• getting cheated on in japan and my march thing

    getting cheated on in japan and my march thing

    I found out I was being cheated on from an anonymous good Samaritan via email.

    An anonymous email, ladies and gentlemen.

    They didn’t say who they were or how they knew the details they knew. They didn’t give me anything else. They just dropped this intimate bombshell into my inbox, into my computer, into my lap, into my life. And then they disappeared just as effortlessly as they came.

    I was crushed. I had never been cheated on before. Theoretically, I knew that being cheated on happened in the world of humans and relationships, but I didn’t think it happened to ME.

    Before you think I am the world’s biggest egomaniac, let me explain: I didn’t think I was immune to this kind of cowardly treatment because I thought I was some sort of Madam Fabulous. I just didn’t think anyone I knew and liked would be that mean.

    I had been told many times by people that cared about me that I was naive. They weren’t wrong.

    The comfortable bowl of my world tipped and my confidence spilled out onto the floor around my feet.

    Unbeknownst to me, everything I did after that cruel to be kind email made things infinitely worse and I am finding myself now, 20 years later, making some of the same mistakes when it comes to my wellbeing.

    Different circumstances, more serious circumstances, to be sure, but similar stunting impact.

    The last time I saw my (ex) boyfriend, let’s call him James, before The Email was when he came to visit me in Japan a couple months earlier. I was living near Tokyo for an exciting and cushy 9 month contract and I was loving every second of it. Fun work, the best people, delicious food, learning a bit of the language in a country that was in my Top 5 Dream Countries to Explore… heaven.

    My naive self around this time. My work was at an amusement park in Japan. I got to hang out with Donald and Mickey and the whole gang.

    I excitedly introduced James to all my new friends and colleagues. We went to temples and we strolled through markets and we fooled around and we drank shochu and we did all the things you would expect a 20ish year old couple with too much disposable income to do when reunited for a limited time in a truly incredible city.

    Image credit: Jezael Melgoza

    I was still in Japan, sitting at my uncomfortable desk in my bedroom when I got the email.

    James was cheating on me with his Dad’s assistant (oh god yuck)

    It had been going on for for quite some time (what is happening)

    Everyone knew except me (of course they did)

    My informant signed his/her verbal grenade with “Old Blue Eyes,” which somehow made it worse. What does this have to do with Frank Sinatra? Do they actually have blue eyes? Was that a clue? WHAT IS HAPPENING?

    I couldn’t breathe.

    The days after were filled with ranting to my sympathetic roommates and crying into my pillow and self-loathing into the mirror and numbly pacing through my neighbourhood.

    Humiliated? Yes. But still working at an amusement park so… still dancin’.

    I tried to call him but he wouldn’t answer. Eventually I did get through and when he heard my voice he hung up.

    I was heartbroken and enraged and gut wrenchingly humiliated. There was no reason for me to be embarrassed, of course, but I was still at the stage when I blamed myself for everything and didn’t know better yet.

    And then I started doing the dangerous thing. The thing that I would never ever advise my friends or my children or even people I don’t like to ever do. The thing I have watched myself do more than once over the years and that I am seeing myself do again.

    I started taking steps to dissolve myself from the good things that made me me.

    Image credit: Laurentiu Morariu

    I started staying in my room alone, for a larger portion of the day. I stopped going to my immaculately spic-and-span gym. I cancelled my way over my head Japanese lessons. I dropped out of Aikido. I ended my singing lessons.

    My singing teacher, Charlotte, warned me that walking away from the things I enjoyed was one of the worst things I could do in the midst of a broken heart, but I shrugged and did it anyway. I was sad and feeling powerless and I opted to make myself smaller.

    Right now I am watching hearts being broken on the news.

    Even wrapped in the privilege of distance, I am feeling sad and powerless and small.

    We are watching a war being waged on a sovereign nation. Too many of us are in the thick of it right now. Whether in the Ukraine or so many other countries where wars are thrashing through neighbourhoods, bad and unjust power struggles are making the lives of families impossible.

    I am finding myself unhelpfully doom scrolling and constantly refreshing my feed.

    Casualties. Children. Nuclear war. Sanctions. Civilians.

    I feel powerless and angry and scared and my head and my heart aches. I am finding myself dissolving.

    Image credit: Yura Khomitskyi

    I love reading, but I’m not reaching for the stack of my books waiting on my bedside table at night, I am scrolling. I am distracted and irritable with my children. I am not booking a lunch with my mom. I am not going for a walk. I am not writing.

    I am waiting for things to get better. I am waiting for powerful people to fix this. I made a donation and I read the “Breaking News!” and I scroll and I wait.

    I thought about not doing a new thing for March because this 12 month challenge of mine seems so indulgent in the face of so much struggle. How can I dare to go on an axe throwing date when… well, you already know what is happening.

    I decided to ask my kids (I have two kids, one 9 year old and one 6 year old) what they thought I should do.

    They know all about my challenge and they most certainly have suggestions.

    Even though my son had, and I quote, “the Worse Day of his Entire Life” (he only got ONE slice of pizza at lunch and he was sooo hungry, and he didn’t feel like going to gymnastics but I made him go AND he bit the inside of his cheek at dinner really hard), he still had plenty of recommendations for me to consider.

    And if a six year old can still be creative under those circumstances, who am I to not at least try?

    After MUCH discussion and debate and Google searching and that whole tragic cheek biting fiasco, the winner is…

    Escape Rooms.

    You know those businesses where you are locked in a room and you get clues and you have to figure out how to get out? I’ve never done that before, so that is what I am going to be giving a try this month.

    Ever since my son heard about these magical places he has wanted to bust his way out of one, so we’re doing it. Do they let kids into those places? I don’t even know. This could be a painful disaster, what have I got myself into?

    Of course I eventually got over being cheated on (backpacking and Australian beaches and perspective will do wonders for the heart). I didn’t ever speak to “James” again, but if I ever saw him now I imagine I would throw in a, “Hey! You’re that ass who cheated on me!” and I wouldn’t at all feel the need to throw something heavy at his head (I may have definitely wanted to do that for a few years…).

    I don’t expect to ever get over the infuriating sociopathic infatuation with war. Who would want to? The fact that we are here as an international community again (and again, and again) is completely unacceptable.

    However, disappearing into a frozen shell is not the answer. I suspect getting bigger is closer to the answer.

    For now, for me, that means continuing to work to participate in my life. That includes not only educating myself about the pain of the world around me, but also diving into my own life and helping my kids explore theirs.

