08. My Eyes

01. Morning

I was never a morning person. I do thrive in sunlight and my brain and my body function better when its light and bright outside, while correspondingly winding down with dusk and seeing me hit the pillow around 11 pm pretty much every night. But getting up in the morning - boy, that's always been a tough one. Apparently not when I was a kid - my mom says I was as much of an early bird as they come, calling out enthusiastically from my crib at the crack of dawn (that then came back to bite me with my first kid - karma is a you know what ;) All that changed very soon. I remember school holidays, the dog days of summer, and me sleeping in until 11 am or even noon - something my aging back would not allow me now, no way. That feeling when you wake up and it's daytime, hours of precious sunlight already gone, and you need to catch up. Only, it's summer, it's the holidays, and it doesn't matter!
Getting up for work- a nightmare in my book. Especially in winter. I'm quite the opposite there from my husband who just jumps out of bed when it's time and he's ready to face the music. Me, not so much. I just want to stay under the covers, and steal a few more winks of sleep. I just always feel I need a few more...
All that has changed, however, in the past six months. In addition to getting up to take my older daughter to school, I started going to the gym in the morning in March (the perks of being unemployed). I became a veritable gym bunny! I'm converted! I hit the thread mill for 20 minutes and then workout for an hour with a personal trainer. This happens three times a week, but getting up other days of the week has become much more manageable too. I don't now if it's the exercise or what, but it helped. I look forward to mornings. I look forward to working out. I want to get out of the house (although that's not always a straight forward operation given I have an almost nine and an almost three year old).
The photo below is of what I see when I get up - that chimney in the distance is a landmark, something that speaks to me in a way that conveys the 'everything is ok, you're home, everyone's safe' message. It's tall and sturdy and comforts me, odd as it sounds.
The next one is from my gym's locker room. I like going there, leaving my phone behind locked and just sinking my teeth in a good workout.
For the rest of the August Break participants, all the Insta action is happening under the #augustbreak2017 moniker, while you can also share the joy in the Facebook group here.

Rules and Routines

What's a woman without her 9 to 5? A question I ask myself often these days. Who am I without an office to go to? Without an immediate task at hand? Without a purpose? Without a routine, that soothing and comforting rhythm behind everything I do, that sets boundaries, clear and welcome, that tempers the existence, balances it?
Well, I've learned that I am not much without it. Or, rather, I can't seem to grasp what's beyond it. I feel anxious, lost, highly strung, and about to crack. My armor is pierced. I no longer define myself through what I do as I am currently unemployed. God, how awful! I hate the sound of it. I have not come to terms with it. I can't stop mulling it over and over, wondering if it's entirely my fault that I've found myself in this situation again after almost five years - five years of hard, honest work, and why me? Shaking off the victim mentality does not come easy for me. Also, always finding fault with myself, blaming myself, I excel at that. I'm thinking of adding the skill to my professional resume.
I can fully grasp how people lose it after, e.g. 40 years in the workforce, and then they retire and boom - lost, bobbing on the rough seas of life, left to your own devices to find meaning and purpose, again. To remember who you are/were, before - everything. To reclaim your own self. Whoever that stranger may be.
Why is it so hard to let go? Why are we programmed to cling tightly to the reins of control, however big an illusion it may be? Deep down, I know I could use this free time I am suddenly in possession of much better. I can use it to do all those things I like - walk, read, learn new things, be with myself, breathe, just think nothing, do nothing. But, and there is always a but, I cannot. Because the only thing I am acutely aware of is not how blessed I am to be living the life I do with a happy and healthy family, but how wretched I am to not have a job. I let that one thing that makes the equation of who I am ruin everything else and govern my perception of reality.
I wish I could undo it. I wish I can do better at not doing anything.
When I do give myself some breathing space, though, and let the real me through, this is what comes out - art, or as close to is as I'll ever be:

Stillness

A big claim, stillness is. I am rarely still. Even if I'm not moving, my mind is not still. It races, it jumps, it overdoes thinking, worrying, planning, work, life, everything. Achieving even a pretence of stillness is hard for me. I'm officially unemployed as of two days ago. Imagine what that does to my head. It does me in. It is not the first time I've been in this situation, in fact it happens in cycles every four-five years as projects end and new ones begin. In all previous instances, though, I was not able to take it easy during the hiathus. I would tie myself in a knot and shrink myself both physically and emotionally to a ticking bomb of anxiety. I have considered changing that this time around. I am thinking of not doing anything for a month and not worrying about it. For me, that's harder than giving birth. Making myself reconnect with the person underneath the worry and angst, listening to myself, feeling the feelings, making time for it, gosh, how am I ever going to do it? But, I'm willing to try. I took a walk yesterday around the empty Kalemegdan fortress and I was almost scared by stilness, peacefullness and quiet.

