When you’ve travelled to 42 countries, there are a lot of travel stories bundled up in the memory banks that have never been able to escape for fear of beating the ear drums and glazing the eyes of anyone who will listen.

16 years ago, I lived on a very remote peninsula in Crete, Greece for a year. In 16 years, I have never met anyone who has been to Crete.

This means my stories of mountain tracks, lots of dancing and frivolities in remote villages, delicious clay pot yoghurt, motorbike rides around spectacular coastlines (with no helmet), deep dives with giant rays, swimming in crystal clear water, freshly caught seafood dinners, kayaking with large turtles to work, wandering through ancient ruins… have never been shared.

Last night I went out. I didn’t plan for it to be a late night, but it ended up that way. After 16 years, I finally met someone who had come from Crete. Then it got better. And then there were three… all talking about the magic of this beautiful island and recollecting some of our favourite times. How grateful I was for being able to pull out the memory card that had long been filed away, and reflect on a remarkable year of my life.

I’m often asked of all the countries I have travelled, where is my favourite? My response is that I don’t have one. People and experiences from each country are etched into my memory banks and it is not possible for me to pull a culprit from the line up.

Living in a place, as opposed to passing through, certainly brings with it a different experience. You get to know the locals: Stavros the local baker knew how to put on a wonderful night of food, dancing, drinking and laughter. I can smell the fresh bread being pulled out of his wood oven and sharing stories of his childhood over olives lovingly marinated by his wife, Katerina. I often went olive picking with the family, have crushed a few grapes in my time and sucked way too many delicious Cretan oranges after pulling them off the trees scattered around my house.

Managing a few holiday villas, running kids activities and organising chilled evenings for the parents, I learned how to cook the best octopus, revelled in the delight of children as they took their first ever snorkel over the local rock pools, went diving twice a week, and swam across a very large open water bay in the clearest, warmest water I have ever experienced. I tried my first fish head and goat testicles and learned how to make retsina. I drank too much ouzo, never had enough siestas, climbed to the peaks of mountains and went diving in the darkest, deepest crevices of underground caves.

As I reflect, it’s a wonder I even managed to make it out alive with all the adventure and daring that crept into my year.

Considering last night I was heading home to bed, I think there were other plans afoot with my opportunity to dig into the files and recollect on some Grade A memories.

I’d never told anyone some of the stories I recalled and as I now close my eyes and meditate on the experience of Crete, my eyes are glazing over with the recognition I have a lot to thank this magical island for.

I may have no favourites. But yiamas (cheers) to you Crete. For in your magic, I fell in love with life.

I’m glad I talked to strangers. My estranged relationship with simple joys have been rekindled. It’s time to renew my vows to daring. And flirtation is definitely allowed. The realisation of our dreams depends on it.

I do believe I’ve fallen in love all over again.

you bloody ripper!

Melbourne’s heaviest rainfall in one day for over 50 years turned what would have normally been a 40 minute drive into a 2 hour crawl.

Having sat in all day traffic jams in China, I’ve learned the art of patience. But it wasn’t like I could jump out of the car and start playing badminton with all the other weary travellers.

What else could be done but to crank up the radio as loud as it would go. It was definitely time to call for back up and start busting moves to the grooves. I wasn’t going to let one big storm knock me down, so I got back up again.

My little one woman dance party was complete with the beat of the steering wheel drums. I didn’t need to apologise to anyone for my bad voice. I could hit every wrong note and no one voted me off. Windows up. Pump it out. Shout it loud. Bop the head. Just watch the tread. And at the end of the two hours, raise your fists in triumph… you made it.

Life is all as it should be when you’re jammed. Bad weather. Bad voice. Bad 80′s tunes that make everything feel good.

I got my mind set on you

I got my mind set on you

It’s gonna take time

A whole lot of precious time

It’s gonna take patience and time

A whole lotta precious time

It’s gonna take patience and time mmm to do it to do it

To do it to do it to do it RIGHT!

you bloody ripper!

As part of my Masters in Wellness, I’ve been doing a few activities on finding meaning. Activities that encourage you to think deeper about the big questions: who am I, why am I here, where am I going, what am I doing with my life, what do I want, what is real?

