Top 10 Brand Truths to Adopt Into Every Day

As a self professed marketing nerd, I am delighted to see how social media has invigorated consumer-brand relationships, adding an entirely new dimension and power shift to this traditionally one-way communication. I am equally fascinated by the agonizing many of us endure in choosing to separate or morph our private and public socially networked lives.

And so in homage to this morphing of personal and professional (and as “top 10” lists are all the rage these days) I present my top 10 truths leading brands know that we could adopt to improve our personal brand communication (and potentially the quality of our lives).

1-Successful brands have a distinctive and comfortable style. They use a specific color and font to communicate who they are and what they do. They do not change this style seasonally with the fashion, they know what works for them and they stick to it consistently through all mediums.

Defining your own personal style – understanding what works for you and what doesn’t will help you shop more effectively and organize your wardrobe into items you can see and wear easily.

2-Successful brands know what their core values are and what they stand for. They are written out clearly, framed and posted on the wall. Everyone who comes into contact with the brand, be it an employee, supplier or consumer, knows and experiences the brand’s values. Click here to see Zappos Core Values

Try this exercise. Write down the 5 core values that are most important to you in your life. Share them with your friends and family – heck, go ahead and post them on your Facebook wall!

3-Successful brands know that values are transparent and have to be “lived” from the top down. Employees and customers will know they are authentic when they see them coming from the Executive level.

Are you living these values every day? If you have kids – can they see and understand them?

4-Successful brands know that passion is contagious and leads to innovation in an environment where thinking and creativity are encouraged and rewarded.

Are you fueling or stifling your passions? What did you love to do when you were 14? Do you still find time for it? Do you periodically break out of your routine and do something completely different and encourage those around you to do the same? Do you do stuff just for fun?

5-Successful brands have a plan. It is not just about annual profit and ROI, there is a broader understanding of “growth” and “value”. There is a column in the spreadsheet that attributes a real dollar value to “our brand”.

Do you have a 5 year plan – a real one written down and referred to? Does it include an intention for personal growth?

6-Successful brands listen and respond. They monitor their industry space, their internal space and their customers. They ask questions and are willing to amend their behavior based on feedback. 

Are you guilty of being “Captain You-should”, always telling others what they should do without them even asking? Are you talking more than listening?

7-Successful brands know that happiness is contagious. So is unhappiness. They know that happy employees will create happy customers, and unhappy employees will create unhappy customers. They know to take care of the people inside their “house” first.

Put a smile on your dial, leave your worries on the doorstep.

8-Successful brands know you cannot take without giving back.

Volunteer your time, donate money. Help someone, pay it forward. It is a required part of belonging to a successful community.

9-Successful brands admit to their mistakes, apologize, fix them and move on.

Everyone makes mistakes, there are no exceptions. Not everyone owns their mistakes and makes amends. Without owning them, we cannot learn from them.

And the number 10 truth that successful brands understand and we could all learn from –

10-What you “do” doesn’t have to define who you “are”!

Be multi-dimensional. Embrace and promote all elements of your existence – not just what someone pays you for. Take a picture, Tweet it out. 

If brands can do it – so can you! 











photo credits: 1) & 3) istockphoto.com 
thanks for all other images to Flickr community  5) Nenad Stephanovic  7)Torsten Kanisch 8)Reslifephoto 9)Dave Keeshan  10)Chicago Party Entertainment

First date, new place (Chicago is my kind of town...)

I had a first date tonight, my first with a new paramour - Chicago. Don’t you just love your first encounter with a new city? New York was the first city I fell in love with. I was not quite 21, and knew no-one. With all the chutzpa a bold young Aussie could muster, I talked my way across the Pacific, and then across the United States, under the auspices of visiting the world HQ of my employer.

I was terrified when I arrived into JFK at night, all alone, jetlagged and unfamiliar. Praying that I would make it to the comfort and safety of my cheap but centrally located Manhattan hotel room alive, I embarked on my first yellow taxi journey. I still recall the intoxicating cocktail of fear and excitement as we drove past icons previously only seen in movies. I could barely sleep that first night, between the fear that someone would sneak into my hotel room and kill me in my sleep, and the sweet anticipation of what the next day would have in store for me.