    And for the month of March, it means going along with my son and his inspired ideas.

    Stay tuned!

    I am conducting an experiment: I have challenged myself to try something new each month in 2022. Here are my (self imposed) rules. Let me know if you have ideas on fun/ interesting/ novel things I could try in the comments. Or join me, that would be even more lovely actually…

  • saying yes is my thing

    saying yes is my thing

    I see Tara’s comment on my “this is going to be the new thing I try in February” post on Instagram as I am running to pick my kids up from school. I am always running when I pick my kids up from school. I am always slightly out of breath as I stand with the other parents as our sticky, noisy little humans tromp across the asphalt towards us with bent paper crafts and loose water bottles and unzipped backpacks and garbled, excited updates.

    I hate that I am always just about (or actually) late. The other moms seem relaxed and organized and I pretend.

    “Hey I’ll pull a wee Oracle card for you if you want? I love your challenge!!”

    Proof that Tara really said that…

    I have told the Internet that my new experience for the month will be tarot card readings and she kindly offers to do one for me.

    I read her happy and friendly comment just before I stuff my phone in my jacket pocket and jump out of my car right into a dirty puddle of slush.

    My sock is now drowning in icy cold, twisting between my toes. I run-walk, trying to beat the oncoming traffic and illegally jaywalk across the road to the school. I can see the Principal. I duck behind a parked van and hope she doesn’t notice my criminal ways.

    I am clearly a stellar role model for road safety the world over.

    “No, no, no, no, way, no, no. nope, no,” I mutter to myself with each footstep as my boot slaps the pavement.

    No to the Oracle card reading. No to the offer. No, no, no.

    The no comes so easily to me. Like “hello” or “of course” or “thank you” it just slides out like all my other musts. There is no consideration, no, “hmmm, that is interesting,” no, “ooh I wonder…” Just an immediate “no” to myself and the universe and to this friendly, sunshiney woman without a pause.

    My brain has had so much practice immediately shutting things down, that even though I have literally publicly proclaimed that I am dedicating an entire year of my life to trying new things I don’t even miss a beat and knock this opportunity down the drain.

    I don’t have to wonder how many other things I have shrugged away without a thought. I already know the list is a mile long.

    I forget about Tara’s offer until a few days later as I’m plodding through the grocery store critically evaluating cereal. I haven’t replied. I am an asshole.

    I stop right there beside the FruitLoops and prepare a chirpy, “oh it’s okay! I don’t want to put you out!” reply that will not only let me off the hook but also make me look generous for not wanting to take up anyone’s time. “Look-at-me-I’m-such-a-good-good-guy.”

    I am saying no because saying yes feels like handing control and comfort over to someone else. And that is bad, apparently. Even for something as seemingly small as a card reading from a (until now) stranger on the internet, it feels a lot like standing on the edge of a rocky cliff in the wind and hoping that the person holding onto the hem of my hoodie doesn’t let go.

    Why does it feel like that? Why does it feel so scary?

    No, really, I’m asking. Why am I like this? Why do I have to have every little corner nailed down? Why do I care if the other parents at pick up see me panting because I’ve been running, why do I have to know the outcome of every little thing before I even start?

    Before I post my sheepish reply I check out her IG profile.

    Under her handle it reads: “Living with GBM4 brain cancer.”

    I Google “GBM4 brain cancer.” “GBM is a grade 4 glioma brain tumor.”

    You should follow Tara! instagram.com/lifebehindtherainbow

    I scroll though Tara’s profile. She loves her family. She loves food, especially Indian food (me too). She has recently dyed her hair red. She’s studying Chinese Nutritional Therapy. She’s got a podcast. She loves to travel (so do I) and hike (same) and she’s chill and cool and…

    Oh dear Lord I am being an idiot. And a coward. And boring. Again.

    I hit back-back-back-baaaaaaack to make my feeble drafted reply disappear and craft a better one:

    “Thank you for the offer! That is so lovely!” I grab a box of Cheerios and feel a little out of control. You wouldn’t think saying “yes” to an innocent Oracle card reading from a nice woman from Ireland would knock me off my kilter… although maybe you would because this is me we’re talking about and by now you are getting accustomed to my nonsense.

    A few days later I have Tara’s reading in my inbox.

    The Fabulous Tara. Image credit: @lifebehindtherainbow

    Have you ever lost a glove that is your absolute favourite (this is related, stay with me)? You don’t lose both of them, of course, just the one. They are the perfect pair, they’re warm and they fit perfectly and they even go with your jacket. You retrace your steps but you can’t find that one glove anywhere and it almost drives you crazy because you look and you look and you look. And then eventually you just give up. You buy another pair but they aren’t the same and you keep that one lone glove just in case, even though you have looked everywhere and you know it’s a lost cause? And then the following winter, you reach under the seat of your car, the same spot you checked at least 20 times, and there it is! It’s dirty and it’s crumpled because it was wedged in behind the springs, but it’s here! And then you rush over to the closet and find where you saved the other one (it’s there!) and you put them on together (and you still have the jacket so the whole gang is together again) and you are just so pleased and you say, “Oh good! I love these gloves!” quietly to yourself and really the only way to describe it is to say you are tickled pink because it’s just so great and you grin when you catch a glimpse of your cozy hands lying together in your lap?

    I have the reading Tara has recorded for me in my inbox and I listen and that’s what it feels like.

    I am tickled pink.

    More cool Tara. Image credit: @lifebehindtherainbow

    She has beautiful cards that she loves and crystals from her friends’ new business and she takes such care and I feel like I am opening a gift.

    I feel like I am talking to my friend. My friend who has really good advice.

    As she gets everything ready she smiles…

    “I feel… I wouldn’t say I’m an expert at this… but I’m putting in intentions for you… and I feel it inside…”

    Her sincerity makes me forget how I could have ever hesitated to take her up on her offer.

    She shuffles her cards and takes her time.

    She pulls the Grief card.

    “Oh that makes me feel a bit sad… although I pulled this for myself about a week ago and actually it’s quite beautiful…”

    “Grief is love without a place to go…”

    I said this exact thing to my husband a couple months ago about sadness, hopes interrupted. My eyes start to well up.

    “I feel like you’re doing this journey for yourself this year for a reason, for a purpose, you might not even realize it right now but you’re going to bring up things that you never even expected could come up…”

    Tara on a hike. Image credit: @lifebehindtherainbow

    She’s right. It feels like I’m bumping into every insecurity I’ve ever had with this year long challenge and I’m only two months in. When I started I thought this was going to be some lighthearted fun. Turns out it feels more like getting up on stage and realizing, whoops, I am completely naked and the podium in front of me has disintegrated and my feet are glued to the floor and the audience is doubling in size and…

    You get it.

