I just ran around the lake. Albert Park Lake.

It’s the first time I’ve ever done it without stopping. And may be the last as running and I just aren’t a match made in heaven. The years of mountain climbing are getting payback on my knees.

So why run the whole way? Why today?

Because I wanted to know I had commitment.

You see, I believe I’m at the edge. I can see a full circle coming around and a choice soon to be made that will require me to jump. I’ve not been afraid to jump before: infact flying has brought with it so many incredible experiences, opportunities, freedom, passion and life.

Although a difficult one, I’ve needed this circle. It has made me dig through some personal circumstances with courage. It has provided me with a deeper understanding of my passions and purpose. It has allowed me the opportunity to meet some inspiring people, many of whom who supported me in my run today. Their courage, commitment and willingness to fly pushed me every step of the way.

As I placed foot after foot on the compounded dirt track, I was taken back to the Killing Fields of Cambodia. Random I know. But in each step was reflected the lives of those who are unable to dream, seek freedom or fly.

I’m soon to climb a mountain, and at 3142m, it’s not exactly small. I’m also about to live my dream, with no expectation of any monetary return. It’s taken me years to get to this point, and for the next person who asks me, ‘how do you expect to make money”, today I established my response.

Living with passion and purpose gives a much higher return.

I pushed myself today. Faces got me around. Commitment pushed me. Vision inspired me.

As I got to the last 400m, I was hurting.

Commitment. Commitment. Commitment.

passed through every breath.

Änd then a voice from behind me called:

Don’t stop. Just keep on going.

As the man who knew nothing about my journey and purpose passed by me with a stride I could only dream about, keep going I did.

As before one can give to others, one must give to self.

So why run the whole way? And why today?

I’ve committed to self.

I’m ready to fly.

you bloody ripper!

42 countries. Almost 40 years. I’m just ahead in the game of keeping ahead. It’s a motivation. And when one isn’t increasing the number of random, raunchy and ridiculous experiences on foreign soil, the addiction needs a hit. Or major withdrawals are guaranteed.

With two months to go until a big bird takes flight with me under its wings, it was time for some reflection.

I’m often asked about my favourite place. I have none. For in each place, each face, each experience, lies a grateful moment that could never compare with another. Experiential travel is about exploring, external and internal. For journeys outwards travel as far inwards. Defining moments in one’s life can occur in the remotest places, the deepest jungles, the darkest recesses of a hidden alleyway, the expanse of an ocean, the serenity of a Sufi mosque, pain of a mountain climb or connection with a begging child.

I often hold back sharing places I’ve been, people I’ve met and experiences I’ve had. How can you truly understand another’s life experience unless you have been in their shoes? You can listen. It doesn’t mean you care. I care about my experiences. Because they have moulded and pummelled me by providing a breadth and depth of life that could not be gained in any other way.  

It’s a big statement. But by reflecting tonight on memories that sit inside me, I finally accepted they are one of the reasons I feel so vulnerable. They are what make me different. Reflecting, I feel privileged. Frustrated. In awe. Inspired. Changed.

These are not my top 10 experiences, for all, and the hundreds more, are equal. Without thought, these are simply the first ten that come to mind and why they make me give thanks.

1. 1994: buying fish from the local fisherman on the remote Gili Trawangan, Indonesia, wrapping it in banana leaves and cooking it in the sand, joined by the local children in an evening of music and song. To remoteness. To cultures not stained by greed or intervention.
2. 2008: Building a house for a poverty stricken family in the outskirts of Phnom Penh, taking every child in the village to the water park for the day and going back to that village two years later. To be thankful. To cry. To appreciate. To give.
3. 1996: Standing five metres away from the mountain gorillas of Zaire. To lifetime goals fulfilled.
4. 2000: An outstanding wilderness experience on the west coast of the USA. Kayaking with seals and whales in Monterey Bay. Hiking in Yosemite. Traversing the Grand Canyon covered in snow. Skydiving. To the unexpected.
5. 2005: Leading a blind woman on 120km of the Great Wall. I’ve walked over 1000km of the Wall. This is the only time I saw a sunset. This is the only time I have seen and felt fear, adrenaline, commitment and courage with each and every step. To inspiration.To overcoming adversity. To belief in and commitment to self.
6. 2008: Sitting in a rural village in the middle of Bangladesh speaking with the women about how their lives have changed with the support of a local NGO. To passions. To change. To purpose.
7. 2004: Spending a day with an 83 year old grandmother husking rice in the rice fields of Longjii, and that night receiving a thank you gift of the jacket she had worn all day. To friendship. To the unspoken word.
8. 2006: Birthday trek along the Tiger Leaping Gorge and Yunnan Province ending in a surprise traditional hilltribe celebration. To fear. To mountains. To beauty. To power. To culture.
9. 2005: Finding a banya in the middle of Russia and jumping into a freezing lake… naked. To exploration. To lack of inhibition. To self.
10. 2008: Spending two weeks meeting Komally Chanthavong, Nobel peace prize nominee and following her footprints of change across northern Laos. To humbleness. To humility. To authenticity. To never giving up.