On reading the first activity I had to do, I thought it would be simple.

Supposing that you needed to escape from where you presently live, and could take only ten things that you currently have, what would they be?

Considering most things I own can be found in two rooms, five minutes is all I would need. The question was pretty vague and for all I knew, I could have ended up in Disneyland and had the time of my life for a day before ending back in my two rooms.

I began to scan room one. Slowly, one item was added to the list only to be crossed off when something more ‘valuable’ to my unknown future was identified.

I assumed I was wearing clothes when I escaped, so I didn’t even bother considering my wardrobe. I’ve arrived in places before with nothing and always managed to rebuild, so it was easy to remove half of what I could see from the consideration list. It was then I found myself reflecting on my life to give each item its ‘value’ on which to make the decision if it stays or if it goes.

So how did the final list shape up – one hour later?

• Passport
• Good hiking boots
• Voice recorder
• Sketch and note book
• Pencils
• Sarong
• An album of all the important people and a few key milestones from my life
• Visa travel card with $200 on it
• 20 year old backpack
• Pocket knife

Could I survive with just these ten items and the clothes I left with?

It was an interesting exercise to undertake as my list didn’t end up being about survival. From my experiences of meeting people in some of the most poverty stricken countries on our planet, I believe most of the items we need for survival are not so much physical but traits such as strength, courage, creativity and perseverance.

My list therefore came down to those items which would help support me through any experience: war zone to Disneyland. The backpack allowed me to have space to carry more things I may find/be given on the way and give me a good pair of shoes and I can walk for weeks. I had a little bit of cash for an emergency/bribery/border crossings and figured that I also had skills that could help me in raising some $ or to barter for a roof, food and water. It was important I had the ability to leave and enter destinations, hence the passport, as were the tools to record the people I met and the journey.

And so with ten physical objects, I added another big list of traits, abilities and willingness and figured that no matter where I ended up, I was certain to make the most of any situation for I had caught a glimpse of what is most meaningful to me.

Meaning comes from inside of you, and finding meaning is certainly a process of going to the source – yourself.

What do you value? What would you take?

you bloody ripper!

I can’t draw.

I was really struggling in anatomy class when one of my classmates prompted me to get the right brain talking to the left brain.

There was no way I was going to distort anyone’s face, period.

Anyone can draw. Come on. At least do a stick figure.

And so began my new found passion for a blank piece of paper and a 2B pencil.

For far too long, my left brain has been in charge: organising, planning and directing, ruling the majority of my decisions and judgements. It needed to be let loose.

And so I commenced my Twitter and Facebook requests for profile pics. And I had rules: ten minutes, no eraser and just go with it.

Never had I experienced anything that quietened my brain to the point I become one with observation, focussed on the angles of the nose, the curl of the lips, the shadows and lines that hid stories and life.

On a recent trip to Bali, I decided to curl in a hammock and spent the morning sketching a photograph I had taken the evening before.

And now I just can’t stop. People want me to draw their portraits. I don’t promise masterpieces. And I appreciate the opportunity to create and unwind.

I’ve found that drawing is an organic process that takes a blank page and allows one to observe, express, interpret and reinterpret. As the lines appear on the page, so does the magic of creation.

So now you’re stuck with me writing and posting up my sketches every once in a while.

When was the last time you created something from a blank piece of paper? A blank screen? A blank mind?

When was the last time you tried something new?

Go on. Who knows what you may find.

Express yourself.

you bloody ripper!

Today, someone said to me that a 0 on the end of a birthday means it’s important. I appreciate the sentiment. I really do. To me, it’s just another day. It’s another reason to be appreciative of the bloody rippers, the hues & emotions of the small things, the big things and the things that really matter.

Turning 40 does not have to be mid-life crisis time. For me, I’ve already made my commitment to self. I know what I should be doing and I’m working on it. So instead of curling into a foetal position and rocking in a corner as my life isn’t where I wanted it to be, during the 0.05 of this chapter, I’ve been reflecting on the 39.95.

39.95. No ordinary life. It’s tattooed on my body. It’s the way it has been and the way it will be. My worldview is based on one interesting, joyful, anxious, painful, exhilarating journey that has seen many coats, hats, people, places and experiences cross its path.

