Tag: be kind

Life happens

It has been eleven days since my last confession. 

Okay, yes not confession, but my last blog. Thanks so much for sticking around. 

In so many ways life has been so busy since we came back from Scotland 26 days ago that something, soon enough, was going to give. Unfortunately, it was writing. I really really enjoyed writing about our trip and sharing the itinerary with you all and yet the busier I got the harder it was to publish every day. And then I reminded myself it is only the challenge I set myself that is falling behind. Nothing else. 

With plans to head to Leeds for the day and slowly ease back into our everyday lives, the real happenings proved to be much busier. Heading back to my part time job in gardening was interesting enough with my back issue still flaring up and autumn throwing all sorts of maintenance my way. I experienced my first fully fledged migraine which saw me puking and sleeping for a few days. I took a last minute trip up to Durham for a few days to see my brother and his family which was just brilliant. Two full days of talking, laughing and games with my young nieces. Then as an added bonus my oldest niece came home with my mum so we spent two more days playing and having fun. On the return I met up with Mr W to take a day trip to Leeds to see my step son. We planned an 80th birthday party for someone very special and a day out shopping with a lunch thrown in too. We’ve also seen my other brother for his birthday and spent a slow few hours in Greenwich planning lots of behind the scenes secrets which will be shared soon. These will become apparent on social media very soon!

I would love to say that life will get slower in the lead up to Christmas but it’s only going to speed up. But gratefully it is mostly days out filled with new experiences. So far, there are 6 days out in London and a trip to Europe… which I will tell you all about soon. Part of the reason to head into London is to see my friend visiting from the States. I’ve been helping her with her week long plans and I am SO excited to see her! There are so many big plans in our capital city that I have been frantic with itineraries and research. What is it about Autumn that plunges us into a frenzy? 

There are some renovations starting in our home, by us, which will take up quite a bit of my time as well as the regular stuff. The regular stuff being household chores which have severely fallen behind recently. AND there is the Christmas shopping which we like to do as early as possible as socially December is a huge month for us and I don’t like to feel rushed. Ultimately it doesn’t work out that way, but we can only try! 

Adding to that we are trying to find the time to look into next year’s travels which won’t hit the bank too hard but take us somewhere new and exhilarating. 

Life happens. Everything you love, like and must do happens all at once and it does feel hard to find that balance. Truthfully we do find it testing at times and then ultimately punish ourselves for not getting a grip. However I am trying to treat myself as I would treat others. If my friend was beating themselves up I would tell them to give themselves a break and that is really important. Be kind to yourself just as you would others. Nobody gets it right all the time and nobody can go full throttle all the time. 

Right now, instead of staying up alone writing until midnight, I am falling asleep by 10pm with Mr W and on occasion I am reading new books. I am an avid reader and have most definitely fallen behind in my reading since the summer. We managed one late coffee morning in bed a week or so ago and even enjoyed breakfast at the dining room table too. I have squeezed in a hair appointment and had dinner with family a few times. These little moments really help to put the busy times into perspective and have massively taken the pressure off. 

Maybe someday we will find the balance. Right now, it’s manageable. Just.

I’m going to be kinder to myself while chasing the next adventure.

Be kind. Always. 

Tears of travel anxiety

Well, it is here. The day I’ve been rattling on about ALL year long. Mr W and I are embarking on a fifteen day tour of Scotland. It is the longest trip we’ll have ever taken together and the most intricately planned one too.

We will be staying in 14 hotels, travelling over 1800 miles, drinking copious amounts of tea that have been made using our car kettle, going wild swimming for the first time and we are taking you with us!

Yes, to add to the 12-14 hour days, the miles upon miles of hiking and the basic meals of oats and pot noodles, I will be writing every single evening. I’ve often wondered if this will put too much strain on the trip and whether I should wait until after. But truthfully, this is the chance to get every emotion and opinion down as it is on the day without inference of the delay of time.

If you’ve been following this blog so far you’ll know I’m either bordering on OCD or already a fully fledged member of the OCD Club of Organisation Addiction Awareness. So you may not be surprised that every blog going forward already has a template from which I will be able to work from. I also have a notepad that’ll be with me in the car and a printed itinerary I can edit along the way. I really want to learn as I go along on this trip, which means if something I have researched (albeit meticulously) does not work out, I want to find the answers and tell you everything. You may have gleaned by now that I’m passionate about travel beyond measure and if I can inspire (ick word) you to take the trip you’ve been putting on the back burner well that’s just a beautiful thing.