Even now, some 20 plus years later, walking the streets of Manhattan reminds me of those heady days. The distinctive acrid smell of the city, the sound of the subway – the beating heart of the city, and the determined march of the endless fashion parade of the East-Coast-stylish (and not so stylish). The corner stores selling fruit and flowers, salads and bagels. I had no money when I lived in New York (I mean really – NO money) so I spent a lot of time walking – because that is what you could do to entertain yourself for free for hours in New York City.

Strangely when my husband and I recently quizzed each other on “the best day of your life” – and the rules of the game precluded the obvious significant events (birthdays, weddings etc) for me, the most vividly delicious dates were those in a new city. Especially alone – when you are free to be completely on your own timetable - the freedom to just walk, and watch, and smell, and soak in a city – this has to be one of my all time favorite experiences. Not to say I don’t also love travelling with friends and family, but that is a different love affair.

And so tonight, while waiting for Wisey to arrive from Milwaukee, I went out with Chicago. Fall is a beautiful time of year to visit almost anywhere. In the cooler climate of the Northern Hemisphere, October is romantic and iconic. Everything is orange. The leaves are changing color as part of the annual symphony of Fall. Pumpkins adorn every doorstep, and there is a crisp, fresh smell in the air (with a vague hint of nutmeg). Chicago is the home of the two most famous “O’s” – Oprah and Obama. Other than this knowledge, I arrived into Chicago with little more understanding than this city also is well known for gangsters and pizza.

So my experience this evening was a revelation. I felt as though I was in a film set. The streets reminded me of New York, but the intensity was replaced with elegance. Still a big city for sure – but (at least from my privileged central downtown perspective) there is an air of grace. The buildings are beautiful – historic and artistic. I walked past ornate art deco buildings that could have been transplanted from Europe. My mouth literally dropped open as the escalator transported me from “street Level” to “Lobby level” of our hotel (the historic Palmer House) as ever more of the awesome ornate ceiling was revealed. On the streets I walked past beautiful old theaters and quaint little bistros adjacent to modern yet elegant chain stores (you would be amazed how classy Old Navy looks in an old Chicago building…)

I returned from my date with Chicago as a giddy schoolgirl ready to dance with joy in my hotel room (while singing into my hair brush in front of the mirror). Chicago said it would call me and we would go out again tomorrow. I can’t wait…

“I want the life that goes with these shoes…”

The hushed silence was suddenly disturbed by a piercing squeal of delight -"Oh my gosh! I cannot believe it!” All within ear-shot turned to stare. The accompanying female chorus joined in the shrill caucaughany as they gazed in disbelief at the banquet before them. The conspiratorial silence returned as they took a moment to breathe in the magnitude of it all. “Those girls must be from Australia” I remarked, “because we just don't have anything like this at home”. I too had experienced that same adrenaline pumping, heart racing orgasm the first time I entered through the hallowed doorway of the Designer Shoe Warehouse.

My partner-in-crime and I returned to our gentle exploration of the latest featured wares. “I am tired of Mommy-shoes,” she explained as she reverently selected and held aloft a beautiful scarlet patent leather stiletto “I want the life that goes with these shoes…”

And there it was, the mission statement for our current crossroad. Too old to be a yummy mummy, too conservative to be a MILF (and too realistic to be one of the girls from Sex and the City) our shoe persona at this juncture would carry us on the journey to our “what next”.

What is it about “shoes” that lures us into this addiction? The sole purpose is to protect and cover our feet from the external elements. How many of us have shoes that only meet this very basic criteria? Do we really not feel the "bed of nails” pain associated with stunning stilettos, or are we so distracted by our racing estrogen and sense of empowerment that we don’t care?

Either way, it was clear now what I must do. In the same manner in which I started the kitchen renovation project with just two swatches of color, I must now take inventory of my existing collection and determine which shoes would reveal my true desires and lead me forward into my next life phase.

