If you are too busy to read this, you definitely need to read this

It’s hard to believe that three years ago I was complaining that I was bored. My life felt empty and lacked purpose. I was lonely and felt trapped in a life that I had outgrown (but felt too scared to re-imagine). I struggled to get to sleep at night, and didn’t understand why.

But now, having moved countries, found a new social circle, discovered my life purpose, started my spiritual business and a new relationship, I am so bereft of ‘spare time’ that I am considering sending out a search party for it.

Given where I once was, this is a pretty great problem to have.

That’s something I’ve been trying to remind myself when I feel panicky about the dust piling up on my furniture (really must make cleaning a priority!) or my poor track record when it comes to catching up with friends (thank goodness for instant messaging!). There is vastly more right with this picture than there is wrong. And actually, what appears wrong is simply the result of my change-resistant, controlly brain trying to, well, resist change and be in control.

The wonderful Kris Carr recently posted a quote online that hit the mark for me: “Don’t forget how badly you once wanted what you have now.”

I had forgotten. I had forgotten what it was like to not be the me that I am now. Instead of focusing on my gratitude for how far I had come, I was focusing on the areas where I was (or at least, I perceived I was) falling short. I was looking at the hole, instead of the doughnut.
When I focus my attention on all the blessings in my life, and how far I’ve come, my discomfort at what isn’t perfect shrinks. Would a sparkling-clean kitchen make my heart sing? Unlikely. And it wouldn’t lessen my sense of overwhelm either – because I would still have plenty on my plate. The only solution, then, is acceptance. My life is busy, sure, and often tiring, but it is also rich and love-filled and glorious.

If your life feels shambolic, and there’s not much you can do to change that, you can still change the way you look at it. 

Bestselling author Elizabeth Gilbert rails against use of the word ‘balance’. She is constantly asked in magazine interviews and reader meet-and-greets how she achieves balance. Unfortunately, this is a question that, as a journalist, I’m required by editors to ask every woman I interview (NEVER men – which tells you exactly how fucked up the concept of ‘balance’ is). Gilbert objects to the question on the grounds that the word balance has, she writes, “tilted dangerously close to the word perfect”.

She explains: “To say that someone has found the secret to a balanced life is to suggest that they have solved life, and that they now float through their days in a constant state of grace and ease, never suffering stress, ambivalence, confusion, exhaustion, anger, fear or regret. Which is a wonderful description of nobody, ever,” she wrote in a Facebook post.

Gilbert argues there is no such thing as balance, so seeking it is an exercise in futility. Her solution, instead, is to embrace the madness. Life is as messy as a dropped pie, she says, and instead of wasting energy trying to put it back together, the only solution is to grab a fork and eat a mouthful as you continue on your way.

Here is my solution: I am not trying to fix my out-of-kilter schedule. I am, however, getting better at saying ‘no’ to people so that I am not running myself completely ragged, and I am making regular downtime a priority amid the chaos. I am doing my best to keep in contact with friends electronically, and I am trying to make the time I spend with people quality time (instead of snatched bursts of hurried conversations with one eye on my phone). This is the best I can do right now. And that is enough.

It’s time to stop worrying about not having enough time, and instead, to change the way we think about time. To recognise and celebrate all that makes our lives so wonderful and fulfilling, and to acknowledge that we are doing the very best we can.

It’s also – since I’ve put the idea in your head – time to eat a doughnut. Or a pie.

An age-old problem: coming to terms with getting older

If you ever want to feel young, I highly recommend spending time with senior citizens. I’ve volunteered at retirement homes for a couple of years, and it’s really changed the way I think about ageing. This is not why I do it, of course – I think loneliness is a soul-destroying experience, and I want to help alleviate that in others – but an unexpected side-effect has been the way it’s led me to reflect on how much time, joy and wonder I still have before me, despite society telling me the best is behind me.

Because we live in a society that glorifies youth, we’re not very good at accepting the passage of time. And that has a negative effect on the way we feel about ourselves and our lives. An intriguing 2013 study at Trinity University in Texas, US, found that “old talk” can be as damaging as “fat talk” when it comes to women’s body dissatisfaction and self-image, particularly in those aged 46 and older. (Yeah, thanks... we so needed more reasons to feel crap about ourselves...)


When it comes to ageing, we tend to lament what we’ve lost – pert boobs, deep reserves of energy and stellar hangover-recovery powers, for example – instead of celebrating how much we’ve gained. We dread birthdays and complain that we ‘aren’t as fit/fast/energetic’ as we used to be, instead of reflecting on how much wiser, stronger and more confident we are. I wish we could reframe the way we view ageing, starting with language that is more celebratory of age instead of resentful.