Oh, and then there was all the times I would let others wander while I sat and drew with the local children. There was no need for guilt brought on by begging hands and sad eyes. It was time to ride bikes, colour in and allow a child to be a child.  

Stop. I could write chapters. Each page filled with colour, emotion, experience and life.

This list is simple. And yet it has taken me an hour to write. Interspersed with the tapping of the keyboard, were tears, laughter, desire, pain, awe, perspective, acknowledgement, reconnection with Purpose and hundreds of glimpses of places, faces and experiences.

Travel. You have provided me with a rich and colourful life. You have moved me. Excited me. Developed me. Taught me. Showed me. Strengthened me. Encouraged me. Allowed me. Given to me.

To travel. Abundant has been my no ordinary life.

you bloody ripper!

The funny thing about a day at Flemington, was that I didn’t know when I organised it, it was someone’s lifetime dream.

And that someone just happened to be my Dad.

It might seem a little strange that I didn’t know this prior to our first grandstand fist in the air and jump up and down as we screamed for the first place winner. Me with my $1 bet and all.

I don’t like the races. I’ve been three times in my life. But when my Dad decided to make a short notice visit to Melbourne for the recent long weekend, I wanted to give him a surprise treat for his birthday. Member’s tickets.

Besides. It had been 1968 the last time he visited Melbourne. Military service. Vietnam War conscription. Life never the same.

I didn’t grow up with my Dad. But he is my Dad. And I wanted him to have a bloody ripper time in a place that has only held bad memories from the beginning of a lifelong journey of veteran trauma. You can read the Remembrance post if you want to know my real thoughts on war. Eh.

My Dad and I have always been like one of those 10 000 piece jigsaw puzzles. The big city ones. You know the ones I’m talking about. It’s difficult to pull the pieces together. You think you’re getting there but the truth is, you’re so far from the mark you end up getting totally confused, frustrated and packing it all away into a box for a couple of years before dusting it off and starting again.

Because you need to. You never give up.

So we’re in the grandstand, both of us feeling a little out of place in the members’. Me: remember, I don’t like the races. Dad: he had to wear tailored pants, a collared shirt, dress shoes and a tie. (This is a man who lives in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere. Stubbies, flannies and thongs are the standard attire.) Pants were five sizes too big. Tie didn’t match. And then there was the hat.

I know. I look like a dork.

I’m grinning writing. I was grinning there. Who cares if you look like a dork when you’re living the dream.

You see, I learned that March long weekend, my Dad used to train and own race horses. I learned he trained winners. Being at Flemington was his lifelong dream. I also learned he’d had plenty an article written about him and his horses. And his representative football.

As we sat in seafood cafes and sports bars, devoured gelati at Southgate, encouraged and appreciated the Yarra buskers, journeyed on trams, wandered around the Scoresby Steam Festival (Dad got it right; ýou must be as bored as me:) and meandered through the laneways of the Dandenongs, I learned of his wins. His losses. His pain. His joys. His grievances. His regrets. His sadness. His rogue ways. I learned more about him.

I also learned that he destroyed most of the evidence of his life in a severe bout of depression that resulted in hospitalisation. He didn’t want anyone sorting out his life. He shared his memories. For they were all he had.

I also learned a quite remarkable story about a random and authentic act of giving. There are a few chapters to this story, and I hope to close the book on my birthday trip to Bali in June. A trip that has now become a mission because of a few more jigsaw pieces.

The city was coming to life.

Bringing out the puzzle after so many previous ill-fated attempts, allowed a few more streets to be laid. I could see the buildings. The lines were even. The picture became clearer.

I could finally see the image.

We were on the same page. We understood each other’s lives. We appreciated our differences. We valued the sharing. And we loved.