    She draws another card. Seven of Shells. This card speaks to choice and ambition. It’s got a lobster on the front. I love this card.

    “Searching for purpose, I feel like if you’re trying all these new things, you might find your purpose in there… Ask yourself what will truly fulfill you. You need to fill out your own cup before you even think about anybody or anything else…”

    Image credit: Tara McCaughan

    Her reading is spot on. Those intentions she has for me, I feel it. It feels like a hug. Chicken soup for the soul.

    I have to pause now, with this post. All these words. I’m stuck. I need a sec.

    I don’t know how to end this blog post in a way that feels not only appreciative of the time Tara gifted me with her reading, but also respectfully acknowledges that she is a cancer survivor.

    Tara strikes me as an awesome person who is living her cancer journey guided by a lot of curiosity and patience. I get the sense that she is a healer and an explorer and a leader in saying yes. I get the sense that she is constantly evolving and she is rolling with that evolution. I imagine that sometimes she feels scared and mad and tired and overwhelmed and sometimes she feels grateful and full of love and in love and excited.

    So, let me just speak to Tara directly, actually, maybe that would be less weird:

    Dear Tara,

    Hi! It is so wonderful to meet you! Thank you for your patience with my WhatsApp ignorance – that was painful, sorry!

    Thank you so much for doing a reading for me, hopefully it has come across in this post – I truly love it! I’ve listened to it a couple times now and it is so reassuring and validating and… emboldening. You have a wonderful talent with this stuff and I have no doubt everyone you have done this for as the same feeling of appreciation I do!

    From someone who says “no” too much, thank you for being a “yes man.” You have made a difference in the way I see opportunities – I don’t think I’ll be able to say “no” ever again without stopping first and saying, “wait a sec… why not yes…?”

    You mentioned on a live that your diagnosis completely turned your world upside-down and I can only imagine. Thank you, truly, for letting us learn along side you. The way you listen to yourself and your body… you are 100% right. You are teaching me with your knowledge, thank you for sharing it!

    We are all connected, you are so right. From Ireland, to Canada, to the Ukraine, to every single edge of every single community… we are living a shared experience. Thank you for reminding me to err on the side of connection.

    Thank you for helping me say “yes.”

    ~ Love Shauna

    *Check out Tara on Instagram @lifebehindtherainbow** and on her podcast, Scratching the Surface.

    If you would like to join me in making a donation to Brain Tumour Ireland – an organization that Tara supports – please click the “Donate” button below***

    *Full disclosure, this is not an ad. Tara did not ask me to share her links in exchange for a reading, I just think she’s rad and wanted to share…

    **I’m sure I don’t have to mention this because everyone here is cool, but just in case: please don’t hit Tara up for free readings. Keep being awesome, just send her some love…

    ***You will be taken to Brain Tumour Ireland’s Enthuse page when you click – I am not affiliated with this organization or the process at all, they handle everything!

    I am conducting an experiment: I have challenged myself to try something new each month in 2022. Here are my (self imposed) rules. Let me know if you have ideas on fun/ interesting/ novel things I could try in the comments. Or join me, that would be even more lovely actually…

    Graphic credit: Tara at @lifebehindtherainbow
  • angel card readings are my thing

    angel card readings are my thing

    I am driving a little too fast to my angel card reading appointment (my “thing” for February is readings). My plan to leave with plenty of time got sideswiped with an impromptu meeting for work and now I am running and starting and zipping and swearing a bit under my breath and sweating a bit under my armpits.

    But trying to be chill just in case, you know, THEY are watching.

    The “they” I’m referring to in this scenario are the angels, just in case it’s not clear.

    Random thought: If my idiot driving gets me into an accident and I, like, die, will my angels let her know? My angel card reader? Will she know right away? Is this something they would tell her? Also, do they think I am making fun of her or them right now with this thought? I’m not, just for the record, this is a serious and logical question in my brain… but do angels have a sense of humour, just in case?

    I’ve received advice on Instagram to be open and to relax in preparation for my reading so I turn off the radio and just try to breathe. I’m trying to get around all the painfully-slow-oh-my-god drivers who are dead set on keeping me from my destiny, but I’m trying to do it in a serene and peaceful way, you know?

    If I’m honest I am feeling the way the entire Friend’s cast felt towards Roger, Phoebe’s psychiatrist boyfriend. Remember how he was kind of a jerk and everyone was paranoid that he would just know things about them, and then he DID in fact know all kinds of uncomfortable things about them and so their paranoia was warranted?

    That’s the level of chill I am succeeding at. Deep breaths and mild paranoia. And sweating.

    Roger. Image credit: friends.fandom.com/wiki/Roger

    I am trying to push this concern out of my brain while I hurtle myself from one end of town to the other. I finally make it to what Reddit deems the “best witchy shop” in my area and I ease into my parking spot. I take a deep breath and try to collect myself. Jacket, purse, phone, notebook, pen. Mask. The store where I’m headed is quite unassuming and neatly wedged in between a bible store and a tailor.

    It feels fitting.

    The shop has a quaint, tinkly feel. Before I open the door I assume I am going to feel out of place, but stepping over the threshold I’m at ease. Its overstuffed in the most welcoming way, like the best, old and creeky used bookstores. It’s draped in colourful fabrics printed with positive messages and crystals are hanging from the ceiling, catching the sunlight streaming in from the windows that cover the whole side of the store. There are figurines and candles and gems and cards resting on every possible surface, shelves of books where you wouldn’t think a whole shelf could possibly fit. A handful of calm and friendly people quietly mill about easily gliding past each other despite the lack of space.

    My reader, Sarah*, comes out to greet me and leads me into a back room where the reading takes place.

    “Have you had a card reading before?” she asks me, making a bit of small talk. She looks at me kindly and with an air of…

    You thought I was going to say “mystery” or something, didn’t you? I went into a backroom for an angel card reading and it was supposed to be mysterious as all get out, right?

    I’m not exactly sure what I was expecting, but I kind of thought that might be the case. Maybe she would look at me with piercing eyes for a little too long? Maybe she would send me out immediately because of the whole swearing and do-angels-have-a-sense-of-humour-thing?

    She didn’t stare and she didn’t send me away. She looked at me kindly with an air of… normalcy. A bit of curiosity. And attention. It felt like I had the full attention of a pretty kind, normal person with a pretty unique job.