For a woman who is happiest barefoot at her desk (or in the yoga studio), I have way too many shoes. I am drawn to the sensual pleasure of color and texture as Gollum coveted The Ring - “my precious…”. This will help to explain the following selected features from my collection. What do they say about me and my future?

 

"Slave-girl-meets-Amazon" and super-sexy, these shoes have as much stability as my roller blades, so I can really only wear them where I have a soft place to fall. Needless to say they are my husband's favorites.

 

Very NOW, these cute little shoe booties are actually not that uncomfortable and I imagine are what I would wear if I went back into a corporate office environment (although they would most likely spend much of their life on the floor under my desk).

I love these shoes (so pretty) but have yet to actually wear them (a whole season later). They are very OC and I now believe best belong to the Botox/Juvaderm/hair extensions/fake tan Housewives of Orange County lifestyle that I will never be able to embrace. I expect they will still be in this same pristine condition when (one day in the very distant future) my granddaughter, digging through the back of my closet wipes the dust off the top of the box and says “oooh, Nana, these are sooo retro cool!"

I think these are the ones! They are European and stylish and comfortable. The suede meets my sensual requirements, and fortunately living in Southern California – I do not need to worry about rain. There is something iconic about red shoes that inspires a certain “click three times” magic. I believe these shoes will take me where I want to go!

What shoe are you?

 

Lions and tigers and thread counts - oh my!

Sitting in my newly purchased regulation green cargo pants, perched anxiously on the side of our open top jeep, I could feel the beat of my pulse blasting a 21 gun salute to my imminent funeral. My breath was still and shallow as he walked toward me. I was torn between the awe of his majestic bearing, and the terrorized voice inside my head screaming "RUN!" When he was very close, less than two feet away, he stopped right in front of me and stared directly back into my eyes. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced before.

What would you pay for this experience? Sitting in the comfort and safety of your everyday life, staring at an invoice itemizing airline tickets, transfers, taxes and accommodation. How do you rationalize the trade in currency against your first intimate encounter with a fully grown adult lion - on his turf (literally), in the REAL world where every day is a fight for survival?

How do you put a value against hours (time stands still on safari, so it is virtually impossible to measure how many) riding the uneven ground in the back of a jeep through an endless wilderness. You will never want to visit a zoo again, as nothing will come close to seeing, smelling and experiencing the majesty of nature untouched. You will never feel the enormity of your insignificance as you do against the backdrop of this perfect creation.

The travel industry has done its best to sell the intangible. It is a big leap of faith to buy something you cannot touch, test or try beforehand; and once experienced, remains only in the hearts, minds and memory cards (and sometimes credit cards) of the consumer.

I believe the marketing folks at Mastercard hit pay dirt when they devised the "priceless" campaign. However, whilst this campaign worked wonders for their brand recognition, and was adopted as a social tag-line for anything cool, I wonder how much it really assisted in selling the value of investment in real "money can't buy" life experiences.

So we focus on the tangible in an attempt to rationalize that which cannot be rationalized. We add up the elements in hope that the sum of the parts will explain the whole. My rationalization went something like this - "OK so the airfare is x - well it is a long way - nothing really we can do about that. Subtracting the airfare, take the subtotal and divide by the number of days, for a per day cost (quick suck in of breath) OH MY! OK, well a Sheraton hotel would normally cost x, that fancy hotel we went to for our anniversary cost xx, and this includes all meals, so at a nice restaurant that would be yx3, and then there is the touring (which having never been on safari before I completely did not get) so I guess that would be like two half day city tours (so wrong), and then there is the sheet-towel-thread-count (insert voice of Homer Simpson but replace "donuts" with "thread count") so calculating the quotient multiplied by the number of threads..."

You get the idea.

In the end I chose to hold my breath and sign the check and have faith that my research and knowledgeable travel consultant would deliver an experience that would be greater than the sum of its parts.

