent, easier to resolve I believe.  Whatever the challenge, there is usually a response, or at very least a process to follow.  Hold a meeting, discuss the concerns; “get them out on the table”, to coin an overused business phrase.  Review the outcomes of the meeting, document them and agree follow up actions then review again, at a regular, agreed interval until clarity is restored, trust built and information shared.  Simple huh?  Perhaps not always, but there is always a logical structure to apply and “get everyone on the same page”!

I enjoy facilitating groups of people and getting them aligned to respond to a shared challenge.  For years, I inherently did this, but in recent months I’ve been doing more formal facilitation and really enjoying the outcomes of this.  I am building a heap of tools for doing this, applying intellectual property from my consultancy and often, getting creative and making up my own methods for encouraging groups to resolve an issue through a creative activity.  I gain a lot of satisfaction from this, from getting real clarity of vision; shared understanding and engagement and encouraging the sharing of experiences, concerns, learning and knowledge can be really rewarding.  Why is it then, that work aside, I struggle so much with the concept of alignment and clarification?

Perhaps stakes are higher when we are not in a work environment.  Expectations are our own; they cannot be held accountable to an organisation.  We own them.  We are personally invested in them.  We may not like the outcome of an honest answer.  We may not like the confusion created by a difficult to interpret answer.  We may not have the processes to deal with this, when we do not have the advantage of separation of issues from work and home.  At work we can, at difficult times, attempt to detach.  That’s harder to do on a personal level.

I found it interesting to read therefore, a recent article in the Guardian, that documented the memoirs of a lady who had spent years working in palliative care, nursing individuals in their final weeks of life.  Her memoirs were ultimately summarised in five observations about common regrets of the dying.  This sounds of course, like a rather depressing subject, but I found the article to be uplifting and inspiring.  What a fantastic opportunity for everyone that lives today, to reflect upon and purposefully change the way they behave in response to the common regrets; what can we each do to live our lives in a way that we will not one day wish we had done things differently?

Combine this with a colleague this week jokingly telling me that she wants to “go out drinking a glass of Cristal” and you have the inspiration for this, my latest blog.  Whilst one reflection, from my colleague, was clearly routed in a tangible existence and chance to enjoy yourself and live life to the full, the article, on the flipside, referred to much more intangibles things.  The regret that struck me the most, of the five documented by the nurse, was that people commonly wished they had been brave enough to say how they really felt and confront things, not wasting time in the unknown.

So facilitating groups of people at work aside, it’s my new mission to be sure to always be brave enough to say how I really feel and ask those uncomfortable questions that keep us awake at night wondering how to ask them.  It’s better to get an answer, than live in wonder right?

Just 12 months ago, I was grappling with a broken arm and finally learning to say no.  A broken bone was perhaps a harsh reality check for me but there is little doubt in my mind, as I look back on the last year, that it was the final, important trigger that I needed to stop and give myself a chance to make time for myself again. 

We are now just over three weeks into 2012 and I’m six weeks into my thirties.  The difference that a year can make is truly phenomenal to me right now.  My journey to regain balance in my life began, properly, in December 2010 but it’s really been the last six months or so that have cemented the efforts that I began to make last Winter. 

Post summer travels, in America and Canada, I made the decision to return to my management consultancy role and try out some new projects.  I’ve been largely working in the public sector again for the last few months, this time in Education, but I am about to embark on a large European transformation programme for one of our global, commercial clients.  I realise, with absolute clarity, that now more than ever it will be important for me to ensure that the good practices I have laid in terms of taking time out to paint, exercise, socialise and do the things that genuine fulfil me, must continue.  I recognise now that I can still be productive like this, in fact often more so.  Escaping the burn out that I felt just a few months ago will be a constant reminder to keep a balance.

So how is 2012 and my thirties shaping up?  Well, there’s a definite shift.  My decisions are based on different things, that’s for sure.  In the last couple of weeks I’ve been presented with a couple of significant career opportunities; one in terms of studying on an intense, global programme that would demand a huge time and financial investment and second, an international assignment and job offer.  Interestingly, I have decided not to pursue either opportunity at the moment on the basis that I am really starting to enjoy the life that I have built in London and right now, I don’t want anything else to take priority over the wonderful personal opportunities I have invested so much time in generating.

I guarantee, that had those opportunities been presented to me a few months ago, probably as recently as my return from America, then I may well have pursued them.  My twenties had always been, after all, dedicated to my hot pursuit of career success but somehow, arriving into my thirties, where a certain amount of success has been gained, I am enjoying the opportunity to step back, reap those benefits and realise that chasing after the next big career win doesn’t have to be a priority right now.  So long as I can be happy, delivering the work that I do, and that I can continue to learn and develop and grow, I do not necessarily need to spend £10k to study, nor do I have to move overseas to further my career.  For what purpose would this be and at what expense of the life I have in London?

My closest friends and family see this shift.  “Wow, you have changed” one of my closest friends commented to me just the other day.  You see, they know me well.  They know that I’ve always had one eye on the career ladder and the other on adventure.  Combining the two, with a job opportunity in another country – well, everyone that knows me would be right to assume that there would be very little decision for me to take.  I would take it, surely?  That’s what Nicola always wanted?  Is it not?  I think I’ve even surprised myself a little.  This is so far from where I was 12 months ago, when I couldn’t wait to get out of the country and escape again.  Turning down an opportunity to pursue a job role in another country only serves to signify how far I’ve come.

“I don’t want to give up my Art class” I told my friend Sonya last week. “I’m happy in London right now, really happy.”  I went on to explain that not pursuing either opportunity, of study or a move abroad, was a consequence of the satisfaction that I now have in London every single day.  “I don’t need to change anything.”  Happiness, it seems, has found me right here, at home.

So as I prepare to embark on a new client, back in the commercial sector, I admit that I am still a bit of an adventurer and still quite excited.  I haven’t totally given up the career goals, you see; they are merely better placed behind other life goals.  My new client will bring me an opportunity to develop new skills and yes, travel a bit too.  Some European workshops and meetings are planned so the adventurer in me is still satisfied.