Our puzzle finally became clear. No more packing away required.

We were in the same city.

you bloody ripper!

A super big thank you to Glenda for last minute Member’s tickets. Dad may have thought he looked like a dork, but he felt like the owner of Black Caviar. His dream came true. As did mine. To see my Dad happy.

Yea, but is it relevant?

Today, enroute to the grocer, I passed this sign. It was relevant. Because it reminded me of relevance. Instant kick in my heels.  

Lately, I’ve been guilty of forgetting about relevance. I haven’t written for a couple of months, despite it being one of my greatest joys and simple pleasures.  

Now, I find myself sitting in a tranquil garden, with the autumn sun streaming through the vines, blissfully tapping away on a dodgy keyboard with clarity and conviction. And all because of a random sign. That I took time to find relevance in.

Being mindful about one’s purpose, passions and commitment to life is the first step in relevance. Because then you understand the importance of asking the question.

It certainly won’t come from external forces. You have to understand and listen to your body, your thoughts and reactions, to understand the true force of connection. Have you opened yourself to the chasm of internal exploration in the search for purpose? What is around those dark corners? Those light filled spaces? Do you dare search for relevance?

When thoughts pop into my head, it’s time to ask what relevance they have to what I’m doing? If not, it’s also time to let them go.

In a world that provides and encourages us with so much opportunity, knowledge, people and directions in which to take, is it too easy for me to grab onto it all, rather than those which are relevant?  

I tend to have a natural tendency to help. And yet, at the moment, I feel a great need to ask if this helping is genuinely relevant to me? It’s not selfish. It’s simply purpose. And if we aren’t living with purpose, we aren’t helping anyone.

When someone wants to have a conversation with me, do I only engage if it is relevant? Should we not find relevance in all forms of communication? Does social media really allow that deeper connection and understanding of another? Do we ‘like’, ‘retweet’and add friends and followers to really engage and have deep and relevant communications about issues, topics and people that we care about?

If my emotions take me on a rollercoaster of highs and lows, can I find stability with relevance? I believe so. For even in failure, we can find strength. Even in despair, we can find courage. Even when we are knocked down, we can get back up. We simply need to keep our eye on what is relevant.

Do I set my personal boundaries to ensure they encourage and allow more time and opportunity for relevance? I want to write. Actually, I need to write. I need to write about inspiring and passionate people who have chosen a path of compassion, change and belief in inter-generational equity. I want to get to their core. I believe they can inspire others to find their purpose. Their relevance.

Are the people in my life supporting my decision to find relevance, and I theirs? We are a community of people who all have our own blueprint of hidden talents and purpose and we need to encourage and allow it to flourish. We should not and cannot continue to live with boundaries that discourage creativity and contribution. I intend to live a life outside the box. For it is in this space, there are no boundaries. I want others to join me.

I once climbed three of China’s holy mountains in a week. Now I find life gets in the way of an easy half hour walk home from work. If I stop doing something I love because life gets in the way, is life being relevant?

Have I forgotten the relevance of why I started this blog. Have I lost sight of the everyday bloody rippers in my life which provide as much joy and relevance as the accomplishment and successes. Actually, they provide more as they take no effort. They are always there. In front of us.

Just like the sign.

Yea, but is it relevant?

I must admit, I have certainly not been mindful of my decisions and actions of late. I’ve only been focussed on the frustration, disappointment and emotions that have crept in. I blame myself. It is simply because I stopped asking the question. I stopped being mindful. I stopped enforcing the boundaries. I stopped commitment to my passion. I supported others with theirs. 

Yea, but is all this relevant to you?

No. Relevance is personal. Life should be personal. I’d simply encourage you to ensure everything you do is relevant to you. Listen to your soul, mind and body when it stirs to help you find purpose. Explore the lack of boundaries. Find people who encourage, support, inspire and allow you to thrive. Love what you love. Find passion in your passions. You may find that life and everything you do, takes on a whole new meaning. A whole new relevance.

you bloody ripper!

Dear Santa

It’s been a while. I guess I stopped writing because you stopped listening. I understand you may have had a little trouble finding me over the years so I’m letting you know that I’m finally settled in Melbourne, Australia (just in case you’re heading my way). I’d really like you to have a think about my Christmas wish as it’s a pretty big one and will definitely make up for the years when we’ve missed connecting.