The Festival of 35

Another year, another birthday. I must admit, the excitement was not the same as a few years ago - 35 sounds pretty middle-aged to me. Actually, I was pretty bummed about the prospect of edging closer to 40 and entering what I imagine is the second half of my life. Kiddies, a super-attentive husband and some cake baking sort of dispelled the whiff of desperation that was hovering around.
And then my family came, my mom, my brother and his brood and the house was full of laughter, singing and candle-blowing and I instantly felt better.
My mom brought me the best of gifts - a perfume and an orchid.

Prada's Infusion d'Iris has been a favorite for quite a while. I love its clean, uncomplicated smell, with some pretty powerful undertones.

The 100 ml bottle came with quite a few samples and I'm loving all of the Prada Candy varieties.

Just look at this beauty! It really made my day. I just hope we'll be friends for a long time and she'll bloom again and again - I'm determined to make this one a keeper, despite my previous disastrous record with orchids...















Having trouble staying away from the sales, I treated myself to another pair of  Clarks:

Source

These will be perfect for walking the cobblestones and broken sidewalks of Belgrade this fall while taking my daughter to school and trying to get to work on time. They can be worn in the rain, another bonus, not to mention how delightfully comfortable these are - for me, that's what I get from Clarks shoes. After I got my first pair last summer, I now own four and I have never looked back.














I have a few drinks with friends scheduled throughout the week, so the festivities continue, an my man has his birthday later in the week as well. Lots of Leo action going on in our family!

I have a 'books I've read so far in 2015' post lined up, however, I can't seem to get around to finishing it these days. Will have to have another crack at it soon.

Why Getting All Dressed Up Matters

It seems so frivolous at times to be thinking/writing/reading about style when you consider all the horrible things going on in the world today - the refugees in the Calais, the war in Syria, the economic crisis, the renewed polarization of the world's politics (West vs. Big Bad East all over again), not to mention the environmental issues - or should these be the primary concern? Violence, corruption, poverty are rampant in my own country as in many other corners of the world. I read the papers, I watch the news, I know about these things - I'm not living under a rock. However, as desperate as these make me, I have no solution, no concrete action to take. Focusing on my family, my little universe, a few friends and the everyday is what I can manage and where I'm needed the most, so that is what I do.

An important part of staying on top of the everyday is organization and routine. I can manage chaos in small doses and at times, but constantly - it drives me crazy. That is why a streamlined repository for clothes, shoes and accessories, aka The Closet, is a must. Wardrobe space is precious in our apartment which means I have to be on top of things regarding the number of items I own. The situation is still a far cry from a carefully curated collection of items I love and enjoy, but I'm getting there slowly. Yet, this post is not about wardrobe organization. It's about why these things matter to me. Or, in other words, why personal style helps save my life in the madness of daily living.

Structure: getting dressed for the life I live first thing in the morning gives structure to my day. If I'm staying at home with the kiddos, it's the track suit bottoms and a t-shirt or an oversize men's shirt (my dad's), mundane, plane, but if it's clean and it fits, is made of cotton or other natural fabric - it's all that I need. Staying in my pj's past the breakfast time and I already feel anxious. If I'm dressed for the daily activities, then I can get on with them and that helps me stay focused and not just waste away the hours watching crappy TV all morning (although we've established that I do that sometimes as well;) Also, doing my face and hair is a part of this routine and even if I don't leave the house all day, I want to feel pulled together. I know this stems from the need to control the often uncontrollable in life, but it helps me.