I am also, as always, planning my own fair share of travel adventures over the next few months.  So far weekends in Paris and Amsterdam are booked and I’m also getting a chance to explore a bit more of the UK, with everything from work to weddings.  I had forgotten how many fabulous places there are to see on our very own shores. 

With these shifting priorities, I am pleased to say, is a sense of perspective.  Career opportunities are great, but there is so much more to life than that.  There is so much more to my life than that, at least.  Certainly, there is more to it now than there was 12 months ago.   I know now, that I wouldn’t give that up again….

It’s been a couple of months since I last blogged. As always, my London life has been hectic and it has been hard to find the opportunity to sit down and write again – it’s not so easy to fit in when you do not have the luxury of being on another long rail journey in the midst of a far flung trip somewhere exciting. I am on holiday though, albeit at home, and find myself wanting to reconnect with the voice inside and share, back on these very pages, thoughts and reflections that have been surrounding me these past two months.

A lot has happened since my last blog. I turned 30. I celebrated a year since I began to try, to really, really try, to make changes to the way I live life in London. We have just had Christmas. It’s shortly going to be my three year anniversary of heading off on the first travel adventure, across Asia and the Pacific that launched this very blog. It’s also, almost a year ago, that I broke my elbow and indeed, since I was given the final little push, by some unseen force of nature (or rather, a slippery floor in my flat), to make some changes. It seems that now, more than ever, is a time for reflection.

I have talked a lot about honesty and authenticity in my previous blogs. Ironically, I did not realise quite how important these themes were when I wrote about them. Sadly, recent events have brought me face-to-face with people with opposing qualities to these, however, ever the eternal optimist, I choose to continue to seek this out. We cannot, ever, judge one person by another’s actions. Risk, I still believe, is worth taking. Consequences can be dealt with, provided we remind ourselves that we are strong enough to deal with them. And provided we have the infrastructure around us to remind ourselves that for every wrong, every mistake or every unexpected burn, there is a right, a correction and a way to heal.

I have discovered, through the course of this year, that I heal through more than just travel. I heal through Art, whether I’m drawing or painting or viewing; exhibitions by Degas and Leonardo Da Vinci this year have proven to me that the Masters of Art from our past still resonate with every creative bone of my body today. I am lucky to have seen these exhibitions this year, to draw inspiration from them and to think back and, once again want to thank Tom, my wonderful Art tutor, for bringing me back the gift of losing myself in a canvas for a couple of hours each week.

I made the mistake, a few weeks back, of skipping a class or two. Life, not work, had got busy and I ended up double and triple booked. I had also made the mistake of sharing, my precious two hours per week, with someone who turned out to be anything but authentic and indeed, quite false. For a moment, I found myself wanting to once again, step away from the easel in a bid to distance myself from the reminder that it brought me, but thankfully, a friend re-inspired me with some thoughtful words. She thanked me for picking up Art again and for ‘re-discovering’ my talent. It wasn’t long before I realised, once again, that Art is there to calm and heal me, each and every week.

I have also found that I heal through photography. Just this Christmas I have spent many a moment lining up my SLR to take creative pictures of baubles on the tree. I have developed quite a fascination with these little glass decorations that no doubt bemuses anyone watching me but somehow, finding the perfect shot of these symbols of celebration, there on the tree, can be thrilling and most of all, a way to bring me right there, in the moment.

Obvious as it may be, I have also found, as I probably always knew, that I heal through friends and family, however through honest and real conversations. Being open about what is going on and how we each are feeling has proven to be a way to genuinely cope with whatever ups and downs may occur. I am lucky enough to have many authentic and true relationships with those close to me.

Creating and carving out a personal routine, that is not centred on work but rather, centred on the things that make us as individuals happy and fulfilled and content and healthy, has proven to be the biggest catalyst in finding a way for me to feel truly content in London. The urge to escape the country, to seek out an adventure to distract from daily routine in the UK, has lost its traction somewhat. The urge to travel is still there of course, but for adventure and excitement rather than escape. Recovery from difficult situations is quicker and easier when the infrastructure and routine and personal fulfilment from other things can be found at home.

Music, as always, plays a central role in my life. As does the opportunity to meet new people and network and collectively bring groups of people together. Imagine how amazing it was for me then, just a couple of weeks ago, to get 100 of my closest friends and family together in a fabulous bar in Central London, to celebrate my 30th birthday with me. A live band, personally picked through my business network, played the event and Stefani, one of my best friends, despite us being separated by an ocean, made the trip to London all the way from NYC to sing at my birthday. This special evening, which came in the midst of a chaotic couple of weeks that had seen one of my risks play out badly, was everything that I needed to be reminded of what wonderful people surround me in London.

I spent a good few weeks before, and indeed a good few days after, considering what my twenties had brought me. My plan, in my teens, revolved so much around my career. It was always difficult, back then, to imagine life beyond my twenties. Work hard, get promoted, accelerate your career faster than most and reap the benefits were high on the agenda. Tick, tick, tick. Work in the music industry? Tick again. Maybe travel a bit. Tick. Maybe travel a lot? Tick, tick. Move into a nice part of London, closer to town. Tick again. What else? It transpired quickly, to me at least, that for the most part of my twenties, my ‘plans’ and ‘goals’ focused on tangible, material things and experiences.

So what next, for my thirties and indeed, 2012? I am looking for the intangibles. The things you cannot touch but you can feel. That satisfaction, contentment and inner happiness that tangible things cannot bring us. The experiences that will shape and carve memories that will last a lifetime. The moments when we take risks, pause with a moment of concern or regret and then stop and realise, that we are indeed at an age where a risk is of our choosing and we individually own our choices. To not have to think about how others perceive us but to go with our gut. To be reckless occasionally, as the best things can be borne from here.

My 30s are going to be about being. Experiencing, feeling and pro-actively seeking to build the things that will allow me to continue to be in the moment and enjoy every minute of it.  I cannot wait.  