    After closing her eyes and taking a moment to tune in, she asks if I have any specific questions.

    “Uh, not really. I guess about career?”

    Now, I am the kind of person who shows up to the doctor’s office with a list of questions I want to ask. I go into meetings generally already knowing what I want to happen by the end, so this wishy-washy answer is… not on brand. It’s not a lie, I don’t really know what to ask, but it’s pretty lame.

    She lets me know that the angels are kind and just there to help and she starts to shuffle her worn deck.

    We talk about a needed vacation (the angels suggest something near the water, loving my angles already) and that I need now to get crystal clear with my wants. She asks if I am working on something new and that I am coming into a “higher level” with my work (since I work for myself we talk about what that could look like). She asks again about this new thing I am working on and I tell her about this year long challenge of “new things” I have been exploring and that I’ve been writing about it on this blog.

    Sarah gets a really good feeling about this. The angels say I have a “natural talent” for writing and the more I write from the heart the better.

    I am not even going to pretend this does not thrill me to my very core. Who doesn’t want to hear this? This feels amazing.

    As she talks and shuffles and asks, I notice myself relax. My self-consciousness is fading.

    It turns out I do have questions and I start to pepper her with them. I begin to get a little bolder and my questions get more specific. When someone is literally doing what they can to get intel from ANGELS, who am I to hold back?

    She mentions my kids and my husband, archangels and spirit guides. She speaks to the importance of being patient (“They say everything isn’t going to happen today. It’s going to flow naturally. You’re going to have to trust it will come as it’s supposed to,” she gives me pointed look. I think she’s getting that I’m not exactly a patient person). She says that I will help the most in my writing and my work by being vulnerable.

    She says to call on the angels whenever I want, “they are here to help, just ask.”

    My session is done.

    As I leave I’m buzzing. I feel fantastic. Light.

    I feel like I’ve had a wonderful catch up with a sweet, intuitive friend who thinks I can do anything.

    I don’t just feel happy, I feel giddy.

    As I sit here writing this almost a week later, I still feel the warmest glow from this experience, my very first angel card reading, and I think I know what this feeling is… what part of it is anyway:

    Connection. Soft baby threads of connection wisps weaved with enthusiasm and hope and curiosity and a healthy dose of vulnerability. A sweet and sincere woman devoted 30 minutes of her attention to me with well wishes underlining her every word. That’s what it felt like to me. Yes, I paid her, this is her job, but anyone who has ever tried to glean customer service out of someone who just doesn’t wanna can attest to the fact that money doesn’t have to equal magnanimity.

    Connection to kind people, connection to new experiences, connection to dreams and aspirations and courage…

    Connection to angels.

    Do you need an angel card reading to receive and give that connection? Of course not. But it’s one way. And I think knocking myself out of my comfort zone/couch/home might have been necessary for me to feel it so acutely all at once.

    10/10, highly recommend. Go find yourself a Sarah and an angel card reading and a something or someone who reminds you that you can do anything.

    * Sarah isn’t really her name, I have changed it for privacy and just in case it turns out that those angels don’t have a sense of humour after all…**

    ** I feel the need to note that I was just kidding about that last thing. I’m just kidding. I know all y’all angels have a great sense of humour because… platypuses. And sloths. And yawning, which is just so weird. I’m assuming you’re somehow involved in some of this… maybe project management? Customer Service? I’m done, love your work.

    I am conducting an experiment: I have challenged myself to try something new each month in 2022. Here are my (self imposed) rules. Let me know if you have ideas on fun/ interesting/ novel things I could try in the comments. Or join me, that would be even more lovely actually…

  • self sabotage is my thing

    self sabotage is my thing

    For the month of February I have decided “my thing” is readings (tarot, psychic, Human Design etc) but I am dragging my feet on the actual DOING IT part of this decision.


    You’d think by the way I am actively NOT seeking out readings that I don’t want to do it or something. You’d think that if I wanted to explore this world and try something new (like I have claimed REPEATEDLY I want to do) I would make a move of some kind.

    Any kind. Any kind at all…

    I make pretend moves. I do research. I compare sites. I “sleep on it.” I follow the IG accounts of people who do this stuff.

    I peruse and click and fall down rabbit holes and scroll but in reality I’m dragging my feet and succeeding in one thing and one thing only:

    Sucking out hard.

    I don’t know why I’m like this. I do stuff. I’ve done things that are actually kind of cool several times (ask my mom, she will totally vouch for me).

    But there is something I do know: This is a familiar and boring pattern for me.

    Staying safe in the margins, waiting to make the “right” move. Shifting, adjusting, recalculating. Being busy, busy, busy with nonsense and then at the critical moment talking myself out of it and fading into the background.

    I don’t think I was always like this. In my mind Young Me was scared a lot but went for it anyway. Until I hit my 20s, at which point second-guessing myself became my Life Plan.

    One particular decision stands out.

    Me around this time (my late-ish 20s) in Berlin. I don’t know why it’s in sepia, I’m not that old, good God.

    I had been working with a client for several months and they expressed an interest in meeting me in person and possibly offering me a position with their company. I was equal parts thrilled and terrified. This could be a potential poaching situation with a client wanting to scoop me up from my employer! I had made an impression! Doors were opening!

    All my thoughts were followed by exclamation points for weeks!

    I got on the plane. I went over our work together. I carefully picked out my clothes (professional, but not too stuffy, but relaxed, but professional, but youthful, but not too young) and nervously talked with my Dad on the phone in my hotel room. I made small talk with the team, I tried to look comfortable and I endeavoured to learn everything I could without coming off like a robot.

    Many years later. Very different “hopped on a plane” vibe. Far more snacks.

    I met with the CEO. I met with the head of the Marketing Department. It was a Big Job. A job that would oversee most of a whole dang continent for the company (a small continent, but still). It would be a chance to put my education and experience to the test. It would be a chance to step into my own in a way that would have pushed and challenged me. This was my chance to lean all the way in.

    At dinner the CEO introduced me to the team as “your likely new colleague…”

    Whoa Nelly.

    I flew back home. I unpacked and looked wide-eyed at myself in my bathroom mirror. I did a happy dance in my postage stamp of an apartment.

    And then I did something all at once completely out of character but not entirely surprising.

    I did nothing.

    It pains and embarrasses me deep to my core to admit this, but after I got back home I just… did other things. I worked. I hung out. I went to the gym. I went out for drinks.