Presentation: I work in an office environment where casual dressing is considered a no-no - no jeans, no casual Fridays, none of that. I have to look pulled together and exude a sense of authority as I often participate in meetings with officials where the corporate dress code is to be observed. As I spend most of my time at my job, that means that most of my closet is work clothes. I am, however, not the pant suit lady. My aesthetic is just different, more bohemian, less strict. So I find middle ground in order to comply. My blazers are soft, less structured and certainly not boxy (although I've recently found what represented a holy grail of unattainable clothing chimeras for me - the perfect black blazer), but in block colors. My trousers are of a classic cut but with interesting prints. I do wear pencil skirts as these hug my curves in all the right ways, but they are of interesting, textured fabrics. And I accessorize big time - scarves, jewelry, shoes, bags - you name it. This helps me stay true to myself while at the same time presenting the best version of me to my professional environment. I have ascertained in numerous occasions that the way you look may make or break a meeting, a presentation. Done properly, it projects the right image to your coworkers, partners and lets you achieve what you set out to do more easily. Which leads us to ....

Communication: Getting the right formula with the outfits also lets me show loud and clear to the world who I am without having to explain a lot. If you want to read the messages I give out through my clothes (and people do so, even if subconsciously), you may gather that I'm an open and forthcoming personality with a positive outlook, yet serious and determined when required. You may also understand that I'm a bit quirky with a flare for the unexpected. Or, at least, that is what I would want you to understand about me. That is what I get dressed up for and what I want to project with my overall look. This is an important part of non-verbal communication and I believe a vital one.

Appropriateness: Showing up so that your outfit matches the situation - the ultimate mastery of social context. It means to not show up over or underdressed, to not show disrespect, but primarily to feel good in what you're wearing and look comfortable. It is only when you're bien dans sa peau that you can really be appropriate and presentable. It's when you are wearing the clothes and your look, not the other way around. And that is the trickiest bit, the one that requires soul searching, understanding of the self and translating that knowledge in your wardrobe. I believe that is a life-long process, wisdom that is not attained lightly. But it is also the process I enjoy and the trial and error part is what makes it fun.

All this maybe reading a bit too much into what you put on yourself primarily not to walk around naked and protect your body from the elements. You can look at it that way. I prefer to look at it as an essential part of who I am, an opportunity for learning and growth and a process that makes me more considerate, less wasteful and more temperate as well.

As of mid September, when the real life strikes again, I will have to have this process down pat however. My outfits will have to be planned a week in advance (same goes for my elder daughter), laid out complete with all the trimmings the night before and put on in the morning with a very small margin for error - there will just be no time to change my mind. That means the next few weeks will be spent culling my wardrobe, distilling only the most essential items for the coming season, and loads of washing and ironing. Wish me luck!

Life Lately

Talk about a blog hiatus! With a six-year old and a baby, pretty much everything else in my life had to take a backseat for a while, including this space which has been sadly neglected for eight months :( After the first nerve-wracking three months with the newborn, just as we were sailing into the new year, life got a bit easier, and at the same time so much more intensive and required my full-on, full-time presence and involvement in everything that was going on in the now household of four.
At the same time, I was slowly getting back to myself, a lot easier this time around than after my first pregnancy, although not without a few hiccups. Taking time to care for myself did the trick. I started pilates in February and I can safely say now that it has made me fell better in my own skin than anything else I tried both before and after the pregnancies. I can really feel the muscles that have come back and, barring the odd spare tire around my waste, that is still persistent in lingering on despite the almost six pack beneath it ;) I feel so much stronger, more flexible and like I own this wondrous instrument that is my body and that it is serving me well. Walking around with the baby in tow for a few kilometers every day helps as well, just as a recent fortnight by the sea did.

Mom 2.0

Well, who would've thunk it? Being pregnant, giving birth and becoming a mom the second time around is equally as all-consuming as it was six years ago when I first gave birth. And that's where all the similarities stop. IT IS NOT THE SAME. It is so much more of everything...

My newborn will turn one month next week and to say that my life has undergone a complete and profound change is an understatement. The depth and wealth of emotions I have been going through this past weeks is almost indescribable, wonderful and deeply perturbing, all at the same time.

The biggest changes - at least how I see them now - concern my relationship with my firstborn, my impressions on giving birth, breastfeeding and doing all these things that only women can do, and my attitude towards my body.

