It's fair to say that one of the things that runs through my head most these days is "I've forgotten who I am." When was I truly happy as me? What made that feeling real? Time and the responsibilities of getting by have left me forgetting the simple life I lead in New Zealand; days and nights filled with the sea, a garden and a tiny little town. Surfing sunup to sundown every day. That was when I was happy. A big golden globe hovering until ten in the evening and turning the sky to fire. At the time I was too young & naive to appreciate everything I had, but nothing could ever compare to how fulfilling life was when I'd walk to the cliffs and watch the Tasman roll in, and now I know the wealth I once held.
The sea is my home. I was born on water, grew up on water - it is my comfort, my resting place, the thing I find most familiar. "My happy place" if J.M. Barrie were around to ask. It demands you be humble and in tune. This is where I need to go back to. Portland is a great place, I live with fantastic friends, but tugging of your guts, on your heart - after several years away the honeymoon is over and it's time to face the life changes ahead. All week long odd signs from several directions are pointing toward the same place, calling me home and telling me happiness takes risks to survive.
I consider myself lucky to have this pulling me and have come up with a handful of new ideas to turn into tangible objects very soon. Those tangible objects factor in to the fulfilling life I envision for myself, and sharing creations with other people makes you swell with pride and a sense of accomplishment.
Fingers crossed I can get them out into the world before I cross the big blue Atlantic for Scandinavia.