Africa was. For me, an experience beyond my wildest dreams and comprehension (and I have traveled the globe since a babe in arms). I will never look at an image of a lion again without remembering that first incredible encounter, or the hours that disappeared as we sat silently alongside, watching the mother cats playing with their cubs, grooming and caring, as we would for our own children. Or the moment in the jeep as the bull elephant, swinging his trunk and trumpeting his displeasure, gave us the evil eye, and we temporary travelers suggested to our guide (with more than 20 years experience in this very park - who knew each of these animals by name) that perhaps we should move along. Like somehow we - with all of our worldly knowledge would know more than this man who has lived here his whole life! And how he acknowledged our suggestion with such patience and grace.  Priceless.

Let's talk about your sole...

Yes that's right, the one that spends most of your life pressed to the ground or squeezed into some ridiculous (albeit gorgeous) shoe. The one you rarely think of (unless prompted by pain) yet spends most of its time carrying the weight of your life.

There are 26 bones in the human foot (28 if you include the sesamoid bones at the base of the big toe) - that means 25% of all the bones in your body are located in your two feet. In addition your feet house 33 muscles (intrinsic and extrinsic), 31 joints and over 100 ligaments. This perfect design is purpose-built to be the foundation for our body's full muscular-skeletal structure. However we compromise the natural strength and design of this framework every time we wrap our feet in shoes.

You may have read the debate over whether hi-tech athletic shoes benefit our overall structure by cushioning the impact of our activities  (specifically long distance running), or compromise our body's natural structure, eventually weakening, not protecting, the foot, ankle, knee and hip joints (you can read more about the study here - Barefoot Runners).

While the scientists and sneaker companies continue to debate their various studies, just one hour standing in a pair of stilettos will provide immediate evidence of the negative impact wearing high heels has on our feet, knees, hips and back.

All of this to back up what we already know - that going barefoot feels good. It is also good for us. Walking and standing in bare feet exercises and strengthens muscles weakened by our shoe wearing habits, and helps to restore our structural balance. Remember the childhood joy of bare feet on fresh soft grass, or even now, the sensual pleasure of bare feet against cool tile, or plush carpet?

The first or base chakra Muladhara represents our grounding and connection to the earth. Our feet and legs play an important role in balancing this chakra.

Yoga is particularly good for strengthening your feet and ankles as each standing posture requires us to spread our toes and equalize the balance of our feet between the four corners of the sole, spreading the toes (pressing down through the big toe) and lifting the arch. Concerted focus on correct grounding and alignment of your feet will lead to noticeable improvement in your balance and stability.

So make October the month to focus on your soles. Really feel your feet against the floor during your practice, focus on reaching your toes out from your feet like little kick stands to assist with your overall balance. Feel how the weight shifts from the outside to the inside of your feet in different postures, notice if you keep your feet and heels together between postures, or if they drift out. Feel the energy and connection with the ground remembering that a balanced first chakra brings a sense of safety, fulfillment, of belonging and connecting to others, and of being at home in one's own body.

Breast Friends Forever

The second doctor could have been the newest member of our book club (similar age and stylist), only her white coat and barely concealed aura of impending doom belied the news she carried into the perfectly composed consulting room. The air stood still. The moments to follow would pass in time-lapse photography, slow and stilted, stealing our innocence forever.

Barely 48 hours had passed leading us to this point. I had returned home from a weekend away while BF had stayed in my house, dog sitting the princess puppies. Hugs and kisses were exchanged before she unloaded the mother-ship - "I think I found a lump...here...feel it...what do you think...?"

Please understand dear reader that we grew up in the pre bi-curious age. Nice girls didn't fondle each others' breasts out of idle curiosity, or for the entertainment and engagement of their men-folk. I was in my early thirties and had never touched anyone's breasts but my own, so this experience was strange and unusual on a number of fronts. Hesitantly reaching towards my BF's extraordinary E-cups I gently prodded the highlighted area. "Ummm, I am not really an expert in this...I don't know...you should probably see the doctor...". 

The following morning her GP confirmed what she already knew, BF had a noticeable lump on the outer right hand side of her otherwise perfect, much coveted, breast. Further investigation was recommended - specialist review at the Breast Center where they have a myriad of fun and investigative machinery such as chilly-gel-glided ultra-sounds and step-right-up and squish-you-flat mammograms. 