I'll try and write about all of these in separate posts in an attempt to clear my head and find reason and rhyme to what is a whirlwind of intense emotions at all times since another precious little girl saw the light of day through the miracle that is childbirth.

The Waiting Game

Two things making me jittery since this morning:

1. Today would have been my father's 60 birthday. Typing 60 makes me cringe - he would have been only 60! And I would have expected a good 20 years more out of him, just as I do with my mom. But he's not here and I will never see him or speak to him again. It is these two things that make coping with his death as hard as it was almost five years ago. I so wish I could hug him once more and hear him say my name, nothing more. I see his picture on the shelf as I walk through my apartment every day and some days it just startles me how very much alive and happy he looks on it and for a second I forget that he's dead. I decided I'll try and not let myself be sad all day but work on remembering the happy bits, the anecdotes, the love, the four of us being happy and laughing.

2. A follow-up ultrasound for the fibroadenoma in my left breast. I was diagnosed with it past October and the shocking (to me) revelation came followed with the words 'don't worry, a third of the female population your age has that' or something to that effect. It didn't make matters any easier though. This is a benign lump that warrants some monitoring and especially during the pregnancy, to see whether the hormones make it bigger or smaller. On the conscious, rational level I know this is not something to get worried about or freak out over. I know that my life is not immediately affected by it. I know I need to be responsible and check it in regular intervals over the course of two years and that's it. On the subconscious, more primal instinct level, I want to scream my head off. I'm scared, I dread the moment I'll enter that exam room and I don't know how to make it through the few minutes that the examination will take place.

This speaks volumes as to my problematic relationship with any form of medical issues, given my family history related to cancer. I am acutely aware that I'm in that high risk group with everything that's happened on my dad's side of the family and I know regular check ups is the way to go (hello colonoscopy, probably next year, after I've had the baby). That, however, does not make it any less scary.

I just need to breathe deeply, take the plunge and hope for the best tomorrow. The lady doctor is very nice and I hope everything proves to be ok.

Meanwhile, I leave you with pictures of the bump and my current favorite summer handbag.

Milestones

In less than a month now I'll be reaching the ripe young age of 34. Sounds . . . scary? No. The number of years I've spent on the Blue Planet so far does not scare me, yet. Mature. Yes, but - I've somehow been born mature, always 'older' than I actually was at the time, and somehow all-knowing of the world and its secrets. Too knowing for my own good. That does not mean I haven't made mistakes. There have been mistakes galore for the 30 something years but I'm not in the retrospective mood this year. Some of the bigger ones have been rehashed too many times for my own good, some lessons learned, yes, some progress at forgiving myself made, but for what I consider the biggest ones - no, no scratching beyond their surface value and I know this is something that would have to happen, eventually. 

It's summer, my favorite time of the year, and although it hasn't been covering itself in glory this time around (I'm talking to you, oh Gods of rain, yes, you heard me), I enjoy it. I enjoy the warmth, the sun, the fruit, the lazy feeling, the empty Belgrade, and only regret not getting to go to the seaside this year, due to the planned vacation dates being too close to my actual due date. I guess summer is also what makes my birthdays more tolerable and somehow always taken more lightly than what the numbers suggest. Everything is less serious in August.

The birthday this year gets me closer to another birthday - of my unborn child, and that's what sets the tone for being 34. Will everything be all right? Will I give birth to a healthy child? How will my older daughter cope with the new addition to the household? Will I make mistakes as a parent of two? Will those mistakes be the ones that my kids resent me for in their 20s or 30s? How will I cope with two kids? Am I going to go mental for a few months like the last time around? Am I ever again coming back to myself, to what I want, need, wish and be free to do it? How much adjustment will it take? Will the compromises ever stop? How will my marriage be affected by all this? 

Doubt much? Yes. Worry much? Oh, yes, definitely. Scared? Way too much. I am scared of this new chapter in my life more than I'd like to admit. But that's me. I'm always scared and worried in advance. And than when it's time to perform/take the test/pass the exam, everything usually falls into place and happens the way it should. It's not always the way I expect it to be, though, but that does not mean that it ends up badly, no. 