39.95. No ordinary life does not always equate to amazing. You haven’t always played nice. In fact, you’ve played downright dirty. I carry around a black coat that occasionally shrouds the colours underneath. There are some things that no one should have to go through. And yet we do. You have frustrated me. Exhausted me. Overwhelmed me. You have driven me insane, been unfair, unforgiving and at times, unrelenting in your desire to have me pushed to the limits mentally, physically, emotionally and spiritually. Sometimes I’ve given up. I’ve shut people out. For years, I have struggled with not living a life totally 100% committed to self, joy and purpose. I admit my rollercoaster of emotions and deviations have been heightened by a number of personal challenges and neural pathways that I have worked hard to overcome and change. I’ve tried to force skeletons back into closets that have created turmoil and anguish. I have ten brothers and sisters and yet feel alone in a city of 4.1 million people. I grew up not encouraged to communicate and now am encouraged to limit my voice to 140 characters. Have we forgotten the power of communication to share, to create, to encourage, to build community? I fight to fit in to a place where many are uninspired, lack daring, are ego driven, materialistic, do little to support inter-generational equity and the opportunity we have to make a difference. It frustrates and confuses me when there is so much waste and so much need. I know it’s because of what I’ve seen and experienced and I do not blame nor push anyone to be different. But it discourages me. An energy that pushes us to have everything we want externally, detracts from our ability to find connection with self and deeply communicate with others. I have shut down when it all gets too much. Life has overwhelmed to the point of exhaustion. Infact, it can, and has been, as black as a night sky, without the stars.

39.95. I am grateful for my upbringing which has developed my independence, courage and belief in self and others that circumstance may define part of us, but does not have to become us. I was school sports captain, not because I could swim or run, but because I wouldn’t accept can’t for an answer. I’ve experienced 42 countries and if I wrote a book, it would be filled with passion, people and a raw love of opportunity and life where every new corner and visitor has been welcomed. I’ve enjoyed fine dining with Prime Ministers and eaten tarantulas atop rubbish dumps with child scavengers. I’ve directed a 13 part television series and got lost in the narrow laneways of Silk Road towns. I’ve been a million dollar sales consultant and yet feel more comfortable building houses with my bare hands in impoverished communities.  I’ve drowned myself in paperwork managing projects and kayaked to work teaching kids how to snorkel and eat sea urchins in Crete. I’ve trekked with a woven cane basket on my back searching for icecream in the middle of rice terraces in China and made podiatry appointments for elderly residents of nursing homes. I’ve lived and worked in the home of multi-millionaires and spent the night in a room with a family of 11 in northern Laos, including the cattle. I’m an award winning public speaker and a seeker of meditative silence. I’ve managed travel agencies in Australia and nightclubs in the Shetland Islands. I’ve booked people on package tours and personally have searched out places where foreigners rarely tread. I had two picket fences at 22 but now value the simple life and its ability to enrich one’s soul. I wrote a bucket list at 18 and had crossed them all off at 36. I’ve been selected for leadership awards and yet feel more at home surrounded by village women in remote Bangladesh. I see beauty in the smallest things that happen in our day and the opportunity for perspective in our greatest challenges. I’ve dared people to believe in themselves and their ability to do what they feel they cannot. I’ve climbed three holy mountains in a week and challenged others to get up theirs, both physical and metaphorical. I value commitment along with the ability to always get back up, no matter how hard one has fallen.  I’ve lived and breathed purpose and passion with total joy. I appreciate that I’ve always had an inner spark, even when there have been no stars.

39.95. You have given me a life that has existed outside boundaries. I’ve seen, felt and experienced a breadth and depth of life that many never will. For I’ve pushed. I’ve fallen. I’ve stretched. I’ve dared. As a result, you won’t find rose coloured glasses hidden in any of my drawers: life is viewed with a kaleidoscopic perspective that swirls awesomeness and grief within the same cycle. Parts of my life have been forced upon me with the open palm of a lesson to be felt, learned from and conquered. Others I have searched out in the quest for living outside the boundaries, for in this space, there are no boundaries.

