Spring Cleaning Your Consciousness

Well, technically Spring is still a little way off (damn you, freezing winds and chilly rains, DAMN YOU), but I don’t think there’s any harm in getting a bit of a jump on things, do you?

A PRECURSORY LAMENT

Ah, to be alive. To hear the birds chirping, see the colours of the sunrise, feel the wind in your hair and have breath in your lungs... and yet, sadly, I feel I have sunk into a perverse disillusionment that has clouded my ability to appreciate life's gorgeous tenacity. I don’t know how it happened (that’s a lie, of course I do), but somewhere over the last six months, life’s usually-persistent knocking on my proverbial front door faded into the tap-tap-tapping of fingertips on knees, whiling my life away in pathetic fits of self-loathing. I momentarily lost the clarity in colour, the luxury of light- to be perfectly honest, I’ve just been downright miserable to be around, and for that, I do apologise.

It did get me thinking though, about my Conscious Self. I’ve always been fascinated by the Unconscious Self, whether it be dream analysis, or the concept of passive aggression (hello, Facebook user who posts status’ and photos specifically designed to make others miserable) but for the most part, I have spared very little thought for the what actually happens when you are conscious.

There are many varying definitions of consciousness. One, for example, is ‘to be aware of one's own existence, sensations, thoughts and surroundings’. Another is to have something ‘known to oneself; felt’. So for all intent and purposes, let’s look at consciousness like this:

Knowing Your Own Sensational Existence.

How sexy is that?

On Monday night, as I delicately sipped a cold glass of Sauvignon Blanc and waited for my nail polish to dry, I got to thinking about existence. Or, more precisely, feeling my own existence. Even more precisely, feeling, hearing, touching, seeing and tasting my own existence. Do you see where I’m going with this?

Spring Cleaning Your Consciousness has to begin somewhere. And while it is most certainly a daunting task of monstrous proportions that should only be attempted in the most fabulous of shoes (stay tuned- Solestruck delivery ETA Wednesday), it should, of course, be attempted. But this does of course beg the question- how does one spring clean one’s senses?

I SPY WITH MY LITTLE EYE

... a plethora of stuff, really. Open your eyes and take it all in. What do you see? Your desk? Your bedroom? What about on the way to work? What does your house look like? What colours do you notice, what brightens your day? Do you like the look of certain shapes? Houses? Cafes? Street trees? Visual stimulation is powerful. Very powerful. And, happily, is one of the easiest things that we can alter to achieve a greater happiness.

I HEAR YA, BUDDY, I HEAR YA

Chatter. Car sounds. Birds chirping. Dubstep. Heels clicking on concrete. Screaming children. Sliding doors opening. Panadol popping out of foil packaging. Planes flying overhead. Shouting. Laughing. Crying. Computers whirring. What sounds make up your day? Which ones do you love? Which ones tire you out? Which ones are boring? Intruiging? Exciting? ... why?

LIKE A FAT KID LOVES CAKE

Mmm. Food. One of my all time favourite things in the universe. I personally prefer exotic, spicy foods, with lemongrass and ginger and coconut and peanuts and pretty much any variation of Thai/Indian food that you could find. But with the constant worry over sugar reduction attempts and not eating carbs without wanting to kill myself, my quest for flavours that make my tastebuds dance and sing has become bleaker that a Siberian winter morning. Why do you love the foods that you love? Ever find it interesting that some people absolutely love sherbet, but others find it acidic and foul? Why do identical twins have varying favourite foods? Why do you love/hate aniseed/chilli/caramel?

SMELL YA LATER

The sense of smell is an interesting one. They say (who are ‘they’? These faceless entities from whom knowledge and wisdom seem to spout like seawater from a dolphin’s blowhole?) that smell is the most powerful trigger of memory there is. I will attest to that- there is one particular aftershave that seems to be inexplicably linked between my nostrils and my tear ducts. Thus, it is a smell that I associate with certain types of emotional pain. What smells do you associate with happiness, positivity and joy? (..... freshly baked brownies, anyone?)

I GOT A FEELIN’... OOOH, OOOH

Silk, satin, fur, cashmere and ludicrously thick bath foam are my top five touchable textures. Of course, there are about a zillion others, but we’ll get to those later. The sense of touch enables us to relax or recoil; our hearts to skip beats; our hairs to stand on end. It brings us closer as humans and allows us to express affection (or rage) in ways that are so very powerful. A comforting hug from Mum, a spider creepily crawling on your bare skin, an electric, accidental brushing of hands with the person you have secretly loved for years. All are awe-inspiring. All are different.