I have an impression that I'm breathing hard these days, catching my breath, getting ready for the ride of my life. I know nothing will ever be the same. I don't know how will it turn out and what to expect. Am I ready? I don't know that either. All I know is that when it starts happening, I'll manage, hell, I'll even do a stellar job at times, or less of a good one at other moments, but I'll give it my all and I won't be looking back. And I won't be doing it on my own.

I hope the number 34 brings joy and good times for my family. I hope it brings that feeling of being good in your own skin and the ever-elusive peace of mind. I hope it brings clarity, reason, purpose and significance. I hope it adds to an improved version of me.

Here's to birthdays and great expectations!

I am someone

This really blew me off today . . . I think I've been searching for a real definition of this feeling of complexity for so long and these simple yet poignant words just wowed me when I read them this morning. I am somebody without labels, definitions, fake priorities of shoulds and must-haves and all that - I am me and that is so many mes all wrapped up in one and I don't want to let go of any of them. They may mature, change over time, so their voices are subdued and some others take over but they are all inside. A teenager who knows the lyrics to all new MTV/VH1 tunes, a geeky bookworm in eternal quest for knowledge, a doting mom, a loving wife, a sexy woman, a clumsy woman, a sister, a friend, a child, a big goof, an all-too-serious grown-up, prone to tears and rages and meek as a lamb all at once, all in one, me!

Mirror, mirror, on the wall

Next month i will be turning 33. Wow! The Jesus' years, the 'you're in your fourth decade and you cannot ignore it any longer' years, magic years. It's hardly time for looking back and casting nostalgic looks over the decades past - I still think I'm too young for that, but a few home truths have definitely hit me as I tallied up the numbers and came up with 33.

I always thought I'd have at least two kids by the time I'm 33. And I thought I'd have at least a master degree under my belt if not a PhD. For the rest, I'm pretty much there with the hopes and dreams of my youth. A proud mom, a wife and a partner of 14 years, a home-owner (married to the bank, counting every penny towards loan payments though, but still;), and working for almost 10 years now. Not bad, I need to pat myself on the back more often, though not too often or I'll get complacent.

When I look in the mirror, I see a mature version of my round face, pale complexion and baby-blues. I see wrinkles and lines, I see redness that just won't go away but is under control and I see a difference after a good night's sleep which means time is taking its toll on the suppleness of my skin.
I started exercising regularly two months ago and I see a difference in the shape of my body and what is more important I feel stronger and am aware of certain muscles I didn't know I had before. The long and winding journey to full self acceptance and making peace with my body image and whatever looks back at me from the mirror is a place I haven't reached yet, but I seem to be getting there easier with years.Oh, and, I'm completely gray haired. Blame it on bad genes. Root touch ups every six weeks are a must.

I still feel like a teenager about certain things - I listen to all the latest music, I know all celebrity gossip and I fall in love with movie stars every now and then, passionately and hopelessly, as can be evidenced from the sidebar of this blog. Other than that, I'm pretty much too grown up and serious about most things in my life, which can make me seem strict and unforgiving, and black-or-white, but no, in reality there is a lot of grey I see, understand and have in my life as well.

What I wish to change is to become a better listener, to shift the focus away from the all-consuming thinking/behaving like 'me' is the center of everything and really pay attention to other people. Not that I don't but I want to do more of it. Listening and really engaging with others makes us feel human and also lets us have another look at ourselves and our lives from a different perspective that a constant inward look cannot provide.

What I also wish is to do more of the things I seem to have forgotten I like. I want to learn another language, I want to read more books, I want to go out dancing more often and I want to travel more, more, more.

I say, bring it on 33!

Hindsight vision is 20/20

The rough part is making the right decisions, doing the right things, taking the right path now. And not having regrets/second thought later on. If only I could send out some wise words to my younger self, there are things I would have done differently. Because now I know and I understand so much better.

I would have cleared out all issues related to body image once and for all at the age of fifteen. I would tell myself 'you're young and you're beautiful, everything about you is beautiful - your body, your skin, your hair, your face - own it, enjoy it, appreciate it and feel good about it now!'

I would make myself be less hard on, well, myself. I would lose the guilt trips, let myself fail and pick up and go from there - failure is not a bad thing, you can't live in constant fear of failing and be paralyzed by it. You need to fail and fail early enough in order to be able to grow from it. Suck it up soldier and move on!