This news was relayed to me over the phone whilst at work. "It will be fine...I will be fine...they can fit me in tomorrow...I can go by myself, I am sure it is nothing...I will let you know what they say..."

But it just didn't seem like the sort of activity one should undertake on one's own - however what do you take to a BFs suspect-lump-review-appointment at the Breast Center? Stopping by the convenience store en-route I decided on gossip and chocolate - surely there is barely a situation any woman will face in her life that isn't made easier with a trashy mag and chocolate?

So there we were, seated side-by-side on pink floral chairs, surrounded by pale pink walls, and nurses in pink scrubs, nervously flipping and nibbling, waiting to undergo the first round in the ultimate "Big C - is it for me?" show-down.

BFs name was called and we were summoned to follow the pink scrubs behind Door Number One. This room was lavender with a gentle radiologist residing over a soft padded table. The usual harsh overhead light bulbs had been replaced by side table lamps to take the intense "strip and reveal" edge off her experience. Soft new-age music played, and she delivered her instructions in a musical lilt, as if BF was about to get a lovely aromatherapy massage instead of a cold clinical examination. She engaged BF and I in friendly conversation whilst capturing penetrating images of the offending lump. Her demeanor was smart and sweet. It wasn't until we were leaving the sanctuary of her quiet den that something she said caught me as strange. 

Then back to the waiting room, Cosmo and Tim Tams.

Door Number Two was less than 20 minutes later. This room had windows along the outer side so was bright and chilly. It was the first time I had seen the gripping vice structure of the much dreaded mammogram machinery. "Sorry, your friend will have to wait outside..." was rebuffed by a pleading "no, please, can she stay..." I was given a heavy lead apron that covered my torso from breast to knees and was told to stand at the far reaches of the room. I felt like a lone soldier against the ominous brick wall as the firing squad assembled to take aim. Yet BF was the one facing the ultimate firing squad. Naked to the waist, the nurse grabbed at her perfect pale, bulbous breast and pressed it between the sheer perspex plates of the mammogram vice, forcing her into an intimate embrace with the cold heartless hardware. As the machine took her lovely breast and squashed it to the depth of pita bread, I watched her brave smile retreat to equal shape.

Then back to the waiting room.

The ultimate answer lay behind Door Number Three. We were warmly acknowledged by the first male we had seen all day - a lovely father-figure-meets-professor-doctor with soft gray hair, a crisp white coat, an official looking folder, and a reassuring air. Seated in the perfectly composed consulting room, listening to the perfectly composed elder statesman tell us the mammogram had not shown anything to be concerned about, so we shouldn't worry, this would most likely be confirmed by the ultrasound results we would have momentarily; it seemed this all might be just a terrible but fleeting fright.

He left the room to retrieve the outstanding results. "Whew!" (sigh of relief) "that was close...", nervous smiles exchanged.

And then the second Doctor came in. She looked like someone we might have gone to school with. She had a friendly but official air. Where had Doc Number One gone? (It was never explained...)

"I am sorry, the news is not good...the ultrasound revealed the true nature of your lump...a biopsy will confirm for certain...but the results are pretty clear...it appears aggressive, we can do the biopsy here right now and try to get you in to consult with the surgeon tonight..."

The breath caught in my chest as adrenalin sped the beat of my heart until it echoed in my ears. The voice in my head shouted drill sergeant commands to my body - "Don't look shocked...or scared...do not panic - stay calm and whatever ever you do, DO NOT CRY! Ok, now with your best brave, in-control face turn to BF and see how she is doing..."

October is of course Breast Cancer Awareness Month. When BF was diagnosed we were told that Breast Cancer affected one in eleven women. Today the rate is one in eight. It is a painful, heartbreaking disease that attacks our mothers, sisters, wives, daughters and best friends through one of our most beloved physical attributes. Help us to understand more about this disease, please join the LOVE/AVON Army of Women and become a part of both the prevention and cure. 

Today the Army has 338716 recruits including me (with a target of one million), I urge you to join the ranks also.