It’s been a few weeks since I blogged. A few weeks since my life in London beckoned me home. It seems so strange to think that the last time I updated this blog, I was on a delayed train heading from Montreal to New York City. Despite Hurricane Irene’s best efforts to lay obstacles in my path, I did make it to Manhattan and shortly afterwards, found myself in the familiar terminal building at JFK, suitcase and memories in hand, en route to Heathrow.

I still have many blogs to write – my summer adventure was so inspiring. I cannot wait to set aside time to talk of tales from Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Sedona and the rest of my Canadian adventure. They each deserve a blog of their own. There were so many wonderful moments in those places. Familiar piano bars in Las Vegas. Standing high upon a vortex in the middle of an Arizona thunderstorm. Returning to Hollywood three and a half years on and three and a half years wiser. Every story deserves to be told. Every story and place has helped to further shape and define the journey I am on.

I will set aside time, over the coming months, to finish my summer travel tales.

What has been most interesting though is my journey since returning. I am beginning to reap the benefits of the changes I had begun to make prior to heading west in July. Time, it seems, has become available to me once again. Evenings and weekends have begun to exist and my efforts to unlock creativity has given birth to an ongoing urge for me to continue to paint and make photographs and write and visit galleries and… and so I could go on.

Time is interesting. Once you peel away the layers of activity that permeate our lives, controlling hours invested in work, hours invested in daily chores and duties and hours invested in doing things that do not fulfil us, we are left with time. It is interesting how quickly time can reveal itself to be a source of wandering thoughts and reflections, allowing us to let our minds seek out the very things it has tried to bury and be distracted from. It is so interesting how easy it is to find time, once we learn where to look for it. And how time gives us an opportunity to be honest with ourselves.

Over the last couple of weeks I have begun to wonder a lot. I’ve wondered about honesty and about the past. I have wondered, whether memories of the past are always what we make them out to be. Are the things that we hold onto from a forgotten past, manifestations of the reality we hoped and dreamed to have? Do we sometimes transpose our own expectations on others? Do people genuinely disappoint us or have we, as individuals, raised our expectations too highly? Do we look to the memories that we hold so dear with rose tinted glasses at times? Do we cling on to things that we should learn to let go?

And when do we let go of the past? When is the right time? Is there one? When do we learn to embrace past adventures, memories and moments for the reality of what they are? How can we learn to accept these things for what they are and discover ways to move on from them and build upon them? To learn lessons, smile and embrace the future. I am beginning to see that there is great value in recognising every experience for its individual learning.

A friend often reminds me to think about outcomes and what I might be trying to achieve when I make decisions. “What do you expect to happen?” she often asks me, when I play out a scenario and potential course of action. I usually have an immediate response. “Now how will you feel if that doesn’t happen?” And there, right there, she gets me every time. It is then I often stop and change my course of action as I debate what might happen if my expectations are not met. She stops me again then, and reminds me that it’s okay to have expectations, so long as we prepare for other outcomes, even if they are ones that we hope do not transpire. Some risk taking, it seems, is appropriate. It is often the only way to do what feels truly right in our hearts and minds.

So I’ve been following her advice. Going with my gut and having honest conversations with myself and others. Some have met and exceeded my expectations. Others have dashed them. However, in spite of the odd embarrassment, the odd awkward scenario and the odd concern of what others will think, every decision has felt right because it has been borne out of honesty. Losing a bit of face is usually worth it to be totally up front. I realise now that I used to be more forthright in this way but lost it for a little while. It feels great to have it back.

The most difficult person to be honest with of course is ourselves. We let memories, expectations, guilt, and fear of other people’s opinions stand in the way of being truly honest about what we want. We so easily convince ourselves to avoid our own reality. I now know that I spent much of the last few years distracting myself and convincing myself one way or another of things that just were not true. It was only earlier this year that I began to stop and listen to myself a little more and learnt to speak up. Many changes followed and much satisfaction has been gained.

This is what made my travel adventure over the summer so amazing. If I am honest with myself, when I booked it, I was once again looking to run away in search of something that felt amiss however, by being honest with myself, I began to look for it before I left. Small changes bred a lot of success in helping me piece together what was amiss and suddenly, my travel adventure over the summer became just that – an adventure.

For the first time in many years, my trip abroad was solely about the experience. For once, there was no urgency to get away from it all and forget about London life. Conversely, I actually missed London life at times but I embraced the opportunity to carve out more memories. Now that I’m back, I can really see how healthy the whole trip was for me. The soul searching was in me, not in another country.

So, in the spirit of honesty, I dare say I will lose face some more at times. I read however a great article recently about how older generations tend to be more honest and up front as their fears of what others might think subsides with age. I think it is a wonderfully refreshing idea to be able to do what we want to do because it is what feels right to us. It is inspiring to think that each of us has a choice to live honestly. And it is inspiring to think that part of that honesty must come from recognising what the past has been, and what it hasn’t.

Knowing that will help us all act honestly as we wrap ourselves up in our futures.

This is my last train journey on this summer’s travel tour.  I am now seven hours south of Montreal and alone, save for the other passengers, crew and mother nature’s beauty which keeps me company outside my window.  My phone reception has been dead for the last three hours out in rural New York State as the railway lines hug river banks, quarries and swamps, clouds reflecting in the waters below on this sunny August day.

It is hard to believe that just two days ago Hurricane Irene swept through the fields and waters we now pass, yet there is evidence of Irene’s destruction in fallen trees and the fact that I am still unsure of where my final destination will be tonight.  Today I really do live by the Jon Bon Jovi song Destination Anywhere, as I am yet to know if I’ll wake up tomorrow morning in NYC or whether I’ll find myself awake and stranded somewhere up state.   I am listening to the album and smiling to myself as I really have to let this situation just be today. 

Amtrak have been working since yesterday to restore the railway lines damaged by Hurricane Irene and battle to remove excess water from the tracks.  No train has yet made it south of Albany to New York City since Friday but we are told that there is a small chance that the tracks may be fit for travel in the next couple of hours so I continue to wonder where I’ll awake tomorrow morning (and hope it’s outside Central Park). 