I would stress less about almost everything, especially my studies. But I would also feel more confident about being smart and showing it. Always. Without the fear of looking stupid. Without apologizing for it.

I would doubt myself less. Because, in all honesty, you can do anything if you are prepared to work hard and learn. Nothing mysterious about it. Just plain hard work, sweat of your brow, elbow grease.

I would pay so much less attention to what anyone has to say about anything and just go with my gut. People and their views on your life/actions/mistakes are only as important as you make them out to be. If you're going to make mistakes, make them your own so that later there is no one else to blame.

And I would smile more and be happy more and savor every moment of being happy and go out more, dance more. I wouldn't do drugs through. I don't regret that.

Cancer

Today marks the beginning of another chapter of my family's ongoing battle with cancer. After my aunt died of liver failure caused by cancer metastases in 2001, aged 50, and after my father died of same causes in 2010, aged 56, their sole remaining sibling, my other aunt, is starting chemo today because of breast cancer. She is 61.
Should I feel better because the age at which this silent killer attacks is extended in each case? I hoped it would skip her and we, the second generation, could find a grain of consolation in that and not think of ourselves as destined for doom once we hit 50. What does this say of our genetic make up? Statistics are ruthless. We are all in great risk by sheer virtue of being our parents' offspring. One 'faulty' parent is all it takes.
I am aware a lot of this has to do with lifestyle and habits, environment and circumstances. But among the three of them, my father was the one who most contributed to his own demise and one would think ok, fair enough, he had it coming. For my eldest aunt who died first - no such explanation/excuse. She led a healthy life, ate well, exercised, and went for regular check ups. And yet when she was diagnosed they gave her 2-3 months before the bitter end. She beat all the odds and survived that prognosis by two years. But she never lived to see her daughter get married and give birth to two beautiful granddaughters.
My other aunt is overweight, granted, and a chain smoker, so I guess it's no surprise as well. But in her case the monster didn't raise its ugly head until she ventured into her 60s. And breast cancer has by far a more optimistic survival rate than liver/colon cancer. Yet, I'm not consoled. I'm worried and sad. I am trying to stay positive and send positive thoughts her way and I really, really want her to fight a good fight and come out victorious at the other end.
Another thing I'm noticing - dealing with this, the disease, the diagnostics, the surgeries, the chemo and prognosis - it's somehow easier each time. You know the drill, you know how it goes and what lies at each turn. And the fact that I have a doctor husband does not actually help - I am faced with the ugly, medical home truths about it all, no sparing my feelings and no beating about the bush. Blood, sweat, vomit and tears. The lot.
I wish I had more positive feelings on this. I wish I had a better attitude towards the disease and doing something about it. I'm still at the stage where I'm mostly paralyzed by prospects and fear for my own life. But I have a child and I have a responsibility to her - to stay sane foremost, and to stay healthy.

Dragonfly - the perfect example of the fleetingness of life

Shine bright!

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

Marianne Williamson

Perfection

Look, the only beef I have with Gwyneth Paltrow is the fact that she's married to Chris Martin, the Coldplay frontman and the sexiest piano-playing-cum-wonderful-verse-writing musician around, as far as I'm concerned. As for everything else, we're cool, Gwynny and I, although many have criticized her for appearing holier-than-though mostly because of putting her (sometimes too strong and polarizing) opinions on public display through her blog, GOOP. That, and the incredible body she has after giving two births. That's always a tough one to forgive ;-)

I like her blog, I don't always agree with her opinions, but most of the times I find what she writes and the people she invites to write there very good and worth a read. In this week's series, BE, she broached the subject of perfection/imperfection with this opening statement:

'Striving for achieving a sense of perfection has been a misguided belief in my life, often leading me down the wrong path. It has made me, at times, place value on the wrong things. It has made me not listen to my true self for fear that I would somehow fail in another's eyes. I was curious as to how the idea of perfection has become so pervasive in our society, how it begins, how it hurts us and perhaps, even, if it carries a certain benefit.'

