One of my goals for this year was to take a long, hard look at my communications company, Paper Plane Communications, and make some important decisions about direction, appearance, and how to make big magic happen.
As with most major projects, energy, momentum, and motivation tend to come in bursts. Big at first, and then incrementally smaller thereafter–particularly if you let a pretty little thing called life get in the way. And so, for the past few months I’ve been a communications consultant without a website. Sacrilege, I know.
The reason behind my business facelift was simple: as I looked around at the virtual ecosystem I’d created, I realised that while things weren’t broken–in fact, they’d been ticking along quite nicely–they were on the verge of becoming stale. The solution? Pivot.
DISCLAIMER: I’m about to get uncomfortably real here for a second. Bear with me.
Today, I am not okay.
In fact, I feel about as far from okay as a person can get.
I’m homesick for a place that’s 14,397 kilometers away; I’m struggling to sleep and eat; and I’d like nothing more than to give the world and my new ten-second rule a callous middle finger.
Should I really be blogging then, if I’m feeling this disconnected from myself? Yes, for two reasons.
As I’ve mentioned before, a writer’s homework is reading.
Since moving to Australia, I made the conscious decision to incorporate more Australian literature into my homework routine. This also doubles as a measure of my cultural competency: where once I used to trip over “textas” and “trackie dacks,” I’ve now mastered many of Australia’s colloquialisms. (I think) thats a good thing.
At the recommendation of one of my housemates, I dove into Jennifer Down’s Our Magic Hour, an aerial view of life after loss.
In an exchange between the protagonist, Audrey, and her partner, Nick, Audrey is scolded with a hard-hitting metaphor:
“Your religion is other people’s happiness. It’s absurd.”
Yes, this post is inspired by a Justin Bieber song and no, I’m not sorry.
A few months ago I posted this photo–cheekily captioned “Love your self(ie)”–to Instagram:
In my last post I hinted at adding two fancy new stamps to my passport: Sri Lanka and the Republic of Maldives. Cue celebratory “Woo Girl” giddiness.
Today, I’m writing to you from Gulhi, a Maldivian island (population: 800) about an hour south of the national capital of Malé. The rain chased me out of my beachfront lounge chair and into my room, so I figured it’s high time for a bit of travel blogging.
To ward off reader fatigue, I’ve decided to break up my travels into a series of blog posts. As is storytelling etiquette, let’s start at the beginning. To kick things off, I’m tackling the necessary evil of any jet-setting adventure: packing.