39.95. Thank you. You have definitely been no ordinary life.

So what about the .05 until Chapter 40 commences?

In five sleeps, I’m going to jump on a plane and hop over to Bali for a rendezvous with self.

Having travelled extensively, I had originally planned to head back to my first overseas destination and sit in a spa resort for five days to meditate, be pummelled, massaged and rejuvenate. It’s been a pretty big few years, and with my recent commitment to self that the universe is totally embracing, I need a break. I’m a wee bit tired, and a big bit excited for what lies ahead.

However, as I seek to live no ordinary life, so does the universe seem to have also committed to this journey with me.

It was soon after I booked my flight that my Dad came to Melbourne for a visit. Through tears, he told me a story that I had never heard before. This story has taken me from spa resort to woman on a mission, from little physical activity to four sessions a week at Virgin Active. It has taken me from massages to mountains, from solitude to a quest for discovery, from giving to self to giving to others.

You see, my Dad is a Vietnam Veteran. I don’t need to explain this difficult journey and the effect it has had over the years, simply to say that the impact of buried shrapnel from silent guns has consequences that never go away. You can read more about my thoughts about war in my remembrance post.

One night on my Dad’s visit, his first since military training in 1968, through tears, he shared a story with me for the first time.

“I may not have done much for any of my seven children, but I want to tell you what I did for one”.

After 39 and 3/4 years, I learned the story of Ketut, a seven year old Balinese girl who was the daughter of my Dad’s moto driver, Nyoman. Ketut was born with a cleft palate, and on a moto driver’s salary, the family was never going to be able to afford an operation.

Over the few weeks my Dad was in Bali, he got to know the family well, joining them for meals in their modest home and learning more about them as he travelled the island with Nyoman. He wanted to do more. So more he did.

He took the family to Denpasar Hospital and discussed the procedure with local surgeons before offering to pay for Ketut to have her cleft palate fixed. Dad sat through the operation and spent time with the family during the recovery process.

On his last day before departing Bali, Dad went to say goodbye to the family. With the deepest gratitude for the opportunity he had provided his daughter, Nyoman handed Dad his Indonesian driver’s license, and said: “when you come back, this is how you will find me”.

15 years later, my Dad slid Nyoman’s license across the table into my hands.

“I would like to know what happened to them. I’d like to close the chapter.”

As I listened to this story, the tears were as heavy as the rain on the roof of the Sandringham hotel. I was no longer spending five days in a spa retreat, but on a mission to provide purpose and closure for my Dad.

He needed to know that he’d made a difference to one person’s life.

With a fierce independence that rarely asks for help, this time I felt the need to reach out and ask. A friend had contacts in Bali, and I asked if there was any chance they could possibly assist in finding Nyoman.

The license was translated and the details sent to Bali:

Name: Nyoman Pegig

Sex: Male

Place of birth: Kuta 05-07-53

Married/Single: Married

Job: Entrepreneur

This little information was sent off with a big ask to the universe: please find them.

Soon after, mail arrived in my inbox.

“Great news. Our manager met your man today in Kuta. We have found him.”

I’m not so sure if the tears that followed were of joy, relief or release. Given all that has happened during 39.95, I’m self-diagnosing the latter. That and proof that the impossible is possible.

So, what’s next?

Chapter 40 is currently being drafted and will commence final copy on my return from Bali.

So far the sketchy details have me asking lots of questions:

Will Nyoman remember Handles, sitting with a giant teddy bear whilst the operation was undertaken? Is Ketut still alive? Will my Dad know that he made a difference to someone’s life?

No matter what the outcome, to have learned about this story and more about my father, will be worth the journey.  That and the all day spa treatments gratefully received after I climb Bali’s holiest mountain, Agung, at 3142m. Even if something internally has stopped me training, if it takes me all night, I will get to the top for sunrise on 40.0. It’s time to push. It’s no time for can’t.

Or is it?

For over 20 years, I have supported others in their visions. After some intense introspective archaeology over the past few years, I have admitted that I don’t need to tether any more onto security. Why, particularly when it frustrates me to the core. I don’t need to use my brain to its capacity doing work that does not make difference at a grassroots level.  I value the work others do designing projects that support those in need but I need to be getting my hands dirty. I don’t want to feel a sense of there’s more to be done when I can simply be, and do.