This rang so true in my ears for this is who I have been for so long and in so many occasions, more or less important on the road I have traveled so far. I wrote about it here. Perfection, like happiness, is something we are led to believe we need to be/live/achieve all the time. In reality, we don't. No one can be happy 100% of time, or perfect. No one needs to be happy and perfect 100% of time. It's ok to fail, it's ok to let other people down sometimes, it's ok to be sad and miserable if it can't be helped. Sure, no one likes sad and miserable people, but we also do not need to be liked all the time.

What we need is to be true to ourselves, our inner feeling, our gut if you will and answer to no one other than ourselves for our decisions and choices. It's hard and it hurts but it's the most honest way to go about life, I believe.

Here's the whole thing from GOOP, it's a good read I promise.

I'm looking forward to a chat with my friend today. Come noon time and it's time for Armageddon you'll find us sipping coffee and talking like there's no tomorrow ;-) Just like always!

Speaking of Body Image

Just have a look see at this lady's brave posting. Hurray for her and hurray for all women on their rocky at times but steady road to self-acceptance!

One of Those Days

It really is, one of those when you wonder 'will this downward spiral ever end?' days.

It started with a cold blow to my self-esteem, completely self inflicted and related to outward appearance. One of the moms that I meet on the kindergarten run every now and then showed up today looking like a million dollars - a tall and slim young woman, in an incredible short fur jacket, over the knee, high-heeled boots, a pencil skirt, all black, and a bright pink Prada bag. Short hair, great make-up, a stunner. Cue my own little self in a several years old grey feather coat, sensible flat black boots, a silly Inspector Gadget worthy hat, the works. Or that's how it seemed to me. Add a totally uninspiring outfit, fit for the drab, sterile office environment I work in and the situation had 'disaster' written all over it.

I rarely compare myself to other women. I know what I like about me, what I think could be better/changed, and I have my own personal style which is very me, I think, and I almost never question it. I don't wake up wanting to be this slim, fit, tall version of me I know I'll never be - I just don't think in those impossible terms. Sure, some days I feel better about the way I look, some days I'm less favorably impressed with a reflection in the mirror, but it's never a crisis that cannot be handled. This morning was different, however, and I hated myself for feeling so lowly, so feeble, so easily beaten into a corner and ready to wallow in self-doubt and desperation.

Hectic work atmosphere where I've had to seriously multitask for the past few weeks and the pressure that wouldn't let off, all that just added to the feeling of desperation. Come mid-day, something related to the procedure for the bank loan goes wrong - one document is late, and I crash and burn. Total and complete meltdown, behind the computer at work. Oh, and my mom contributed to that as well. The moment she chose to explain some truths of life was really bad and it just pushed me deeper.

From that point on I just wanted this day to end. I was rescued by my daughter and her laughter and endless energy for a brief while until she went to bed. Now all I want is to curl up in a deep dark hole and not come out for a few days.

I've definitely been under a lot of stress lately and it is getting to me. I held out much longer without breaking down this time than in previous similarly stressful situations, but still. Only this time I acutely feel like I really need to change this pattern of behavior. I really need to stop worrying that much and fretting over details and using up my energy carelessly for unimportant things. I need to take care of myself more as I too have limitations. And I feel like my body is close to a breaking point. If I push it over, it won't be forgiving I know and God knows what it is I may end up having to fight. I don't want that. I want to stick around for a long time, wrinkles and all.

So tomorrow, on goes the make up, some bright colors and a smile, if I manage one. And a drop of perfume for the olfactory pick me up. I hope I feel ready to face the world again.

November Recap

This was one crazy month! Too many things, both good and bad happened in the space of only 30 days - that is what I find to be incredible every time I witness how one's life gets profoundly changed in the span of a few hours/days.

Here goes:

We've put in a request for a bank loan in order to buy a bigger apartment for our little family. Given the amount of paperwork and nerves that has taken so far, without being over - it's a marathon, not a short sprint obviously, I hope we make it and get it done as I really do not want to do it another time . . . If it works, it will be great, we'll have a nice place close to where we live now meaning our daily rhythm will not suffer any significant changes. Fingers&toes people!

My close cousin got married after 12 years of a relationship that we weren't exactly sure will actually end in a marriage. But it did and both the bride and the groom were genuinely happy for the duration of the ceremony and the ensuing celebrations. They had a small civil ceremony and then it was off to the party for us the younger generations. It was one of the greatest parties I attended lately, with this great DJ playing the 80s and 90s music. Some time after midnight it was real wild party time so the girls took off the high heels and some serous jumping around occurred. Here's the visual of no shoes:

Poor cast offs, all alone ;-) The purple ones to the left are all mine!