Moonlight, menopause and magic beans…

It crept up on me slowly, with the stealth of a navy seal crossing a deserted midnight beach, dodging the illumination of a brilliant Summer moon. Barely noticeable at first, it leapt, grabbed and tumbled me in the surf, filling my eyes and choking my throat with salty tears before I even realized what was happening. 

“It's too soon, I'm not ready...I have years left yet...this only happens when you are old...”

Acting as though dark glasses and trench coats could hide the truth of our quest we set out to find a fix. "Can I help you ladies?" (Damn the efficiency of the American customer service ethos) "Ummm, where do you keep the, ummm, woman’s.... umm ... supplements...?”

“Oh, that would be over here...” (No option but to follow irritatingly young, perky, fertile, sales assistant).

There we were, two otherwise gorgeous and fabulous 40-somethings, one desperate to smother her inner emerging granny, the other leading the charge for a "natural" solution, acting more like two guilty schoolgirls surreptitiously selecting our first tampons, lurking in the anonymity of towering store shelves.

It is hard to describe, the helplessness you feel as the dark cloud veils your reality, tears and despair peppered with flashes of anger and resentment - uncharacteristic for this usually sunny disposition. And then it passes, as quickly and silently as it came. As if some cosmic hypnotherapist has me under his spell and can control my mood and reality with a mere snap of his fleshy, evil fingers.

There is now little doubt (with the clarity of a Monday morning quarterback) that I have been in denial for months. The signs have been there - sudden blushing accompanied by stripping, obsessive thermostat correction, moments I dismissed as irrelevant. The creeping reduction in visual clarity and the accompanying increase in girth - my metabolism now mimicking that of a bear in hibernation.

Unfortunately the terrifying disposition of a large grizzly unexpectedly woken from deep hibernation is a little harder to ignore.

Why?

How is it that I was not better prepared, why does this seem like an ugly secret? It is not within my power to control, and every woman must walk across this bed of fire at some point. The cruelty of the timing does strike me, whilst some women are still contemplating a 40-something pregnancy; I am releasing my only child into adulthood, and relinquishing my biological ability to create life simultaneously. I am officially barren Karen.

Not that any of this bothers me. As soon as I can find an effective means of silencing my suddenly-psycho-bitch alter ego, life will return again to "normal" or at least a new "normal".

Which brings us back to our position now seated on the cold linoleum floor between the health food store’s shelves, staring at an endless array of supplements and creams. We could easily have been transported to the world of Harry Potter, wishing Hermione would concoct some magical lotion or potion with the graceful wave of her beautiful wand.

Instead we were approached by a large, bearded giant more closely resembling Hagrid - "Are you ladies finding what you are looking for?" Our response in unison (accompanied by downward glance) – “YES, thanks...”

Not to be dismissed our gentle 40-something giant (with sympathetic eyes) stood tall, looked away as he walked past us and pointed "well this one is very good..." and then he was gone.

Thus one product was selected from the seemingly limitless offerings of help and symptom relief. All require attentive application and or ingestion, multiple times per day. Searching for a silver lining, this Sudoku-esque puzzle of dates and doses synchronized with rising tides and phases of the moon will no doubt help to keep my brain function at optimal levels.

Illuminated by the light of this new moon, saddled with a new and unexpected backpack, sexy-librarian glasses and a hand full of magic beans, I continue to stand at the vortex, staring out at the crossroads with a clearer sense of the journey ahead…

Thelma and Louise or Laverne and Shirley?

Journeys

If life is really about the journey – why are we so focused on the destination?

The irony of my current journey strikes me - traveling north from HB in Southern California to Stanford in Northern California to meet my friend, essentially to drive from Stanford to HB. Clearly the destination is not the focus of this journey – as I was already there. (How many other times do we undertake a journey to a destination we are already at – actually or virtually?)

I am joining my friend to provide companionship and distraction as we explore the California coastline – the infamous Highway 1. Traveling side by side in the same vehicle, we are on the same journey both physically and literally - we face the same crossroad. She has just accompanied her only child to the start of his University career at Stanford. In one week I will see my son graduate from high school in Australia. They are both about to embark on the most anticipated journey of their lives. But back to us.