    I let that excited spark that had lit up my imagination just a short while before… fizzle.

    But this wasn’t like me. This wasn’t the real me. The real me had worked her ass off forever. I had lived in several countries. I went to grad school in a subject the polar opposite of my undergrad (undergrad: theatre, grad school: MBA). I never backed down from a dare. I was a very reliable Wing Woman.

    All I had to do to seize this opportunity was stand up and say, “Thank you!” and here I was sheepishly pulling on sweatpants and watching Friends reruns with a giant refilled glass of cabernet sauvignon balanced on my knee, trying to be invisible.

    Unsurprisingly, the opportunity quietly went away.

    Cab sauv.

    I would love to say this was the last time I let something like this happen, but it’s not.

    I clearly see myself get in my own way often.

    Don’t get me wrong, I’ve accomplished many things that I am very proud of professionally as well as personally. I have grown into new goals I am wholly comfortable with and electrified by. But there are still too many times I have just watched my presence in a situation melt into the carpet for reasons I don’t get at all.

    WHY am I shrinking? WHY am I passing this up? WHY I am standing awkwardly like some weird, grimacing, frozen mime??!!!

    Older me, new goals, overall very, very grateful… still self-sabotaging… gah.

    Back then I know I was scared of screwing up and making a gigantic fool of myself. I don’t think I would have made a total ass of myself, but even if I had I wish that younger version of me had known that it would have been okay. I would have weathered many smallish humiliations for sure, but the earthquake-tsunami-kill-me failures probably wouldn’t have drowned me because I would have found mentors and I would have learned as I went and I would figured it out.

    Okay, so I likely would have splatted flat on my face many-o-times.

    But I would have survived.

    So, I am going to do the thing. There is just a tug-of-war going on over here.

    I am conducting an experiment: I have challenged myself to try something new each month in 2022. Here are my (self imposed) rules. Let me know if you have ideas on fun/ interesting/ novel things I could try in the comments. Or join me, that would be even more lovely actually…

    Me driving somewhere. Proof that I do stuff. Photo credit: My daughter. She took this with her tiny kid camera when she was 5 1/2 I think (yup I am definitely bragging about my kid)
  • readings are my thing

    readings are my thing

    I have decided what my “thing” for February is going to be.

    We’re dipping into the woo…

    Readings. Tarot, Human Design, various kinds of astrology. I’m not exactly sure what type(s) yet, but I’ll navigate my way through over the next 4 weeks.

    If you have suggestions on who I should go to, share ’em below…

    I went back and forth on this and I feel kind of weird about it to be honest.

    Actually, hang on. I don’t want to do the vague, half-truth nonsense, I’ll be more specific… It would be more accurate to say I feel vulnerable (in the vein of my confession post a couple weeks ago).

    Although, this side of the world isn’t entirely new to me.

    I have always been interested in what “else” was out there. In my 20s I even went to a workshop with my roommate that was all about “energy” (I think). It took place in a dimly lit conference room (or maybe it was a church?) and at various points we were practicing throwing energy back and forth to each other and staring at our hands trying to see colour strands.

    I do not remember if I saw anything. If memory serves, we had a pretty good time.

    For awhile it seemed that people who were predisposed to sharing their psychic talents were drawn to me. Or maybe I was drawn to them.

    While working the god-awful early morning shift at a busy coffee shop, more than once I had customers offer me readings they had scratched out on paper napkins. One gentleman based his reading on my favourite number (he approved of my chosen digit and assured me it meant great, aspirational things).

    One unsolicited, late-night reading that started with a faceless man grabbing my hand a little too abruptly made a particular impression.

    On this particular evening I had finished my shift, and rather taking the closest train home to my musty basement suite, I decided instead to shuffle dejectedly to the next stop in the rain.

    It was a misty rain unbothered by my flimsy umbrella and soon my hair was stringy with moisture. Dirty water from the sidewalk crept up my pant legs and my backpack was doing nothing to protect my books. I was miserable and I wanted to wallow.

    But I wasn’t simply miserable. Oh no, it was far more tragic than that.

    I was utterly heartbroken. Heart-smashed, more like.

    I was the kind of heartbroken that at one point made one of my best friends purse her lips, raise her eyebrow and instruct, “Whoa. Okay, you look like shit. Let’s get it together, we need to get you out…”

    I was in my early 20s and I was pretty sure I was experiencing the worst kind of agony ever waded through by any human being ever. It was a man. A man from far, far away who was staying far, far away.

    I loved this man with every fibre of my being and every hopeful breath in my lungs. Granted, I had met him while backpacking in his country, we had only been around each other for a handful of months and he RENEGED ON HIS PROMISE to visit me over in my country as planned… but I was damn sure this was a love story for the ages.

    I was wrong, of course, but I was at least a year away from knowing that.

    Despite my agonized yearning, despite my nightly solo sob sessions, despite boring my friends to death with the hashing and rehashing of his every unenthused phone call, he was not recognizing the error of his ways and jumping on a plane into my waiting arms and I. was. heartsick.

    So it was on this fateful night that I trudged through puddles with a sorrowful shuffle and ended up face-to-face with my sage.

    Our impromptu meeting happened on drenched, concrete steps on a side street. I was slowly making my way down the stairs, consumed by my own brooding and suddenly he was beside me.

    He didn’t particularly scare me, he was just… there. I had enough experience to be terrified of men staring at me in side streets, but this slight (but not small) man caught my attention without catching me off guard.

    It might be because he was hardly noticeable. I’d like to describe him, but I can’t. I think he had pale skin and brown hair, but I can’t be sure. I think he was wearing a light coloured rain jacket, but I can’t actually picture it. He was just… there.

    And then he said in a low, steady voice, “You seem like a nice person, I’d like to do something for you.” He extended his hand as though for a handshake and I instinctively reached towards him. He took my hand firmly, startling me, but then he began to speak and I forgot how strange every bit of this situation was.

    I have no idea how long we stood there but once he began, it seemed like he went on and on. At first his words were all about me and what kind of person I was. How I processed information, what caught my attention, similarities between me and my mom (who lived on the other side of the country, so there was no way he knew her).

    It was like he was establishing credentials. Setting the stage.

    I stood there. He went on…

    He stated that I was heartbroken, but that all was happened as it should and I would be fine. More than fine. I could be sad if I needed to be, and I probably did need to be for awhile, but I would get to the other side, just as I was meant to.

    He spoke and I listened, not looking at him, just carried along by his monologue.