So today, we are driving up to Thirsk in order to break up the mammoth drive to Edinburgh from Essex, our very first and brief stop on Saturday morning. We’ve stayed in Thirsk a number of times now and it works perfectly for us as it’s small enough to not have any traffic and it has a big Tesco and petrol station. It has made the perfect overnight pitstop previously and there’s nothing better on your first night than familiarity. It also helps that our hotel has a restaurant, a budget one, so we don’t need to dig into our food reserves and can be at full energy for the longest start of the trip.

We have an exceedingly early morning tomorrow because we still have a 3 hour drive before our first stop, so we will be up before the sun and on our merry way.

As ever, my nerves about leaving home have started hitting me. This has been happening in its worst form for about three years now. It is hard to pinpoint the exact time it happened but I think it has a lot to do with the time we had to leave our home without a housesitter in 2019. Although we had various people coming in and out at least three times a day, I was incredibly worried about our dog and cats and don’t think I’ve ever really recovered from the guilt. Since then we have secured a housesitter every single time we have left for longer than two days. My dad will always say it’s not an issue but really his doing this enables us to really go out and live.

I literally can’t sit still the days leading up to when we travel and I dare say a lot of that is down to nerves. I love to come home to a clean and tidy home and before we leave I’ll often remember tiny little jobs I’ve been putting off , for instance I’ve been pottering in the garden getting it ready for autumn and reshuffling photos in the hallways.

This week that has been made a darn sight harder due to the flare up of my back condition. Oh yes, we have a 30 page itinerary for a 15 days trip and now is the time my back doesn’t want to play ball. I’ve tried movement, stretching, walking, sleeping, sitting and resting and so far sod all is working. It’s been over two weeks and I am slowly but very steadily getting pissed off. I am determined to keep to the plan for the trip as this has been so long in the planning and even longer in the dreaming.

Putting the final touches to everything this week has definitely kept my mind busy but I know I’ll be a blubbering mess as we leave in a short while. It’s ridiculous really for someone who lives and breathes to travel how much it makes me nervous. You’d think I’d be used to it by now. It catches me off guard and I feel my breath catch in my chest. It’s like a wave of worry washing over me. An anxiety avalanche if you will.

Mr W asks if we should cancel and I know that I can’t stay here forever, holding down the fort, protecting what I can’t while I’m away. Therefore it is off to the horizon we go, me and him, finding the next adventure and praying my anxieties get lost along the way. Maybe I’ll tie them to the rear bumper and give them a good chance of joining us, if they can hold on that is.

Right, here we go. Scotland 2022. Let’s see what you’re all about.

Miles: 232

Panic at the concert

I used to work in Central London. Did you know that?

Monday to Friday, the Central Line at 7:30am, Holborn by 8:30am, navigating the streets of the city at rush hour. Squeezing myself into carriages on the way home, getting a seat maybe 5 stops from home. It was what I did. 

Something has changed. Whether it be covid or being out of the fray too long I’m really not sure. Since 2020 Mr W and I have actively avoided crowded places. It seemed logical in the beginning. Even in early 2021, it felt like the must-do action when living in a pandemic. As time wore on it became quite apparent that it was harder to integrate back into our old life. 

Or was it?

As you may have read in ‘Engaging moments’ (link below), my aversion to crowds has upset things before. Mr W’s proposal was meant to be in Rockefeller centre under the Christmas tree and yet before he could do the one-knee bend, I raced from the vicinity with a gusto I normally reserve for friendly dogs or rainbow chasing. The realisation of the crowd before me made my heart race and my palms sweat. Maybe if I had anticipated the mass of people I could have coped better. 

Engaging moments

Yesterday we went to Newmarket, dressed up pretty damn nicely, watched the horses, basked in the sun together and enjoyed every single minute. As the sun moved towards the horizon we made our way to the stage in the centre of the complex. Only four people deep in the crowd, the view of the stage was amazing. Forsaking the up front viewing of the last race we staked our claim for the next 2 and a half hours. Then my horse went and came 1st! Mr W moved away to grab my winnings while the crowds rolled in behind me. In a sea of people my nerves rolled in too. I held my ground as people jostled me, pushed past and generally looked past me. He was taking his time, the queues must have been long, and I soon started craning my neck to find him at the back of the swarm. 

