This morning I pulled an oracle card. Now, for the non woo-woo among you, before you roll your eyes, bear with me please. Whether you believe the universe speaks through cards, dreams, chance encounters or your slightly bonkers auntie Brenda is neither here nor there. What matters is the question it made me ask myself. What if everything that’s happened to me has actually been taking me somewhere? The last 4 years or so have been fairly static. Settling into a pub job that gives me the luxury of a 9 day working month was a little too comfortable. But with that teetering on the edge, it’s forced me to look back over the last, well, 15 years. After leaving Australia for the last time, qualifying as a Homoeopath and Nutritional Therapist (which I no longer practice), meeting the right man and some how buying and paying off a house, it’s all been a bit of a blur. The cushy pup job is (probably) coming to an end before the end of the year and as any normal human being would do, that sent me into action mode. I started this Substack, have applied for the odd remote job here and there (and thankfully not been successful), discovered that I love writing and just this week have started this Skool Community. Giving up the therapy business, ending a well-paid, remote corporate job, and getting entrenched into a pub job for nearly four years didn’t look like a spiritual path while I was living it. They looked kind of like mistakes and problems. But just recently I’ve realised that I got everything I ever wanted (before) - the house in a little village in the countryside, the freedom to do with my time what I saw fit (most of the week), and a great relationship that’s heading toward 14 years strong. The journey towards just before the pub job started, showed me what I wanted in my life. The pub job taught me boundaries (and then some). Now I’m writing and have the beginnings of a paid community. None of those chapters were wasted. They were stepping stones.

Do you ever get the feeling like you don’t really belong on this planet? Yep, I opened with that. Because I have that feeling quite often. Mainly when I’m in the woods and conversing with the trees. You see, THEY know what it’s all about. They see how ridiculous we’ve become. Let’s strip it back to bare bones: We are these amazing sacks of flesh, who can solve problems and love and experience the most amazing feelings. And what do we do every day? We put poison in our bodies, worry about non-existent numbers on computer screens, worship celebrities for being famous and put importance on how many of those numbers we can accumulate in a year. What do we need every day? Food, water, love and shelter. Who looks happier? More content? Calmer? We’ve convinced ourselves that progress means productivity and have forgotten the joy in just being. Why Do Some Thrive On Stress? Over the years I’ve met many people who claim to love the fast pace of a stressful life. I’ll suffix this with the fact that all of them either got extremely sick from their stress, or ended up losing it all due to mental health issues. I’m not kidding, I knew a millionaire who lost the whole damn lot. So, when I hear someone say they love the stress or they thrive under pressure, I can see through it instantly. When you’re busy all the time, you have no time to think. No time to heal from what ever it was that drove you to want to fill every waking moment of every day with something other that happiness and calm. For the longest time, I thought that hard work would pay off. It didn’t. It just made me tired. The harder I worked, the more stressed I was and the less I had. My income diminished, my time diminished and my stress went up and up. I did the opposite of thriving. So, really, no one thrives on stress. Some are addicted to it, some use it as a crutch and some use it as a distraction, but no one ever said on their death bed, I wish I’d worked more. When you find something you love to do, that aligns with your spirit, it will rarely feel like stress.

Picture this. You arrive at work to see your boss’ face close to tears. There’s a pile of post on the counter. She hands you a letter. Emblazoned across the top in bold letters is the word “Insolvency”. “What’s this for?”, I ask. “Looks like your health insurance. I’ve fucked up haven’t I?”. I say nothing. I take the letter and read it through. It’s pretty clear. Pay what’s owing by last month (because the post hadn’t been opened in 3 months) or insolvency proceedings will begin. Too late now. On the outside, I went into damage control mode, told her there’s nothing she can do right now, so find the phone number to call and give them a ring in the morning. I’m not much for sloppy consolations. I’m more of a ‘what’s out next logical step’ kind of gal. And to be honest, I wasn’t feeling much sympathy. Inside I was screaming blue murder. Something along the lines of, “I FUCKING TOLD YOU TO PAY THAT OFF 10 MONTHS AGO, BUT OH NO, YOU PAY EVERY-FUCKING-THING ELSE EXCEPT THE SECOND MOST IMPORTANT BILL.” This job of mine, working in a pub for an old friend, was only supposed to be temporary. I agreed to help out while I was between contracts and nearly four years later and 100 hours a month in, I’m the only one keeping the lights on while my boss, bless her chaotic heart, waltzes merrily on to the next disaster. I got very comfortable with not having to get up at the crack of dawn and having 4 days a week at home to do with what ever I wished. The pub’s been around for decades and I even worked in it many years ago when I first moved overseas. So, when an old friend took it over and asked if I would be able to help out, I of course said yes. I’ve been emotionally invested in keeping a 42 year old legacy alive in a business that could have, but didn’t, pay its phone bill. Emotional Investment Can Be Addictive For me this wasn’t really just a job. I could get a pub or restaurant job anywhere. The world is crying out for hospitality staff. For me this was helping a good friend, serving customers who were mostly old mates, and getting to speak my native tongue in a foreign land.

The Lie of “I Can’t Help It” (Want a little bit more? Check out my Monthly Antidote) <<-Click A few weeks back, I was sitting in the pub after a long shift, nursing an after-work drink and talking to one of our regulars. She’s quite a bit younger than me. Young enough to be my daughter. I would describe her as “woke.” And I mean that in the literal, modern sense: an ideology disguised as tolerance, where the appearance of virtue matters more than the reality of truth. It wasn’t a heated argument. I’ll give her that. It was measured, thoughtful, and calm Something a good many of her fellow ideologists lack the ability to do. But beneath that polite veneer lay a fundamental delusion that I found impossible to ignore. The topic was taking offence. She told me with absolute conviction that taking offence is an entirely uncontrollable reaction. In her world-view, her values were so fragile that the mere mention of a contrary opinion felt like a physical blow. She argued that she couldn’t help feeling offended. That when her beliefs are challenged, the emotional response is completely automatic, involuntary, and beyond her control. I looked at her with a mix of sympathy and a great deal of judgement and thought: “She really doesn’t realise she has a choice. And that is one of the biggest lies she’s ever been told.” Now, I could chastise myself for judging her. I could worry about being judged myself. But to be brutally honest, at my age, I’m sick and tired of pussy-footing around the feelings of people like her. I’m not out to hurt anyone, but I’m not going to tame my views any more either. Like them or leave them. It’s your choice. The Mechanics of the Lie In her world-view, taking offence is a defence mechanism. If she can make the person causing offence feel guilty, she absolves herself of the responsibility for her own emotions. She treats anger and outrage as a moral duty. She stands proudly on her cross of offence, ready to take one for the team.