It’s 28 degrees outside and it is difficult to comprehend the destruction the region faced at the hands of this rare tropical storm that made its way up the North Eastern coast, yet even in Montreal on Sunday, we could feel the effects of Irene’s wrath.  Huge gales and horizontal rain descended across the old and new town of Montreal on Sunday.  Chairs and tables from restaurants and gardens were blown away and in Parc Mont Royale, fallen tree branches cluttered the pathways.  I have not seen wind or rain like it since the 80s in England, when London was hit by its own hurricane.

We stayed in mostly on Sunday, sheltering from the storm which grew fiercer as the day went on, yet by Monday morning, much like today, darkened grey skies had given way to the gorgeous summer I have learned to appreciate in America and Canada since arriving in JFK back in early July.  Sunday’s storm was only the third time I have seen rain on this whole trip, so although a hurricane is not always what you wish for, in the scheme of the rest of the summer we’ve been lucky with the weather overall.

Montreal

“Au revoir” Fi said to me this morning as we hugged goodbye in our hotel in Montreal.  “I may be back in an hour” I told her, half expecting my train with Amtrak to be cancelled altogether.  So many conflicting stories have emerged about my journey over the last 24 hours that I have learnt not to believe anything until it happens.  As it stands at the moment, I am booked on a flight from Albany to JFK tomorrow lunchtime which I arranged late last night when Amtrak told me that under no circumstances was it likely that I would be able to get further south by train or coach than Albany today or tomorrow.  Just 12 hours later, and it seems a possibility now and I’m left wondering if I’ll get my £150 back for the flight, if indeed I do end up cancelling it.

Leaving Fi today was really difficult.  It had been 15 months since I had last seen her and wished her farewell in emigrating to Canada and her Canucks, yet the bitter sweet goodbye of having had a fantastic 10 days but remembering that we live on two different sides of the ocean is made easier by the fact Fi will be back in the UK at Christmas.  That and I have an invite from her for a West Coast Canadian tour next year which, knowing me, I will take her up on. 

Last night I also said ‘au revoir’ to Isabelle, Fi’s friend from Montreal who lived in London for a year a few years ago, before I knew Fi.  Isabelle, Fi and I have, over the last few days, bonded together in a way that I’m used to bonding with friends I’ve known for years since college days.  Despite the three of us living thousands of miles apart (Fi and Isabelle do not live in the same city in Canada either) we found that we have the same loves (photography, art, travel, rock music, organisational development etc) and the same woes.  No matter where you are in the world, it’s so interesting to realise that the great and the not so good can be so similar in all of our lives.

From nights out in Montreal (which, it turns out, really can party) to nights in with take-away sushi, red wine, reflection and life changing heart to hearts, I think we have each reached a point this year, and perhaps even this weekend, that shows us all to be along similar pathways.  I have missed these nights out and in with my best girl friends, so it was a treat to share that once again for a weekend.  We laughed, we played, we ate poutine with Louis and Jean-Pierre in a park at 3am in the morning and we got excited, really excited, when Louis, who lives an hour out of Montreal, reminded us what it is like to meet a straight  forward, intelligent, ambitious, humble and honest guy.  And we laughed when we found out that Louis was not a road sweeper with a smart car , as he had claimed, but rather a Dr. with a Porsche. 

We drank bubble tea in Chinatown and made stupid faces for the camera, popping the bubbles in our mouth and watching them slide up and down our straws.  We went to a Japanese fondue restaurant and cooked our own food, sipping green tea quickly when we realised the soup was spicier than anticipated.  We shared experiences, stories and remembered the importance of friendships through it all, even if those friendships are new ones.

We danced to music from the 80s and loved that everyone around us in Montreal was not too cool to join in despite the Notting Hill like vibe of surrounding streets.  We watched all of the beautiful people around us, of which there are many in Montreal, and smiled when we realised how approachable, down-to-earth and happy they all were.  We sang Jonas and Hinder songs in Isabelle’s lounge and laughed at the photos we had taken on Saturday night.  We recalled gig memories and eventful birthdays and made promises to stay true to what we want and where we want to go and who with. 

We joked about our sushi getting cold when it took an hour and a half to be delivered in the hurricane and stopped to admonish ourselves for contemplating going to La Ronde, a theme park along Montreal’s river, in the midst of Irene’s anger.  We read lyrics to songs that Fi and Isabelle had made up earlier in the year and started to write our own new words, torturing Johnny Cash in his grave with the assault we made to the lyrics of Ring of Fire which re-emerged as a Bubble Tea song.

In the old town of Montreal, we walked around with feet sore from our flip flops, making Kath and Kim impressions, in a way reminiscent of the adventure across Europe that Cha, Stacey and I took last year.  We told random strangers we were Australian, living in Sydney and touring Canada, as we got so sick of every Canadian we met thinking we were from Oz.  We remembered that when you travel, you can be who you want to be and most importantly, we just had a whole load of fun amidst our soul searching.

We joked about  ‘pou-tine’ on weight from the chips, gravy and cheese curds of Quebéc and hunted for beaver tails whilst still full from breakfast and lunch.  We climbed stairs and walked up the hills of Park Mont Royale to sneak an awe inspiring view of Montreal and pointed out La Ronde in the distance, slightly saddened that we had not been able to get there on this visit but smiling safely in the knowledge that we’ll be back to Montreal someday soon.

We managed to avoid spending any more money on jewellery, having exhausted our annual silver allowance in Quebéc City, but wandered boutique shops and gifts stores anyway, to triple check for unique pieces we could justify making an exception for.  Across the cobbled streets of the old town and along the walkways of the port, we spotted tasteful  graffiti and murals providing a backdrop to street vendors selling paintings to tourists and offering to wrap them up securely to survive transatlantic travel.   I remembered painting a mural at age 16 for my high school, to mark the then forthcoming millennium. 

I sampled the sushi shop, Canada’s (better) version of Yo Sushi, dining on edamame beans, a salmon and crab roll and sipping on miso soup as we watched a brave few bear the brunt of the storm on Sunday along St Catherine’s Street, Montreal’s answer to Oxford Street.  Afterwards, we took refuge in an underground mall which usually is as its busiest in Canada’s harsh winters as shoppers seek to avoid the icy pavements and treacherous roads, but which lit up with people in the midst of a tropical storm. 