After a few minutes I spotted him as he edged his way closer. Two particularly stubborn people ignored his polite ‘excuse me’s’ and I had to forsake our closer than close viewing spot and join him a few metres back. As soon as I took his hand. I felt calm. My breath returned to my chest.

10 minutes later The Script lit up the night. Live music, is there anything else more invigorating? As they played to the crowd the old feelings for music crept back. Music does not have the same place in my heart as it once did and I vowed there and then to listen to more. The crowd was full of energy and the festival vibe was definitely in the air. 40 or so minutes in, the band made their way into the fray and walked straight past me. It was exhilarating to be up close and personal to the band I have loved for 14 years. 

As they walked past and away the crowd let them through and then closed ranks. The jostling took an unexpected turn and I felt myself clamp down on Mr W’s hands. Something had sparked inside me and it took me a moment to calm down. The band played two songs at the rear of the enclosure and we took solace in the calmness at the new back of the crowd. And then they returned, it was a treat that they came back our way, but this time my body stalled in panic. The jostling would return. And it did but prepared for it I felt okay. 

The band continued their amazing set and the crowd went into hyperdrive. The setting sun cast an amber glow over the scene and I sang my heart out. Two of my favourite songs made tears spring from my eyes and Mr W took the camera owing to my need to dance along. 

In the moving crowd Mr W had gone from next to me to behind me. I was not complaining at 6ft tall he towers over me and with his arms at my side I felt the deepest sense of protection. As night fell so did the behaviour of the crowd and security had to rush into the mob as people became rowdier and frantic. A couple next to me were staggering on the spot, their elbows digging into my body but it was okay, his arms were around me. 

From somewhere behind I heard ‘Oh don’t you just have the best shoulders.’ and then Mr W’s muffled voice returned the conversation. My head whipped round to find a slurring woman engaging with the compliment. I am not a stranger to Mr W getting compliments, he is an extremely handsome man, a damn right silver fox and yes his shoulders and arms are incredible. It was four years ago that we went to an extremely young club to celebrate a family’s birthday. At 30 years old I was years older than the teeny boppers in situ and at 8 years older than me (you do the maths) Mr W was definitely noticing a change since his last time in a similar venue. As we sipped our drinks by the bar he made a comment to me like ‘my god I feel old’, I smiled and carried on my chatter. From behind me an arm reached over my shoulder, patted him on the chest and shouted ‘you ain’t old’ in a twee girlish voice. I remember whipping my head round then to see what can only be described as a foetus in a plaid dress making doe eyes at my soon to be husband. In disbelief I laughed as the awkwardness set in on Mr W’s face. I felt the same last night. Turning around the woman was complimenting his shoulders and how he must be a swimmer and how lovely it was to see him protecting his wife. I smiled and uttered the taboo words of ‘I get really anxious’. 

Well the flood gates of her mouth opened as she announced that she worked in the NHS, saw anxiety all the time in her job and how she would tell people to ‘fuck off’ out my way if I needed her to. The truth was, her talking to me, drunk, had set my anxiety off worse than ever. I can’t do small talk and drunk people are a massive trigger for me. I nodded along and eventually passed the conversation over to my husband. He took it in his stride and entertained her for 10 minutes. I danced along to the music as best as I could while he squeezed my arms with our secret code of ‘omg what have we got ourselves into’. Asking me what my name was, the lady gave me a massive hug, a kiss on the cheek and danced off into the night. 

And then everything changed. All of a sudden his arms clamped around me and pulled me back. A fight had broken out just in front of us and 5 or 6 security guards had rushed in. The crowd had responded by backing up and into people. People being me. Before I even knew what had happened I had been pulled out of the melee and held tightly. I turned to ask what was going on and my anxiety sky-rocketed. I felt my hands start to shake. The music thudded through my chest and my heart met it with competitive beats. Holding up my phone for a photo I saw the screen shaking. I was losing it and the tears on my cheeks knew it. I put my hands on his hands on my waist and listened to the music. I sang as my heart rate slowed. Their final song came to an end and I cried for the beautiful night, the experience and the feelings of loss. Where was the brave person I once knew? 