    Then, with no warning that I remember, he walked away. And I walked away. I don’t know if I said an awkward, “Thank you,” or if he said goodbye. It was just done.

    As I walked towards my train station I felt fresh air on my cheeks. The drudgery melted away from the edges of everything and I grinned a bit at myself and nothing in particular. I felt better.

    That sad spell I had been consumed with for months was finally starting to crack and a cleansing breeze was tripping over itself to fill every corner, like it had been waiting to do just that all along.

    Now that I’m thinking back on it, everything he was saying was what I would say to my 23 year old self if I could go back and reassure her. It was like I borrowed a fragment of perspective from that stranger and could relax into knowing for a few still minutes that, although not this time, I would know love.

    I would know love, all this would evolve to a point where it didn’t hurt at all and everything would be just fine. Along with the reality check that it was time to snap out of it, enough was enough already.

    Me a couple years later, dancing around in Paris with my boyfriend (now husband)… and just fine.

    Who was this guy? Was he a fortune teller? A sage? A perceptive dude who saw a really sad looking young woman, deduced it was love troubles and took a chance to give her a pep talk?

    Whoever he was he gave me a nudge and it helped. If we crossed paths again I would likely suggest that he not touch perfect strangers in the street (by all means save a gal from her downward spiral, but personal space, guy!)… but our meeting gave me a gentle jostle that I needed.

    So, for February I am going to book myself some readings. I’m dipping my toe in the woo-waters… I am smiling as I write this… off we go!

    I am conducting an experiment: I challenge myself to try something new each month in 2022. Here are my (self imposed) rules. Let me know if you have ideas on fun/ interesting/ novel things I could try in the comments. Or join me, that would be even more fun too…

  • sometimes fun is hard

    sometimes fun is hard

    I have noticed something over the last 4 weeks as I get into this experiment… coming up with “new” can be taxing.

    Doing something new takes planning and research and coordinating with other people and someone to watch the kids and extending invitations and making bookings and decision making… and energy.

    A few years ago I read The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin and one of the points Rubin makes is about the actual work that goes into making things better. Some of the stuff that can make you happy – things like decluttering, getting more sleep, exercise – aren’t just efforts you stumble into. They take focus, intention, negotiation and quite often, some sacrifice of some kind.

    Decluttering can feel amazing, but to get to the amazing part you have to actually do the decluttering. You have to move the boxes and make the excruciating Marie Kondo decisions and buy or scrounge up boxes and bags to put the stuff you are getting rid of into and and pack it all up and drive to the secondhand store and, and, AND…

    And don’t even get me started on exercising.

    I am only at the end of January and there is this little part of me that seductively whispers in my ear when I am feeling particularly tired and lazy… won’t it be nice on Jan 1, 2023 when you don’t have to plan something new for the first time in 365 days… you don’t have to do anything, you know… who would knowwwwwwww…

    Come on, Little Voice! We’re still in January, for heaven’s sake! Give me a break, this is fun, remember?!

    I have set up some rules for myself for this experiment:

    #2 and #3 are already giving me a headache: #2 I have to do the at least two times per month, and #3 I have do it with other people.

    By having to do the same thing two times in a month I am ensuring that I don’t just do something on the fly without thought. Not that being spontaneous is a bad thing, but I know myself. I will end up trying to take shortcuts and counting something too easy-peasy. By doing it more than once it also gets me invested to a greater degree. I know where I am going, I know where and how to book the excursion. Maybe I’ll get to know the owner a little bit (if it’s a business) or I’ll experience a slightly different version of the same experience.

    Doing it twice also encourages me to have the experience with more than one of my “people circles.” The first time I went axe throwing I went with John, the second time I went with my mom. Both very fun but obviously two very different vibes (both vibes had an edge of competition in there though – my people tend to be competitive!).

    The “involve other people” rule is there to make sure I don’t sit at my computer by myself and take a million courses I find on edX (you know that site where you can do free courses from Harvard, MIT etc?). Left to my own devices I can burrow like a hedgehog in hibernation with an internet connection so this is there to ensure I get out of the house.

    Me and my computer so unreasonably happy together

    I am guessing I will get into a groove with all of this soon. I have, along with the rest of the world, been even more of a hermit for the last 2 years that I might otherwise have been with all these covid shenanigans.

    Taxing or not, I am feeling excited. There is a bit of electricity in this, you know? I can feel it.

    It’s exciting.

    I am conducting an experiment: I challenge myself to try something new each month in 2022. Here are my (self imposed) rules. Let me know if you have ideas on fun/interesting/novel things I could try in the comments. Or join me, that would be even more fun too…

  • a confession

    a confession

    I have something a bit lame to confess… or maybe it’s embarrassing or sad… or I’m overthinking it… you be the judge. 

    Here goes: 

    I don’t know what my “thing” should be for February.

    January = Axe Throwing

    February = ?????

    Don’t get me wrong, I have come up with a whole host of possibilities (all listed below if you want to weigh in!)… but I’m getting stuck on actually picking something.

    And I kind of think I know what is tripping me up… 

    Let me back up. 

    A few years ago John (my husband) asked me what I wanted for Christmas and I couldn’t think of anything. Like, nothing, my mind drew a complete blank.

    He could have been asking me to quickly do the math on 44,553 x 345,433 in my head. Every thought that had been in my brain dribbled out my ear and hit the ground with a thud.

    Did I want jewelry? A class? Clothes? A book? If so, what book? Who knew? Not me I had no idea. 

    I didn’t know what I liked. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. It felt like I didn’t know what I thought. 

    I didn’t know who I was. Who doesn’t know what they like?

    I started a very painfully dull list that I don’t remember at all but likely included practical things for the house or one of 8 million ideas I had for the kids.


    So I started a new list. I opened a doc, put a jaunty “Stuff Shauna Loves!” at the top and started writing.

    Eventually. Before I could come up with item #1 I sat and stared at that blank page.

    What was good enough for this list? Why can’t I think of anything? How hard could it be to come with a few things, for gods sake… this is ridiculous… oh my GOD just write something down woman… what if someone sees this… are the things popping into my head pretentious? Immature? This is stupid… write. something. down.

    And then a magical idea popped into my mind like a lifeboat right within my grasp: I lowered the bar way, way, way down. I wouldn’t create THE list, no, no, no. I would just start A list. Any old list. Nothing fancy, just a few wee points on the page. I gave myself permission to be beyond basic and vanilla and ho-hum and I just started: 

    Coffee. I knew I loved coffee. I wrote it down.