Montreal exudes style, glamour and diversity.  It is one of the friendliest big cities I have ever been to and its inhabitants think nothing of starting conversations with complete strangers.  It is the perfect city to be alone in as you cannot possibly stay alone for long; there is always someone ready to make friends with you and show you a good time.  London can, and should, learn from this.

Hundreds of great restaurants line both main and back streets with BYO (bring your own alcohol) offers in most.  Waiters immediately offer to cork bottles for you that you haven’t purchased on their premises and helpfully dig out wine and pint glasses when they spot your carrier bag of beverages. 

People do not take themselves too seriously and are out for a good time.  Fashions are eclectic and St Denis Street is reminiscent of Portobello Road with its unique boutiques at reasonable prices.  Art and the city’s love of it is prevalent on every corner as artists sit with their easels and oil paints alongside inviting shops with white panelled walls to showcase the best of local painting and photographic talents.  It left me yearning to pick up my paintbrush again.  The French, English and Canadian influences of this city are inspiring to all creatives and those that admire them.

I heart Montreal.

She got out of town, on a railway New York bound…

We are now arriving in Albany, New York state.  About half an hour ago our train driver announced that the railway lines are cleared and we will now be heading straight to Penn Station, NY.  The carriages erupted in cheers and claps as commuters concerned for flights, holidays and family pick ups realised that our original schedule is being adhered to.  After 9 hours of uncertainty on the train ride, we can all now enjoy the views that are unfolding and I am looking forward to riding along the Hudson river into the city that this trip began in some 7 weeks ago.

I have successfully managed to cancel, without charge, my hotel in Albany for the evening and luckily, did not cancel my NYC hotel for tonight.  I have a flight booked still for tomorrow morning that I will now not take, but lastminute.com have gone home for the day in the UK so I will have to hope that I can talk to someone reasonable tomorrow and try to claw back the £150 I spent booking a flight that Amtrak told me last night would be my only way to get to NYC this week.

The announcement that we are heading to Penn Station is dampened slightly by the fact we still have another 3 hours to go on this train and the caterers got off 3 hours ago as staff from NYC could not take part in the shifts this week, rendering Amtrak short staffed and having to split catering crew across trains both north and southbound.  At 1pm we were advised to stock up on food and drink before services shut at 2pm, despite our train not pulling into Penn Station until around 9pm tonight.

I’m not hungry, but I could murder a coffee.  I had just 3 hours sleep last night trying to re-route myself on a very slow internet connection to get into NYC to meet Claire tomorrow and help her celebrate her birthday week.  I decide to venture along the carriages and find our train conductors who have received it in the neck from every passenger all day and I say hello and thank them for their help.  They have done everything they could do today to share what little information they have had and I have felt sorry for them at times when other travellers erupted.  “There was nothing on the website” one passenger claims, and I quietly afterwards tell him, in earshot of the conductor, that there was and I read it last night on the website last night, hence why I had booked my Albany flight.

The train conductors seem to recall my brief moment of sticking up for them and I ask nicely if there is anywhere I can get a coffee on the train.  They run around to the closed up food cart and pour me a coffee, telling me not to let others know and refusing to charge me for it as its nice for them to have one passenger on this train that isn’t about to give them a mouthful of abuse.  I am so grateful for the coffee and the second wind it gives me to carry on blogging and they are grateful, genuinely I think, for my thanks.

“You’ll be getting home some time today but I don’t know when” our conductor announces as we stop in Albany Station.  “We’ll get you home and get you where you wanna be it’s just going to take some time today.  Thanks for your understanding.”   

So after much messing around, at some point tonight I will be in NYC.  I suddenly find myself with that same buzz of excitement that I always get when I go back to NYC.  It’s strange, because having been travelling for so long you start to take a new city and adventure in your stride but there are some places that I have felt that typical holiday buzz from.  Arriving in Canada certainly brought the buzz, for it was my first trip there, but as always Manhattan is giving me that city buzz.  It feels like my home.

Tomorrow I will meet up with Claire who booked 6 days in NYC a year ago to look forward to celebrating her birthday in the city she has always dreamed of visiting.  I am super excited to be her tour guide for the next few days and also excited to be seeing Stefani again.  I always promised Claire I would try to make the trip to NYC so that she had someone to share her first visit with and when I decided in January to travel for the summer, it made complete sense to finish off back in NYC and meet up with Claire.

Claire will arrive at lunchtime tomorrow.  I thought for a while today that she might well be there on her own given the railway problems but alas, I’m back on schedule and planning to spend my morning in Central Park painting before Claire swings by our hotel at 58^th and 5^th shortly after 2pm EST and then the tour guide activity will begin!

To mark my return to the city, I am listening to the live recording of the Matchbox Twenty show I went to at Madison Square Gardens on Valentine’s Day in 2008.  Arriving into Penn Station today, I will no doubt look up at the lights of Madison Square Gardens and recall both the Matchbox Twenty show and also, the Bon Jovi show that I saw there in March this year.  Live music in this great city never ceases to create memories that last a lifetime.

Toronto

When I landed in Toronto 10 days ago following a four hour flight from Phoenix, Arizona, I met up with Fi in our hotel room on King Street and we quickly freshened up from our respective journeys (she had travelled up from Ottawa) and headed out to Queens Street.  After a short walk from our hotel, past the CN Tower which lit up in red, blue and green lights at night, we found Sari, a fellow gig fan who lives just outside of Toronto.

 

Sari, Fi and I spent the first part of our evening eating Sushi and catching up.  Inspirationally, Sari gave up her day job a couple of years ago to follow her dream of being part of the production team for concerts.  Her dream has become a reality, and she is regularly requested to lead production for some of the greatest bands to hit concert venues in and around Toronto, including greats like U2. 

Of course, in keeping with the rock chit chat, we headed to a gig venue on Queen Street which promised an alternative rock evening in return for $10 of our cash.  A stamp to the back of our hand later and we were inside, drinking Budweiser Light and watching the live music unfold.  “I need to do more of this” I told Fi and Sari “I don’t go to enough small gigs anymore.  It’s always the larger gigs, but I miss the small ones.”  We all concurred, that we had, over the last couple of years, found ourselves at more larger shows for established bands and had lost sight of the fun that can be had from discovering an unknown artist and following their journey.