As the crowd dispersed, a woman approached me and told me about a quicker exit from the area if I needed it. It was a beautiful gesture and I thanked her profusely. There needs to be more people like her. However, and this isn’t a bad thing, it only made me more aware than ever about how my problem has gotten worse. I stood for a moment enveloped in my husband’s arms and melted. I do not want to be like this. He held me and said he would never let anything happen to me. Ever. And I just stood there. Wondering how he could possibly stop the anxiety and the panic. And yet I knew he couldn’t. He would hold my hand, guiding me through, sometimes backwards but mostly forwards. And at my pace. Whether it made sense or not.

After a slow walk to the car, I felt my equilibrium return and decided to turn the ‘ordeal’ of the evening in my favour. The band was amazing. Mr W had finally seen them live with me. The night air was warm and calm. My new dress fit the bill. And I hadn’t walked away. This wasn’t Rockefeller Centre. This was louder, more frantic and yet I stayed. I could have left but I didn’t. It is a win. However small the victory seems. 

Be kind to yourself. Don’t hide away something that is a part of you. It is a part of you. Not all of you.

Photo by Dave Watson
Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com 

Donuts

Today I’m struggling with my mental health. I was going to leave it at that and allow you, the reader, to decipher it quite simply. I’d chosen to take a break from writing today.

I’m all for that. Unfortunately there are times when my enormous fear of letting myself down storms to the front of my mind and declares war with rationality. Write. You’ll feel better. Write. You’ll only be disappointed that you didn’t. 

Write. 

I’ve been thinking of Scotland. In 2021 we took a few days out of our busy autumn schedule and travelled up to Edinburgh. I’ll put my hands up now and say the sole reason was to go to Edinburgh zoo to see the Giant Pandas. And it did not disappoint! I, in fact, spent the better part of 30 minutes sitting and staring at Yang Guang, their male panda. I may also have cried. It was a special, special moment for me. It was just Mr W and I for the viewing. The zoo is situated on the side of a large hill and the Giant Pandas are right at the top of this hill. Go figure! We quickly decided to slog all the way up the hill first, making no stops, so we could see the panda without interruptions. And who doesn’t love to get the crap bit out the way first. Walk up the hill. Enjoy the slow, winding walk back at your own pace. Roast dinner, veg first! It’s the rule!

Floating on cloud nine, I eventually had to leave the panda and seeing a donut cart, decided on a treat. Hot, sugary donuts! Mmm! You know the type you get at a fair or by the seaside and you can barely hold the paper bag because they’re so hot, but your stomach can’t wait, so you bite into the molten doughiness and find instant bliss and regret. Yeah, those kind. 

So, while I’m waiting in the queue for my 10am donuts, there is a lady in front of me who asks the server whether she can buy just a single donut. The server says “no, they come in batches of 4 only.” The lady says, “oh, okay, there’s no way I want that many.” I internally gasped and reminded myself to include Mr W on my donut haul. She walked away and I felt sad for the lady who was leaving donutless. I quickly get my bounty, and as I turn to leave, I see her with her family. I made a quick decision and approached her. “ Would you like one I ask?” She gives me the once over with her crazy detector and says “No, that’s okay.” “Honestly it’s okay”, I reply, “go for it”. And she does, I say “Enjoy” and walk away. Mr W is sitting on a wall, watching me, he asks what I’m doing and when I tell him, he laughs. My reason for sharing, it’s nice to be nice. 

There are such deeds in the world that have become a bit of a phenomenon. The ‘Pay it Forward’ movement is really quite special. It’s popular in coffee shops in particular. When paying for your tall skinny decaf latte you add a couple of pounds to the bill and the next person gets their drink free. With the reminder to pay it forward. I’d like to think that the zoo donut lady paid it forward at some point in time, but also don’t like to think of telling someone to do it. I didn’t do it because it was on my mind to do something that day, it was a spontaneous thought, and that meant something to me too. And one less donut.