Over the next week or so, I want to scour the proverbial seabed of tingling, tantalising senses and uncover ways to improve my experiences in my day-to-day life. We’ll start with sound, so get your thinking caps on. This is the very beginning of surrounding myself with joy. Out with the old. In with the new. It’s all uphill from here.

Join me, won’t you?

M x

The Calm Before The Storm

It is with savage rigour that I throw myself and my Mess headlong into cyber traffic once more.

And yet... I sit back, and reflect on exactly what it is I have started. This whole blogging business has spiralled almost completed out of control over the last few years. Every man and his dog seem to have a blog nowadays, and I’m not entirely sure it’s the best thing for the world. There are plenty of self-absorbed, loathsome idiots on the internet, and blogging is just another tool that gives voice to those who do not really need any more opportunities to make total asses of themselves.

TO BLOG, OR NOT TO BLOG

In my humble opinion, being a successful blogger requires something a little more than a poorly designed web-template and a basic understanding of Instagram (both, I acknowledge, I employ). It requires a more delicate spray of poignant prose and sarcastic melodrama that demands the most frugal choosing of phrases and structuring of sentences. Otherwise, you’ll bore your readers out of their fucking minds, and who wants to come back to a blog that is blatantly self-righteous and solely self-fulfilling? Bloggers should seek to enrich their readers’ lives, or work toward a common goal, uniting a community through common purpose. Not parade about their bedrooms in slap-dash ensembles snapping cheap shots of themselves on their iPhones and declaring themselves fashionistas.

And, whoa, hold up a second there- get down off Ye Olde High Horse- DISMOUNT, I SAY!- I’m not, for one second, saying that a well-written fashion blog by a talented young woman who knows what she’s talking about isn't one of the single most coolest things ever. Because God knows, I follow about four or five religiously (seriously, to the point where I might actually be considered a stalker if they knew. Don’t tell anyone). I follow the four or five that I do because these women are hard-working, worldly, experienced, respected journalists who have got their shit together and wear their eight inch towering JC’s to their local coffee parlour proudly. They also acknowledge, for the most part, that they are privileged to have made names for themselves in an industry that is as cutthroat as it is fluid- changing from one second to the next, fluctuating wildly across continents. They write well, speak well, dress well, and are fabulous role models for young women (and men) all over the world. And that shit don’t come easy.

Aside from the fashion blogging circle, there are some other truly fantastical blogs out in the cybersphere. Gala Darling has been one of my all time favourites for years (EVERYONE should get on the Radical Self Love bandwagon. EVERYONE). There are cupcake-baking blogs, misanthropy blogs (for all your people-hating needs!), shoe blogs, travel blogs, photography blogs. Blogs and bloggers of all shapes and sizes from all over the globe. But the truly great blogs are the ones that inspire you to create. To foster. To grow. To think. Isn’t that the whole point?

I’m not saying that I have some sense of entitlement to this cyber galaxy of extreme cool. I’m not saying my work is every going to be uber-famous, or uber-talked about, or even uber-known at all (apart from you delightful morsels who follow my shameless self-promoting links from Facebook- welcome!). But I’d like to think that at least I stand for a little more- living life, rather than documenting it; fostering fabulousness, while rarely feeling very fabulous myself; and of course, teetering into my local coffee parlour in stupid shoes, because what’s life without a little hypocrisy? Ha. ha. ha.

HOMEWORK

Right. Now that that's said and done... as stated in my very first entry, THIS blog is supposed to be all about Cultivating Your Personal Aesthetic. I’m starting to think that I might need to whittle that idea down a little, because now that I am beginning to appreciate the scope of the mess (actual mess, not 'beautiful Mess') I’m in at the moment, and 'cultivating an aesthetic' seems about as easy as navigating a spaceship to Jupiter.

First things first - refill coffee cup.

Second - stop contemplating the things that have, over the last three months, made me totally and completely miserable (the profoundly negative impact that a few nasty actions from a few nasty people can have on the long term health and well being of another still absolutely baffles me). I am ashamed to admit I have been driven to the point of throwing crumpet crusts at happy people on television, with black mascara tears running down my blotchy unwashed face. Disgusting. 

C) - walk home from work in the sunshine.

and lastly - start planning how to Spring Clean My Conciousness (stay tuned).

Until next time,  

M x