Fi and I thought back to small gigs we had been to together over the last few years, including Ross Copperman and Van Tramp.  We recalled our favourite London gig venues, from Purple Turtle to the Cobden Club, to the Borderline, Troubadour and Waterats.  We have been privileged to see some great acts at those venues and more over the years.

As the evening began to draw to a close in our first gig venue in Toronto, we wandered outside back onto Queen Street and into another rock bar a 10 minute walk away.  The live bands for the evening had finished at around 1am but we were able to close out our evening with drinks until gone 3am in a bar that reminded me very much of Piranhas, the rock bar Hesn and I had ventured into in Nashville.  Similar slogans adorned the walls however there was no blonde barmaid this time, just a blonde guy who took a liking to us and insisted on kissing us on the cheek goodbye at the end of the evening.  He thought we were Australian. 

On our walk home, along Queen Street we bumped into some locals guys from Toronto who, again, thought we were Australian.  After chatting for a little bit, a guy from Kuala Lumpur joined us and he was soon being encouraged by our new friends to say to every passer by “Go Leafs Go”, much to the amusement of all of Toronto.  “I came to this city to party” KL guy started to tell us.  “I have been walking along this street looking for the after party and here it is”.  He was of course referring to the four of us chatting on the pavement and invited all of us back to his hostel for more drinks but at some point in the conversation, Fi and I realised that it was approaching 5am and whilst I was still on West Coast time, we needed to get back to our hotel and rest up before Niagara Falls the next day.

On our wander back, we found the Canadian Walk of Fame and stopped to have our picture taken with the Bryan Adams plaque on the pavement.  Sari had already told us that the hotel we were staying in was the same one that Bryan Adams usually stays in when he’s in Toronto, so it seemed fitting to honour his plaque on our slightly tipsy walk back to the hotel.

When Sunday morning came around, Fi whisked me off to the Dakota Tavern, a fabulous live music venue near China Town, providing traditional Canadian brunch on a Sunday morning.  Pancakes, maple syrup, potatoes, eggs, sausages, fruit, juice and coffee were the order of the day.  We perched at the bar with a perfect view of the live band performing folk songs in front of us.  Thankfully, we didn’t feel too bad post drinks the night before and were able to enjoy the music, food and ambience.  Our waitress gave us a tip on where to eat at Niagara Falls that evening and we mulled away a couple of hours in the tavern, enjoying  lazy Sunday morning post hectic Saturday night and having a proper catch up on the last 15 months of our lives. 

We walked back through China Town, stopping at Kensington Market to look at the local thoroughfare.  Fi picked up some pink sunglasses and did her best to find a Canucks hockey patch but left unsuccessful.  Walking around Toronto, I discovered, was one of the best ways to see the town.  Like New York, Toronto’s character is built largely from the people that wander around in it and again, like Montreal, it exudes a love of art and theatre dominates the city, although on a smaller scale than Broadway. 

By 2pm we were picked up for our afternoon to evening tour of Niagara Falls.  There were just seven of us on the trip which would see us get to experience the falls in both daylight and at night, when fireworks erupt.  The weather was changeable and throughout the day we swung from periods of bright sunshine to heavy downpours of rain, but all the time it was warm.  At least we expected to get wet, we thought as we made our journey to Niagara.

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to visit Niagara Falls.  I think that perhaps it might have been the first place, aside from Disneyland as a child, that I ever wanted to go.  My dad would work abroad fairly often when I was growing up, sometimes in the Middle East but I remember clearly a number of trips that he made to Toronto for exhibitions.  As part of those trips, he got to go to Niagara Falls although his trip was in the winter, so all he could do was the journey behind the falls as the maid of the mist tour only runs in the summer.

I remember looking at his photos, which I think perhaps were polaroids, and wanting so badly to experience its majestic magnificence.  It was at Niagara Falls that my dad first bought my sister and I some dolls back in traditional Canadian dress, and so our doll collection of all of the places my dad got to visit overseas began.  Those dolls have been put away for years now and I had forgotten about them until my dad mentioned them to me on skype recently, when I was telling him about the falls.

Niagara Falls is even more fierce than I ever imagined.  By the time we got there, we had stopped at a winery (trying some ice wine and purchasing some maple syrup) and also, in the town of Niagara where the heavens opened and I got to use my rain coat for the second time since New Orleans.  An ice-cream later and we were back on the bus, stopping at a couple of viewpoints in the rain, snapping photos quickly before boarding the bus again.

When it was time to get the Maid of the Mist tour, the rain stopped and the sun began to make a re-appearance.  On the boat, dressed in blue rain coats supplied by the tour, Fi and I felt like a pair of smurfs, especially when the wind blew inside our coats and created a smurf like cone style hood atop both of our heads.  Despite our less than glamorous appearances on board the Maid of the Mist boat, we snapped away as many photos as we could. 

I daren’t risk my SLR camera on this ride so made do with my point and shoot Panasonic which served me well on the tour.  I managed to tuck it away under the rain coat just when it was about to get drenched (clearly, I learnt something from the soak zone at SeaWorld).  By the time we were at the first set of falls (Horseshoe Falls), a full rainbow came out right over the entire falls.  It was stunning and I suddenly felt so very grateful for the rain earlier.

A rocky boat ride later, which Fi commented was the rockiest she has ever felt on board the Maid of the Mist, and we were back on dry land looking anything but dry ourselves but the whole experience had been exhilarating.  Niagara Falls really was right up there with my Grand Canyon experience, despite not being able to take a helicopter ride this time due to the weather. 

We were dropped at one end of the falls shortly afterwards and made our way along the path that runs parallel to the banks of the river and falls.  We stopped often, looking on in awe at mother nature at its very best.  The sound of the falls hitting the river banks below was deafening at times and the mist that dispersed around it resembled a cloud.  Had we not known what it was, I would have almost been convinced that something had gone up in a puff of smoke far below.  The mist instead rose from river bed to sky, hundreds of feet up and bringing with it a vapour of water that made it feel like it was raining once again.