It’s often when we are thanked for something we’ve done, an unconscious act of ‘nice’ that we realise its power. I have a 12 year old niece who I haven’t seen a lot recently. Covid, life, geography. She’s always been quiet, loves to read like me and is going through a tough time at school. Only recently was I told this. A few weeks ago, she popped up on my personal Instagram feed as ‘someone you may know’. I hit the follow button and sent a message asking how she was. It felt rude not to, to be honest. I wouldn’t add anyone to my online ‘social’ circle unless I actually planned to have a conversation with them. It’s one of the biggest reasons I delete people. If we don’t talk, what’s the point? We had the briefest of all chats and that was that. Fast forward to last week and my niece’s mum gives me a call. We’re chatting away, catching up after a long absence of calls since Christmas and she stops to thank me for messaging my niece. I’m taken back to be honest. It was just a hello and how are you. However it turns out things have been difficult recently, she’s been withdrawn at home and school and very quiet. The night after we spoke, she was very chatty and smiley and her mum felt more relaxed than she had been in months. Not knowing this, I said that it really was nothing, I just wanted to say hello. And I was told that it had made all the difference in the world. That my niece felt seen and not forgotten. I won’t lie, that hit me in the heart with a different kind of ouch. I know what it feels like to feel alone, I’m not alone, but my anxiety makes me feel isolated. I know the joys of someone reaching out because they want to. Not because they’re fulfilling a duty or checking up on you. Sometimes it’s the unconscious acts that make the biggest impacts.

In the autumn of 2013, Mr W’s sister, my now sister-in-law, had a major car crash. She was taken to Whitechapel hospital in London. Working in London at the time meant I could travel easily from work, meet MR W on the station platform and see her for a few hours. At this point we’d only met a handful of times and I still felt like the new kid on the block. One particular evening Mr W had to travel for work, so I went alone. Unannounced. I took magazines, sweets, food and my dry sense of humour. All the things I would want in that situation. I only stayed an hour or so. My sister in law is a loved lady and had other visitors arrive after me. I went home and thought nothing of it. It’s what you do. Fast forward to our engagement, there’s talk of me becoming an official family member and how I had fit into the family from the start. I had made quite an impact on my sister in law. Dumbfounded, I asked why. Back then, and even today 9 years later, my sister in law would talk about my solo visit to the hospital and what it meant to her. She said it showed I cared,not just for Mr W but for his family. I shrug it off. It’s what you do. Someone you love, someone you care about, someone who needs you. You are there. It. Is. What. You. Do. 

I think about these moments and others when I’m sad, upset and anxious. It makes me feel better. It puts me in my place. It grounds me. I don’t know why. I don’t do anything to be seen or heard. I do it because it costs nothing to be nice, well maybe the price of a donut, but it literally doesn’t have to cost a thing. Whether the lady paid if forward. Whether I got told about my niece. And even if I was told of my sister in law’s gratitude. It makes no difference to whether I, we, everyone should be a little nicer. The reward should be secondary. It’s a selfless act. I’m no saint. No one is. But just because we’re not saints, doesn’t mean we’re automatically sinners. Maybe we can be floating in the middle. Being nice. Eating naughty donuts. And sending a hello out into the world. 

You never know who might need it. 

Wear the damn shorts. Exclamation point.

‘The way you look is the least interesting thing about you.’ 

A recent,  little quote I have acquired from the ‘Go Love Yourself’ podcast by the lovely Laura Adlington and Lauren Smith. If you need a boost, a different perspective on weight, appearance and everything in between, I highly recommend it! 

Go Love Yourself

So, the way you look is the least interesting thing about you. 

Who would even have that thought cross their mind nowadays, let alone say it out loud? When you say it out loud, and then again, and again, you’ll realise just how very true it actually is. The more you say it the harder it becomes to retreat back into the old way of thinking. Unfortunately, there’s a lot of money to be made in how people look on the outside! Therein lies the problem.

But it’s actually true. Everything you put on the outside for people to see, doesn’t come close to what your mind and soul has to offer. 

Compassion is not the make up on your face. 

Humour is not how you style your hair. 

Morality is not the size of your stomach or thighs. 

Even the kindest of people can have a crooked smile. And the wickedest of people can have a radiating grin on their face that lures you in. Looks are deceptive!

And yet we are conditioned to be attracted to how someone looks in the relationships we seek. Whether it be friends or lovers, we are taught to gravitate towards people by how their looks make us feel. Predominantly it is how people look that our brains conjure up a split second decision on whether we are to pursue a person. Unfortunately, judgement is so ingrained in our psyche that 99% of the time we do it without even realising. 