The first step towards doing has been letting go. I’ve taken off my shadow boxing gloves and am ready to take on the rest of my life. And so the decisions have come. Can’t has entered my life.

I’ve given notice where I live. On returning from Bali, I will commence a lead tenant position with Melbourne City Mission and will be moving into the outer suburbs of Melbourne to be a role model to a young person faced with challenging and complex issues.

I will continue with my Diploma studies in kinesiology and massage with the intention to set up a social enterprise where anyone can receive the benefits of complementary therapies, and in turn support others in need. Holistic wellness is a powerful tool that can help sustain us on our physical, emotional and spiritual journeys. My experiences and journey lay witness to the power of our inner source.

I have met someone who is challenging me, without even knowing what he is doing. His fearless determination to live a simple life enabling passions to replace daily routine, the exchange of soul-searching for self-awareness, and the volume with which his authenticity speaks, even in silence, has a magnitude greater than any mentor I have had in the past.

The biggest can’t is the fact that I’ve quit my job and from 01 July will be focussed on living life fully present on who I am, what I feel, how I respond and what I will create.

I’m saying can’t. Because now I can.

Since I was small and first picked up a pen, I always wanted to write. I still have my first book that I wrote in year two.  Instead of studying journalism after school, I deferred for the opportunity of working in politics. I skipped writing creatively, substituting it with marketing products and organisations that sold rather than told. I’ve put down my pen through illness and cognitive problems that have frustrated and reduced me to tears. Even writing this chapter has been difficult, but I’m determined to push.

Chapter 40.01 will see me picking up the pen again and following a belief that stories can inspire change: to self and others. The desire to do this makes every DNA cell in my body dance, and instead of saying can’t for the multitude of reasons I have found excuses for, now is the time for saying yes. It is time to get my hands dirty and explore the passions and purpose behind why people make a difference.

I have had the privilege of having some amazing people join me on the journey, and it is their stories I wish to share. As one of them said to me a year ago when I queried his commitment to his work of making a difference, despite the hurdles and difficulties that he is faced with every day: “what other option is there? Curling up in a corner and rocking in a foetal position because I have no purpose?”

39.95. I know myself and feel empowered. I accept myself and feel invincible. I am ready to walk in my destiny and live my Tina Manifesto of gratitude, purpose, passion, belief, compassion and no ordinary life.

I own my life.

you bloody ripper!

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!

Over the last few days I’ve been a Formula One Grand Prix refugee. Living in St Kilda, Australia, I’ve been forced to flee my home due to the daily deafening
from the race cars and associated helicopters, sirens and crowds.

Today I decided to flee to a country town for the day for some quiet study time and a visit to a wonderful couple who I havent seen for a while. Up early, I wandered to the tram station and waited. And waited.

All trams on my line had been cancelled. They were being used to ferry grand prix attendees in/out of the city. Organisers hadn’t thought to put forewarning signs up in the preceeding week, nor to advise where the location of the bus replacement stop was to be found.

Finally, I managed to find out where it was, let everyone else know on the platform, and as we all had missed our planned tram and its bus replacement, we waited.

And waited. And waited.

Finally it came. 25 mins until the train left and a bus load of people to ferry to the grand prix and an unknown route into the city. Should I risk it? Should I head back to the car and just drive out of town for the day? Life is about risks so
I jumped on the bus, chatted with a stranger and took my focus off the time.

Off the bus. But not near the station. Nine minutes until the train left. Run faster. Run in front of moving vehicles. Fly.

18 person queue.

No stress. No focus on time. Or the lack of it.

So I waited. And waited.

One way ticket to Ballarat please.

He looked at the clock. He looked at me. He smiled. He said ‘run’. He didn’t know I had wings.

Ticket in hand, I flew.

Taking the focus from the time to the experience, I snuggled into the
chair, put my feet up and got ready to enjoy the ride.

With 2 minutes to spare.

you bloody ripper!

The wild will always call me!

you bloody ripper!

Shiny wet floor.

Sparkling white bowl.

Lemon fresh.

you bloody ripper!