Gallant seagulls sat perched on the walls surrounding the falls, posing perfectly in front of the wonder behind them.  Tourists flocked to snap pictures of the seagulls who looked like they spent their days enjoying the paparazzi style attention and soaking in the view.  This was the Sunset Boulevard of Seagull land, where they couldn’t fly or walk a foot or two without being snapped!  I have to admit, I took pictures of them too.  It was just too inviting to set up a nice wide aperture shot.

It took a good hour or so, with stops, to walk the entire length of both sets of falls.  We were starving when we had finished and no wonder as it was approaching 8pm.  We hurriedly made our way up Fall Avenue, past the many amusement arcades, wax museums, carousels and haunted houses, to the restaurants at the top of the hill, seeking out the steak and chargrilled prawn restaurant that the lady from Dakota Tavern had recommended.  We settled there for an hour and a half, sharing a bottle of red wine and chatting excitedly about the amazing day we had been having and which still wasn’t over.

And it was an amazing day, one of the best.  It was right up there with the day I spent on Fraser Island in Australia, with the day Stacey and I donned our cowboy hats in a pink jeep and discovered the Grand Canyon.  It was right up there with my trip to Sedona, which I am yet to blog about, but with its mystical world of vortexes, legends and natural beauty.  It was right up there with the time I spent in Tokyo.  Right up there with so many of my NYC trips.  Right up there with the memories I will take back with me from my time at Franz Josef in New Zealand.  It was everything I wanted it to be and so much more and I got to share it with Fi, who on this journey evolved from a gig buddy to being a very, very good friend.

As if the day couldn’t get any better, we left the restaurant and made our way to the riverbank once again.  Perching next to a stone pillar which was to become our tripod (my photography tutor would flinch at that), I set up my SLR to be shutter speed led with a high ISO and waited to capture fireworks and coloured lights bringing Niagara Falls to life once again.  Against the pitch black sky, an array of colours began shining from the water, fluorescent blues, pinks, oranges, yellows and a white that glittered, thousands of people watched. 

Our mesmerisation continued though when the fireworks show began.  For 10 minutes, we were treated to one of the most spectacular fireworks displays I have ever seen.  This was how I imagined Sydney’s New Year’s Eve display to be, not grand for the fireworks themselves but for the setting in all its pure beauty.  I remembered once again how Tom, my art tutor, commented that there is beauty in the turn of a head or a moment of light and here I was, turning my head and watching thousands of moments of light transcend into something purely spectacular.  I was in awe and remain in awe even now as I think back to that moment.  I will treasure that moment forever.

Journeying on

It has just gone 9pm and I have been on this train for 12 hours.  We don’t know when we will arrive in NYC, but hopefully before midnight.  Still we travel slowly due to the railroads that remain partially flooded post Irene’s wrath.  I am laughing to myself for wanting to take this rail journey, having read on the website of the man in seat 61 that it is one of the prettiest there is, especially as you approach NYC.  Regrettably, we are now running so late that the views from my window are only of darkness, but at least I tried it.

I find myself excited about going home in a week.  I am certainly not wanting my trip to end, as I have enjoyed every moment, but there is something comforting about knowing that in a week’s time I will be landing at Heathrow Airport and seeing the faces and places that I love once again, in my own home town.

I hope that it is not too early to say this, but I will risk it anyway.  When I took my first sabbatical in early 2009, I was looking for something.  I was seeking out something that would make me feel happy inside and out in all that I did.  I think I expected to come back home and find everything fixed, everything right, everything perfect.  Things were not that wrong, in fact, in so many ways they were so very right, but something was amiss and I went out to the Pacific Ocean to find it.

I don’t think I found it though.  What I did find on that first sabbatical though was that I had a thirst and love of travel that was difficult to quench.  I also found a wonderful friendship in Cha who, in all fairness, I hadn’t known very well prior to embarking on that three month trip but in a way, that made it work so very well as we got to know each other as we attempted to get to know ourselves on that enriching journey.

I didn’t come back finding what was amiss but I did come back enriched.  I think we all do after every journey, providing we have our eyes open to it and so long as we’re willing to listen to ourselves in the lessons we can take from living our lives. 

Yet today, I feel different.  This time, I have not found what was amiss but instead, I’ve realised that I made that journey of discovery before I even set foot at Heathrow Airport.  This travel adventure, instead, cements what I had already learnt back in London.  Those things that I found amiss in myself were things that I realised when I was still at home, in my routine and my own environment.  They were always to be realised at home, which is why I never found them on that first trip.  It’s why I am also excited about going home, as there is so much more to discover now that I understand what it was all along that I went searching for on my travels.

It’s been truly great to spend time with Fi and Isabelle these last few days also.  Their journeys are so similar, even if our lives are in different continents.  I think we have helped each other this week to realise what is next for us as we embrace changes we are making in ourselves to continue to be as fulfilled as each of us are when we experience the joy of moments like Niagara Falls.

Today we are heading to Montreal. I have been in Canada for a week now and Montreal will be our 4th and final stop in Canadian country before I make my final journey of this trip through New York City and then back home. I am on an Orleans Express coach and it is actually pretty comfy, with plenty of leg room, power sockets and wifi. It’s the perfect time to do some blogging.

Over the last 7 days, we have toured Toronto, Ottawa and the beautiful, magical Quebéc City. Montreal is, according to Fi, her favourite part of the Eastern Provinces so I have high expectations of the three days that we will spend there. Tonight we are meeting up with friends in Montreal and are having, what will probably be, the biggest Saturday night out that I have had since I left London and I cannot wait. I am expecting epic greatness.

I have just 10 days left of this trip but feel strangely calm about that. I am excited for the remaining days of this phenomenal adventure across the Atlantic but also excited about returning to London and all the great things my home city has to offer. I have learnt so much from this trip and this experience that will help shape the way I move forward when I get back to the UK. I have re-ignited old passions for creative pursuits and discovered some new ones and I’ve had the good fortune of some heavy reflection opportunities.