It’s also true of names. There was a vastly publicised argument between Holly Willoughby and Katie Hopkins a few years ago over children’s names and how certain names meant Ms Hopkins’ children would be dissuaded from playing with the Tiffany’s or Tyler’s of the world. It still blows my mind. And yet judgement of others comes in the form of so many other quick like a cat fleeting thoughts, that we don’t even know we are doing it. 

In 2020, oh yes, the world fell silent. We all swore to ourselves that when the world opened up again we would embrace all of life’s wonders and happiness would reign supreme. I was one of those people and with every good intention, when the curbs were lifted, Mr W and I headed to Italy. Rebooked from its initial date in the April, we headed into a recuperating world and sought to grasp every spaghetti noodle and shake the life and soul out of it. We train-hopped through Pisa, Florence and settled into Venice before responsibilities forced us home. 

It was a wonderful, exhilarating trip. With small backpacks we were, quite literally, at the mercy of the Italian sun. Personally, I was not at all prepared for the heat and my rash decision to pack shorts was all too praised by my boil in the bag body. However, the go free and wander nature I had adopted was soon thrown into turmoil when my short stumpy and fairly chubby legs were on display for the world to see. They’d not seen daylight for a fair while, the shorts were, well, short and teamed up with animal print socks peeking out over a pair of battered converse, I was not going to be invited to a fashion show anytime soon. 

I’m a big girl, I have PCOS and it’s ravaged my body since my teens; only in recent years have I learned what this means for me physically, our fertility and my mental health. What people don’t realise when they look at me, is why I am the way I am. Why I’m bigger. Why my smile wanes occasionally. Why my mind wanders in a room full of people. They just see my size. But underneath that is a warrior fighting battles only she understands, because PCOS is so very different for every individual. Some people have a few symptoms, some have fertility issues and some don’t. And then there’s some people like me. Every symptom. Fertility issues. A rollercoaster of mental health issues, determination and unlimited failure. 

To have people look at me, up and down, whilst wearing those shorts will stay with me for a long time. I got caught up in the ‘fuck it’ nature that so many others embraced after lockdown 2020 that my anxieties over my clothing choices were muffled like never before. I’m sad to say, it made me retreat into myself that day. I didn’t wear the shorts again. And yet, the least interesting thing about me that day was my clothing. Indeed, my body. 

Inside, I was a girl on the move again. Travelling. Living. Fearless. Mentally free from the covid prison of the previous 6 months. Doing what she did best, pursuing the next horizon, the next adventure and pushing for the hidden wonders of the world. Outside I was wearing yellow shorts. Big. Deal. 

The day after short-gate, I wore jeans. They were mildly uncomfortable. I won’t lie. I have little legs, so I find that the steeper the hill the more I have to stretch my legs and those tight jean-ie beauties were having none of it. And wouldn’t you know it, there was a huge hill we had decided to take when on our way up to the Giardino Bardini. Yep, I’m a freaking idiot! Giardino Bardini is a 17th century villa surrounded by the most beautiful gardens overlooking the Arno river and Florence. We found a bench and just sat. No words to be said, but a knowing look now and again to know how lucky we were to be safe, healthy and happy in a world that had lost its way.

When we reached Venice, with its winding labyrinthine streets, I felt a sense of peace in the moments where so few people could see me and I could look up from my feet and see what the city had to offer. Italy was on the news early on in the pandemic because of how fast it was ravaged by covid and the horrors we had not yet witnessed in the UK. We found that just 6 months after Italy had been struck down, the towns and cities had an almost eerie quiet to them. Tourists had not yet returned in their droves. Locals were still weary and you just felt so humbled to be walking those streets. To be given the chance to witness a place in its quiet splendour was indescribable. When talking about Venice in the past, all I had ever heard of was the masses and masses of people that bombard Venice with their boats, feet and ticketed day trips. This was not the Venice I had experienced in my daydreams, and yet even though we felt extremely lucky, the nagging thought of why it was quiet was never far away. And here I was worried about getting a ‘look’ off a stranger I would NEVER ever see again. How does that poison even infiltrate a mind? 

My legs that carried me through Italy wore shorts. My stomach that digested the oh so many delicious delights of Italian chefs was happy. My hair needed (knowing me) a good bloody brush and my makeup was most definitely rushed. 

What I looked like then, and now, is the least interesting thing about me. 

What my soul looks like when I’m travelling is radiant, beautiful and free. Wear the damn shorts!