Let’s face it Santa, the last few years I’ve been on my own little sleigh ride of emotion and personal discovery. There were times when I’ve seriously felt let down. Times I let others down. And definitely a whole lot of time where I let myself down. I’m realising that now I’ve finally grown up, like a young child, I feel a sense of excited anticipation as I prepare to tear off the redundant wrapping and ribbons to expose the gifts underneath. Let’s see if I’ll find what I ask for.

The main highlight of the tour was sneaking away from the group to watch from afar Tina’s interaction with the local children. It is very evident that she is very soft hearted and truly loves the countries she is travelling.

Damn right! I often reflect on some incredible memories and experiences I had with the children whose paths I crossed during my time working in Cambodia.

If you haven’t been to Cambodia, the children are everywhere. Selling books. Selling drinks. Selling sweets, bracelets, food, tuktuk rides, postcards and even themselves. These shrewd businessmen and women confront you at every corner, every temple, every restaurant and every hidden corner of the country.

I still tell the story of a young boy, who, at one of my many visits to Angkor Wat, asked me if I wanted a bottle of coke for $2.The conversation then went something like this:

No thankyou, I don’t need it.

What about some postcards – only $2.

No thanks, I already have too many.

What about these bracelets – 10 for $2.

No, I don’t need any.

You need some water miss. It’s very hot in there. $2.

I already have some.

Miss, what can I get you? All for $2.

Nothing, thanks.

Ok miss. I give you nothing. For $2.

The innocence of childhood is lost amongst the need to collect as many $2 as one can in the name of survival.

And it is for this reason, that I cherised my time at the Angkor temples when I allowed myself the opportunity to show the kids how to let loose their inner child.

Having left my own well worn trampled paths over the bones of those tortured by the Khmer Rouge at the Phnom Penh Killing Fields and the temples of Angkor Wat, it didn’t take me long to decide that my time would be better spent hanging out with the kids.

Armed with footballs, paper, coloured pens, crayons, balloons and on the odd occasion, a bicycle, I always came prepared for the ensuing battle. Arriving at these obvious well known tourist sites, one cannot help but get a little hot and bothered with the constant ’smile’, ‘take a picture’, ‘give me money’, ‘want to go to school’, ‘need food’ cries from the mouths of babes.

I felt what they did need over photographs, money, cookies and attitude (theirs, not mine) was a little bit of fun. A little bit of childhood.

I’d encourage them to draw pictures of their homes (ok… hut), family (it always included the obligatory cow and tree), themselves (always cleaner and well dressed) and me (always taller, more beautiful and better dressed).

Blowing balloons, fly away peter stories, what’s the time games, quad push bike rides, reams and reams of paper, white girl vs beggar team football matches, tackles, stories, piggy backs, questions, artwork. And then there were the smiles. And the laughter, that if I close my eyes and recall, can hear echo deep within, it is so permanently etched on my memory.

Give them $2, they’ll be back tomorrow still flogging their postcards and cans of coke. Give them a childhood, even for an hour, and you give them the world – well, at least one with a guaranteed happy ending, albeit for ten minutes.

We all know that when travelling we should leave nothing but footprints. I say baloney to that. When you travel, leave nothing but imprints.

If I had $2 for every imprint those small encounters have made on my life, they would all want for nothing.

you bloody ripper!

I commence anatomy class at 6.30pm. Today I got to the nearest car park at 5.00pm as I’d booked in for a local Chinese massage (a great way to fully understand anatomy… my reasoning anyway).

The parking permit requirement ends at 6.00pm, so I headed towards the ticket machine to throw a few dollars in before I headed off for my stretch, squeeze and pummel.

Hey love, I’m leaving. Use mine.

Dear Mr 45 year old, graying on top, nice smile, driving a white Toyota Corolla who drove off into the sunset….

Thank you for paying it forward.

you bloody ripper!

Kinfolk cafe has recently opened in the building I work. It has been set up by an amazing group of volunteers, donors and supporters and their profits support some great Australian and international projects.

Today I went in to get my morning coffee and beaming Jarrod pointed out a comment one of their customers had made hours before… without prompting (apart from a damn fine cup of coffee).

This outward show of appreciation made the Kinfolk team feel so good, they put it up on the wall.

Saying thanks is one thing. Saying why you are giving thanks takes it to a whole other level.

What if we all gave one expresso for our espresso every day?

Saying what’s behind the thanks – it may not be plastered on a wall but it’s guaranteed to put a beam on someone’s face long after you’ve left the building!

you bloody ripper!