New York City will be my next and last stop. In the last 6 years, I have spent two August bank holiday weekends in the city that never sleeps and I cannot help but wonder, once again, how it is that I have ended up narrowly missing yet another state of emergency. Hurricane Irene is due to hit Manhattan tonight and my friends in NYC are locking themselves up inside with plenty of supplies (and alcohol, so I am told) and I hope that they will ride out the storm safely. If all goes well, I will stick to the plan to arrive into Penn Station in NYC on Tuesday evening.

It has become a running joke amongst friends and family as to the number of emergencies that I have narrowly avoided in recent years when I travel. Just two and a half years ago, I missed the Melbourne fires by a week, averted a tropical cyclone in the Pacific Ocean by a day and left Bangkok the very day that riots became violent. I survived a terrible car crash in New Zealand, missed the July 7th bombings in 2005 by one train (I got the circle line through Edgware Road and was on the train that was directly ahead of the one that blew up), was almost evacuated from forest fires in Crete, Greece and in March this year, awoke in San Francisco to a Tsunami warning. Today, I find myself avoiding Hurricane Irene by just two days after last week’s earthquake that rocked NYC. Oh, and Fi tells me that we just missed a twister in Ontario a few days ago.

All of these narrow escapes only serve to remind me, on an ongoing basis, of the importance of living each and every day to the full. Fi, my Canadian travel buddy, shares a very similar view of this to me, having survived her own car crash a few years ago in which she too was the passenger in a car that rolled down a ditch. Similarly, she’s had her own share of narrow misses of earthquakes and twisters etc from the years of travelling she’s done. Perhaps these second, third and fourth chances is what is making us such great travel buddies as we seize every moment and maximise every opportunity to see, hear, feel, experience and grasp at everything and everyone that we come into contact with.

I have known Fi for 5 years now. Fi met my sister Louisa first, queuing for a Goo Goo Dolls show at Shepherds Bush Empire in October 2006. In a strange twist of fate, I had been due to be at the show for the full three nights that they were playing, but only made the Friday night show in the end as I was asked to fly out to New York City for a conference with work. As hard as it was to miss two Goo Goo Dolls shows in London, I skipped them for the opportunity to carve out memories and career opportunities in my favourite city in the world.

My sister, without me as her usual gig buddy, got chatting to Fi and others in the queue on the Saturday and Sunday of the gigs whilst I was busy exploring NYC. When I got back from that trip, the trip that really changed my perspective on travel and life, Louisa introduced me to Fi and her friend Jess and we have all been friends ever since, going to gigs and gossiping at every opportunity.

I quickly discovered that Fi was in the process of applying for a work visa to emigrate to Canada and had spent more than half of her life dreaming of a move across the Atlantic before, in Spring last year, her dream became a reality and she set off post Canadian themed fancy dress farewell party, to start a new life in Ottawa. I have not therefore seen Fi in well over a year, when we both dressed up as Avril Lavigne, so it was amazing to hook up again in a Toronto hotel room last Saturday evening.

What has emerged over the last week or so reminds me again, of the experience of hanging out with Gina in San Diego. Fi too, I have discovered, likes to paint, make up lyrics to songs and can spend hours wandering around with a camera to capture life around her permanently. We have had similar travel and life experiences and both feel calm when close to nature and the great outdoors. We have a similar penchant for silver jewellery, guys with guitars and karaoke. Fi also has fantastic friends, who think nothing of driving us around Toronto at 2am in the morning with Def Leppard’s live album blasting loudly so that we can sing “Pour Some Sugar On Me” at the top of our lungs as we search out 24 hour diners that Keith Scott (from Bryan Adams’ band) likes to hang out in.

Long before I met Fi, I was a ‘when you’re gone girl’ at a Bryan Adams show. Effectively, this meant that I got pulled out of the audience, back in October 2004, to sing a duet with Bryan Adams at Wembley Arena. Fi was front row at the show that day, remembers my moment of fame and has pictures of me. I find it crazy that stories like this can emerge years later and you can find yourself crossing a path with someone who already knows and recalls you from those kind of unique, once in a lifetime opportunities.

Our taste in music is of course identical, so we’ve had many a sing song on coaches and in our hotel room over the last week. I have begun to reconnect with the resident rock chick in me and wonder whether I should learn to play the guitar and re-launch the rock music website that my sister and I ran for years. I want to make more time to see smaller bands play in London when I get back. I used to love going to small shows with developing artists and getting involved in their journey to the top.

We have also both reflected, together, on the year that has just passed and the changes we have both been making to ensure we continue to be as fulfilled as possible in all that we do. Fi made a decision earlier this year to move to Vancouver and so this is her last Eastern Provinces trip before she heads to the West Coast of Canada for good from the middle of September. She is already planning my trip to visit her there which I hope to be able to do some time next year.

“You are different.” Fi told me this week. “You were always lovely, but you’re here this time, you’ve cleared your mind of all kinds of other stuff that used to distract you.” I smiled and acknowledged her comments and we talked about them for a bit. It was so interesting for me to hear of her perceptions after a year of not seeing her and so amazing that she noticed what I considered to be subtle differences in the way I behave and the things I now do. She is not the first person to notice it either.

“I get so frustrated” Fi explained, “with people who travel, open up their eyes to an amazing experience and then head straight back home and act just the same, as if they have learnt nothing!”. I concur with Fi’s comments as I cannot see how you can possibly have magical experiences from travel and not change in some way.

As I have said before, travelling enriches you and creates a world of opportunity and insight that is hard to identify from a single place in the world. It is a springboard to living every day of your life as if you were on holiday. Each and every day that we have should give us the headspace, enjoyment and excitement that we get from moments when we pack up and leave town for a while. It helps us realise that we are in control of our path and if we don’t like something, we should change it. If we want something, we should go after it. If we are not sure, we should be open minded and find out more. We are the ones with the choices and there are rarely second chances.

So I choose to travel and experience great things. I choose to try to be open minded and to take back learnings to London life. And I choose to travel with Fi again, in the West Coast of Canada most likely, as we’re having such a fabulous time.