    Short latte on a table in front of an open laptop in a cafe.
    I took photo this back when I worked in coffee shops all the time (sigh… I’ll be back!). Also when I liked lattes… now I’m really into our French press and I drink it black. It’s shocking, I actually like it. People *do* change.

    As I started writing I got the idea to make it pretty so I started to add rich details. I included pictures and little descriptions that mattered only to me (“the ocean, I could listen to the ocean all day… warm ONLY, I don’t have a lot of interest in the ocean when it’s cold”) and I wandered all around the internet finding tidbits and inspiration.

    Different colors of blue jeans hanging on hangers.
    Jeans are the best, shopping for jeans is the WORST. It’s like bra shopping or also sort of bathing suit shopping. Lots of uninteresting info on how much your body type ISN’T the body type for these pants. Great to know… I still don’t have my pants. Photo credit: Jason Leung

    And once I got started it got easier:

    • I like coffee (especially in coffee shops that smell cinnamony and have quirky decor) 
    • I think pretty much all mosaics are just the prettiest
    • I like comfy, comfy jeans (but shopping for them is the dullest torture)
    • I like elephants and the people who help them
    • I like really good food… that I don’t have to cook myself… 

    I did it without judgement (of myself). I started it without the thought that anyone would ever see it so I wasn’t worried about how it would look. 

    Two elephants standing on grassy plains at sunset.
    You could look at these beauties all day, right? Oh yes, definitely… Photo credit: Mylon Ollila

    I wasn’t trying to be cool. I wasn’t trying to be healthy or productive or reasonable or evolved I just made a list of stuff I thought was rad and found pretty pictures to go with it. 

    Sometime later John asked me again what I would like and this time I was prepared. And the sweetest thing happened… 

    My cushion! It’s so pretty!

    For Christmas John got me a meditation cushion in the most handsome blue with the most beautiful swirling symmetry and when I opened it my eyes and my brain and my heart tingled. I loved it. I absolutely loved it and it was exactly what I wanted and it hugs me every time I look at it to this day. 

    I did myself the favour of putting a priority on what I liked and I said it out loud and I felt celebrated in the most wonderful and you-get-me way.


    Fast forward to today and my February “thing.”

    I suspect the clincher on what is holding me back this time around is — and this is surprising me… aren’t I too old for this? — judgement.

    Are my ideas cool enough? If I try something weird, what does that say about me? If I don’t try something weird, does that say something else? Do I care? I shouldn’t care… but do I? 

    The great thing about all this public accountability is I have to come up with SOMETHING and I will. I am just kind of gobsmacked by this small but mighty hesitation.

    I do have ideas. I just have to pick one.

    What I am thinking for the coming months:

    • belly dancing (I have to balance this out with covid and things being open etc)
    • drawing (I am very very bad at drawing)
    • horse back riding (I have been riding but I’ve never taken lessons)
    • something around witchy stuff, like crystals or something like that?
    • archery (because Katniss is cool)
    • learning about crypto/bitcoin (how similar are those? I don’t know…)
    • psychic readings  
    • … or some other kind of reading
    • some kind of significant physical effort…
    • cooking class (suggestion from IG, thank you Sharon!)
    • retreat of some kind (also from Sharon, thank you!)
    • ???

    If you have ideas for me lemme know!

    For now I am getting ready for my upcoming second go at axe throwing (as per the rules)… and twiddling my fingers as I decide on the whole February adventure.

    If you have thoughts do let me know… pick a slip of paper out of a hat? Throw darts at a dart board? Just grow up and pick something? Thinking…

    I am conducting an experiment: I challenge myself to try something new each month in 2022. Here are my (self imposed) rules. Let me know if you have ideas on fun/interesting/novel things I could try in the comments. Or join me, that would be even more fun too…

    Multicolored mosaic tiles.
    Don’t you want to go there and just stand in front of this?!!! Photo credit: Raimond Klavins
  • axe throwing is my thing (new things)

    axe throwing is my thing (new things)

    I did it. I hurled a pink handled axe in a metal cage and occasionally hit a spray painted target for an hour. I am no Paul Bunyan, but I did better than I did with the bowling so there’s that.

    It was fun… and I got kind of sweaty… and my arm got sore… and that glass of wine when John and I got home felt earned, like I wielded those axes to chop wood for a needed fire or something…

    The thud when the blade connects with the gigantic wood stump is really very satisfying – I don’t know quite how to describe it except to say that it feels like the axe drops into the wood somehow rather than just sticking into it.

    We also got to throw these medieval, Game of Thrones looking knives, which for some reason felt even more dangerous and badass than the axes. There was this tiny red-handled blade tucked into the knife holder that was practically beguiling. I’m not a knife person, but whoa nelly. Even though I didn’t manage to get that baby to stick into the target – I am not going to lie – I felt like someone was going to slink around the corner, give me a sly nod I immediately understood and recruit me for Charlie’s Angels at any. hot. second.

    Please note the axe *above* the target. Pro tip: that is not what is supposed to happen.

    I am unreasonably competitive. I say unreasonably because I am not particularly athletic and I really have no business being a diva when it comes to anything in the athleticism family.

    Yet as soon as there are stakes I get tunnel vision and I want to win.

    While it can be funny sometimes (I have been known to go too far with trash talk in BOARD GAMES for heaven’s sake and I don’t even LIKE board games), I think my competitiveness has kept me from trying things.

    As in, if I’m not going to win, why try?

    I came across this quote attributed to Kurt Vonnegut* and I am now rethinking all this winning stuff.

    When I was 15, I spent a month working on an archeological dig. I was talking to one of the archeologists one day during our lunch break and he asked those kinds of “getting to know you” questions you ask young people: Do you play sports? What’s your favorite subject? And I told him, no I don’t play any sports. I do theater, I’m in choir, I play the violin and piano, I used to take art classes. And he went WOW. That’s amazing!

    And I said, “Oh no, but I’m not any good at ANY of them.”

    And he said something then that I will never forget and which absolutely blew my mind because no one had ever said anything like it to me before: “I don’t think being good at things is the point of doing them. I think you’ve got all these wonderful experiences with different skills, and that all teaches you things and makes you an interesting person, no matter how well you do them.”

    And that honestly changed my life. Because I went from a failure, someone who hadn’t been talented enough at anything to excel, to someone who did things because I enjoyed them. I had been raised in such an achievement-oriented environment, so inundated with the myth of Talent, that I thought it was only worth doing things if you could “Win” at them.