We had a nice family lunch the next day in a cute restaurant near the Danube.

This month also saw me on the road quite a lot:

It was first the work-related trip to Kladovo, a town in Eastern Serbia, on the banks of the mighty Danube, then the visit to hubby's grandparents in Croatia and my first sight of a sleepy little near by town of Virovitica, off to Novi Sad for the wedding, and then again work-related jaunts to Pirot and Prokuplje (with a sleep over in Nis)  - another first time for me in these two Serbian towns. I was lucky that the weather was mild and enjoyable for all the trips. This moving about certainly contributed to the feeling of time fleeting by.

 Kladovo, and Romania across the river

Prokuplje - really beautiful surroundings, vineyards and orchards all around, lots of history, even a settlement from the neolithic period for which it was recently proven that it was the location of first metal working human activity, and not Africa as was believed previously. Unfortunately, for all the natural wealth (three spas also in the vicinity), it is a poor town nowadays.

Inevitable mention of the second anniversary of my father's death. More deaths for close friends and colleagues. News of a horrible illness for my friend's father as well. Overwhelming at times.

Took my husband to see 'Seven Days in Havana'. A great omnibus film, seven short stories on the life in this amazing city with even more amazing people. All the cliches are featured - Cuban people, beautiful and special, singing and dancing like there is no tomorrow despite everything, Castro with his never-ending speeches that form the background TV noise, poverty, desperation, white folks misconceptions and prejudice about the place, but also cults and superstition, sexuality, comic relief all around and love. It paints a picture of a truly amazing place on Earth with unique and resilient people that, similarly to Serbs, express their appreciation and care through food and music.

source

A memorable episode in the movie is marked by Emir Kusturica, our famous director, portraying him as an ordinary man having issues with his fame, alcohol and his wife












Last but not least, new booties. Behold their soft leather glory!

These are the things that marked this month for me. And tons more that do not fit into this blog post. E-mail exchanges with people on far away ends of this world whose absence is acutely felt, phone calls with friends and a conspicuous absence of time to spend with them in person, my daughters improving drawing skills, poem interpretation and singing (it's wondrous how much she's grown and matured in the past few months), endless talks with my mom, etc.

Bring it on December!

Two Years

It will be two years to the day tomorrow that my father died. He was 56. I remember everything about that day, minute by minute. I remember my grief, that of my mom and my brother, my husband, as well as the grief of so many people that came to our house to share the sadness of the loss.
For not only did I loose my father, my grandfather lost his son, my aunt lost her brother, my mom's numerous family lost one person that they all universally loved and liked a lot, and his friends and colleagues lost a loyal and good friend and co-worker.
And that was what has sort of taken me aback the most at the day of his funeral - how many people showed up to pay respects because my father was an important part of their lives as well. His friends from childhood, high school, university, his co-workers. I guess I knew he was a well liked guy, I just didn't realize how much so.
Loosing a parent is never easy, regardless of their age when they die. Loosing your spouse, however, is I think even harder and I can see that on my mom. She misses him the most.
Whenever I watch a basketball game or a tennis match, whenever I hear or read some poetry, whenever I hear talk of Russia, I think of my dad. I remember all the good times, I remember my childhood and I know he loved us both so much. I know he loved his granddaughters a lot as well and I'm sad for him and for them that he's not around to see them grow up.
But I also remember the bad stuff and all things he's done wrong which contributed to him leaving us that much sooner. I remember him telling me during his last days how much time he spent with unimportant people instead with us, me and my brother. He was genuinely sorry for that, I know. But I also know that I thought 'well, it's a little late for that now, isn't it?'.
I don't harbor grudges. Any that I had are long buried and forgotten. I have forgiven my dad for everything a long time ago, long before he died. I'm just sorry I didn't tell him that in so many words.
I said my good bye the night before he died but I didn't say it out loud for fear of stirring him from that semi-conscious state he was in. I wanted to say 'I love you dad', but I didn't, at least not out loud. And I regret that a lot.