Recently I’ve been working on a magazine aimed at teenagers, and in some ways it’s made me feel like a dinosaur. Kids today have a totally different language (did you know: ‘OP’ is shorthand for ‘on point’, and ‘embarro’ is short for ‘embarrassing’?). But equally, it’s made me very appreciative to be at the age and stage I’m at now. No way would I want to be a teenager again, dealing with first periods, peer pressure and figuring out how to talk to boys (actually, I’m not sure that I’ve nailed that one yet). That is one reason ageing is really, really great – you realise that the years that were supposed to be the best years of your life were (at least, for me) the ugliest, and that life has been much easier from there onwards.

Getting older is a privilege, and, as we are oft reminded, it’s one that’s denied to many. Every year we spend on this planet is another opportunity to learn and grow, and to bear witness to incredible beauty. And, yes, to experience pain and heartbreak too, but that is part of the journey, and part of ageing is learning how to make sense of that and to dig our way through it ‘til we get to a stronger place. 

A major factor in our fear of ageing is the idea that we’re running out of time to be all that we want to be. Working with the spiritual realm has taught me that’s not the case. We have enough time to let the truth of who we are unfold and to get closer to the majesty encased within our own hearts. We have enough time.

For me, the best part about getting older is no longer giving a shit. So many of my choices when I was younger revolved around concern for what other people thought of me. In my teen years I used to suppress my laugh because I thought it was too loud and embarro (!). In my 20s I stumbled around in high heels, even though I lack the poise and coordination to walk gracefully in them, because I thought that that was what I was supposed to do. Now I wear ballet flats all the way (yay comfort!). These are only small examples but they illustrate ways that I no longer care about the ‘shoulds’ and the ‘musts’. This, for me, has been the single greatest joy of ageing – learning to follow the beat of my own heart.

I have cellulite and wrinkles that I neither want to show off nor hide. Because at the age of 36 I recognise that those things don’t matter. What matters is that I am fully showing up for my life, committed to giving more and being more, and writing my own script for how I want my life to look. I am more sure of myself and my purpose than I have ever been. I am a kinder, more centred, more resilient person than I was one, three, 10 years ago, and I have every reason to believe I will continue on that trajectory. Because that’s what ageing looks like – a better me. 

I would not go back, not for anything.

I used to hate birthdays. Now everything is different

I celebrated my birthday this week. I mean that literally – I really celebrated it. This is significant for me because in past years I’ve greeted my birthday like a smelly, irritating relative that comes to stay every year, whose presence I endure with practised stoicism. The only celebration would happen the day after, when I’d wake up awash with relief that it was all over for another year.

My reasons for resenting my birthday were partly due to the fact that it drew attention to me – and as an introvert, this is excruciating. Seriously, I will vote for the next politician who promises to ban the singing of Happy Birthday in workplaces. *shudder*

But at the heart of my day-of-birth anxiety was the fact that they were a reminder that another year had passed and I was not living the life I wanted to live. 

There was a sense that I was running out of time to be happy, or to achieve a life that looked anywhere near as glossy as those of my peers. Every year my misery increased exponentially as I was faced with the realisation that my life had not changed significantly from how it looked at the last birthday.

This year, however, felt different.

I’ve made some major internal changes during the year that have affected the way I see myself and my future. I have a clearer sense of my life purpose and, most significantly, the value that I hold. I can look back on my regrets without feeling burdened by them. Right now I’m in the process of changing careers, so I don’t feel stuck or inadequate professionally any more. I no longer fret about being single, nor interpret this as evidence that I am flawed. It feels like I have enough time, and enough support from the Universe, to grow to a point that I can emotionally handle, and flourish in, a relationship.

I have wonderful friendships in which I have a sense of belonging and feel valued. Actually, this is probably the most significant change of all when it comes to birthdays. I can still remember the despair and humiliation of my 32nd birthday when only two people showed up for drinks. As I write this post, I’m preparing to meet 18 friends for my birthday celebrations. This blows my mind – 18 people like me enough to come and celebrate with me!

What all this amounts to is me having dropped my ideas of how my life should look – which is what was causing my birthday angst in the past. Instead I’ve arrived at something very close to acceptance of what is. I can recognise and celebrate the many blessings in my life and I don’t feel myself disappearing into the blistering chasm between the hand I imagined I would play, and the hand I’ve been dealt. In addition, I know how much power I have to bring about change, so I’ve dropped my self-pity I used to hold. 

Most crucially, I’ve stopped comparing myself to other people on the regular. On this point my resolve gets tested often (particularly on social media) but I’m better able to detach from comparisons, and jealousy. This is not easy when you’ve grown up in New Zealand, a country where your relationship status is prized above any personal attributes or achievements. But it’s in my choices, not my circumstances, that I measure my worth now.

This is the first year that I truly understand exactly how much I have to celebrate, and I have good reason to believe that will expand and deepen as I age. In a culture obsessed with time and deadlines, my anchoring principles are these: I am exactly where I am supposed to be, and the best is yet to come. 

I still hate that fucking office birthday singalong though.