When I Was Young

Sometimes I enjoy dipping into my old blog posts for a taste of where my head was at.  Eight years ago I was in University, planning to leave to Paris, and questioning what I wanted out of life.  I am inspired all over again.

The Art of Living – March 24,2005 – Confessions of a Young Woman

It should be so easy. Listen to your deepest desires and the rest works itself out.

I don’t want to live mathematically: calculating, in black and white, with one right answer and too many wrong answers. I want to live artfully: listening to my body and dedicating my life to what feels good.

I’m inspired by the Impressionists who made beauty out of everything ordinary with colour. By artists gone mad, presumably because they felt too much, loved too strongly, and wanted in too many ways to express themselves. If I go mad like this, then fluff my pillows in the white room with barred windows, and make my straight jacket look haute couture, I’m moving in.

I don’t ever want to feel chained down by obligation.

There is no rule that says I must stay in one country for so many years. No rule that says I’ve got to think in numbers, understand politics, and believe in a higher power. I want beauty. I want foreign landscapes, several careers, and a bottle of wine in my suitcase.

I want happiness, in whatever currency it’s available.

I want emotion, at every inappropriate heart wrenching moment.

I want to listen to my body and allow my feet to lead me.

I want to wear fine fabrics that make me feel beautiful.

To love what I love passionately and embrace my own world. To feel pain, and become stronger. To see people underneath their tough exteriors.

I want to stop making excuses. I want the world.

I want to make an art of living, and to be able to scrawl my name proudly at the bottom.