    I have read this to my kids and I have read this to John and I am struck by how beautifully this falls into a year (or a lifetime) of trying new things.

    This is Kurt. Image credit.

    I talk to my kids about not worrying about doing something well all the time. Sometimes (enough of the time) the energy an idea needs is to just get a bad version out.

    Don’t worry about writing the best story, just write a bad one. Never mind drawing the best tiger, draw some terrible ones first.

    And I have to admit to myself that I don’t take always my own advice.

    I am happy to report that I am not very good at axe throwing. I am even worse at bowling (oh my god I am really bad at bowling, so bad…).

    Here she is, the small but deadly Red Handled… blade? Knife? Shiv? I don’t know, it doesn’t matter it was cool.

    *I don’t know if he actually said this… still inspiring though. *Someone* said something heartwarming…

    John, the bragger, hitting the bull’s eye a million times.

    I am conducting an experiment: I challenge myself to try something new each month in 2022. Here are my (self imposed) rules. Let me know if you have ideas on fun/interesting/novel things I could try in the comments. Or join me, that would be fun too…

  • ripple effect?

    ripple effect?

    Gearing up for my first “thing” this Friday night. I mentioned in my last post that I might go with axe throwing and I went ahead and did it. Yesterday I Googled around and asked John if he wanted to join me (date night, ooh la la) and asked my parents to watch the kids and I booked us in for a one hour session of throwing pointy things at walls.

    This is generally how things happen for most people, I suppose (although probably less stabby)… but I actually did it. I have a sweatshirt that says “Let’s Stay Home” that I bought BEFORE covid if that tells you anything. It’s party, party, party over here.

    And then something curious happened: Today rolled around and on the fly I went and booked something else and that something else was 5-pin bowling. My family and I rocked up to a well-loved bowling alley in the basement of a strip mall with scruffy, clicky rental shoes and fountain 7Up. My kids were thrilled.

    And I am guessing my husband was more than a little surprised that this kind of doing was actually initiated by me. (Translation: I’m boring. It’s okay, it’s why we’re here, I’m working on it).

    I did not earn this fancy trophy. If I told you I came in behind FOUR children under 10 years of age this would not shock you.

    I used to Do a lot of things. Get up, go to class, meet for lunch, debate something, get a new job, pack a suitcase, take a flight, get lost, take probably unsafe scuba diving trips, eat Häagen-Dazs for dinner or eat a proper dinner swished down with a bottle of wine and danced off with high high heels.

    And now I Intermittent Fast and sigh when I can’t find the scissors and I make sure to drink enough water.

    Don’t get me wrong, I know I should try to be healthy and I am lucky, lucky, lucky (I have worked hard but I am well aware that I have a whole lot of luck and privilege that has fallen at my feet)… but I have absentmindedly let my flip-flops slide off the pedals, it would seem.

    Is something missing? I think there is something missing.

    And this missing is on me, I know.

    It could be that what I am missing is “What is My Why” related. Right? I am sure I am lacking a certain flurry of passion and purpose but I suspect that there is something more mundane at play here.

    One word: momentum.

    From what I have seen x often begets more x.

    Not always, of course, There is a lot of unfair shit going around, communities stuck in a Newton’s Cradle that was not of their unfurling.

    But in some situations…

    Laughter begets more laughter…

    Opportunity beget more opportunity…

    Ideas beget more ideas…

    And I think my lack of peeking around new corners has begot a lack of me peeking around new corners. I get up, do my routine, and then I go to bed and do it all again the next day.

    And it doesn’t need to be that way.

    I am lacking a certain amount of new and momentum.

    Perhaps my willingness to 1) initiate something as small as knocking some pins down* with my kids AFTER 2) going ahead and booking that axe throwing session for Friday is a tiny bit of evidence to support this momentum hunch.

    We shall see.

    *ha ha just kidding there was no risk of any pins tipping over in my presence

    I am conducting an experiment: I challenge myself to try something new each month in 2022. Here are my (self imposed) rules. Let me know if you have ideas on fun/interesting/novel things I could try in the comments. Or join me, that would be fun too…

    Through the legs: A classic, reliable strategy.
  • this is my thing

    this is my thing

    I have had the thought that I was one hack or experience away from finally getting my groove for as long as I can remember. It’s a thought that’s quietly mocked me without my even noticing, honestly. It’s hung out around the edges of my confidence for so long that I didn’t even realize that my definition of “confidence” was built on a foundation of second-guesses and tepid half-steps.

    Maybe this job will be the one that makes me fulfilled.

    Maybe this relationship will be the one that makes me calm.

    Maybe this piece of advice will make me centred once and for all.

    Maybe this practice will make me unafraid.

    Except I’m in my 40s now and know that is all bullshit. Like, in theory I know that it is bullshit but I still secretly cross my fingers and hope for it when the all-knowing algorithm presents me with yet another promising/validating looking article or TikTok.

    Truth is though, there is no ONE answer.

    I know this. You know this, right? We know this. So given this hard-won reality, I pledge on this 1st of January to stop taking my search for THE experience/hack/trick/advice seriously and just DO stuff for the next year.

    (Because as much as I know there is no ONE thing, I’m beginning to understand (like really deep in the ageless, edge-less parts my guts understand) that the homecoming is in the doing… not the planning or the pontificating or the navel gazing or the theorizing… but in the stepping, skipping, diving, fiddling, shuffling, tripping, stomping… DOING)

    the rules

    My plan for the next year is to try something new every month for the next 12 months. Because of how my brain works, I have some rules for myself:

    1. I must try something new every month: My definition of “new” is pretty loose, I think. Further work on this TBD.
    2. I must do said thing at least 2 times every month: I imagine some things would be the kind of thing I could do more than that, but I must do the thing at least 2 times.
    3. I have to do the thing in some way with other people. It’s not enough for me to sit alone my house and do the thing, I have to engage with other people in some way.
    4. I can’t do too many serious/productive things. If I do something “constructive” one month I have to do something frivolous the next.
    5. I have to be able to jump into the thing with fairly short notice. For example, I would love to go to space Star Trek style, but I’m pretty sure I can’t arrange that in 4 weeks (if you know otherwise please let me know!).
    6. I will write about each experience here + @thisismything.life (Instagram)

    I think that is it. I may expand on this list, or not. Let’s see how this goes!

    First up: Axe throwing (frivolous right?)

    Suggestions welcome – do you have things that you love that you think I should try? Comment below or let me know somehow.

    Thank you for joining me on this experiment…