The most famous of all chick flick road movies is “Thelma and Louise”. Revered by my peer group for the female empowerment it portrayed, the movie is ultimately about how two women, trying to escape the doldrums of their everyday existence, encounter enough mayhem and adventure to choose driving their convertible off a cliff instead of returning to reality and facing the music their mayhem composed. I do not expect our road trip to be as eventful. Perhaps our adventure will be more Laverne and Shirley – without the beer and twin sets.  But then they too were childless women in search of their life’s meaning.

Where are the role models for the 40 something empty nesters? Women who married, and had just one child, worked intermittently full and part time, but ultimately sacrificed career advancement over family stability? Sandwiched between our childless career-focused counterparts (now fulfilling roles we would most likely also hold if we had stayed true to our professional potential), our “superwoman” super-focused friends – those genetic freaks who somehow manage to raise perfect children, supervise a household Martha Stewart would be proud of - whilst also steaming full speed ahead with their careers; and those who chose marriage and family as their career. How do you begin to “recalculate” and triangulate the destination when the source of your GPS navigation system for 18 years goes to college?

A woman’s life today offers in theory more opportunities than our mothers or their mothers had – but are the crossroads really so different? When you have chosen to make your priorities about someone else (children, spouse, parents, friends) how do you choose “what next” when those blinkers are removed. When you have arrived at your primary destination, how do you decide where to go next?

I stand here at the cross roads of many journeys.

The mourning after...

Have you ever noticed how the airport is a metaphor for life and death?

The Arrivals Lounge - this is a joyful place to be. People wait in excited huddles, clutching flowers, balloons and "welcome" signs. Someone they have been waiting for is about to arrive, and they can barely tolerate the anticipation of this happy event. There are tears of joy, hugs and kisses, laughter and relief. A celebration of their safe arrival. They will return home and find a place in their life for the traveler, a space that wasn't there before.

The Departure Lounge - the vibe here is very different. Again friends and family gather, huddled in groups to farewell their traveler. There are tears and lingering embraces, sadness for the anticipated emptiness their departure will create. They will return to their everyday life and grieve within the space their departed loved one has vacated.

And what of the person departing? Much like the airport departure there are strictly enforced baggage restrictions. After a life of accumulating belongings, friends and experiences, like a fleeing refugee heading to a better place, we can take nothing with us.  The depth of our faith determines the length of our final journey, and our spirit's ultimate destination. 

In this regard, much like the departing traveler, death can be seen as the start of a new journey. While the farewellers grieve for their loved one's departure, the traveler departing carries with them an air of excitement for the journey ahead.

The road to this point however can be painful and difficult. When our aging and failing body clings to our joyful spirit - pinning it down with pain and resentment, torturing us with memories of what was, presenting wistful yearning for what could still be. One more ride on the roller coaster. One more shot at the championship. One more chance for the heart to gleefully shout "weeeeeee!" The unfairness of this predicament is agonizing.

But as with the airport, the circle of life requires people to depart, and new ones to arrive; as surely as the tide will withdraw, and return again to wash the shore.

Saying goodbye is one of the hardest things we do. It is sad, and painful and casts a gray cloud across our sunshine. In these instances I try to think about the joy of the traveler, and the freedom of their journey. About reuniting in another place, another time.

And sometimes I walk past the arrivals hall, just to vicariously share in their joy; to remember how it feels when someone arrives, rather than leaves.


This post, for our dear friends and neighbors who this week have had to say goodbye to their beloved father and grandfather. His faith will fuel his journey. May your hearts be brave and find peace. Our love and prayers are with you.

Is your yoga practice "inside out" or "outside in"?

Sometimes yoga instruction can feel and sound like a Dr Seuss book – “Inside, outside, upside down…”. Staring at the figure in the mirror before you, it is easy to slip into external focus and critical examination – that bit’s too fat, too thin, too short etc. Judgment underpins our thoughts and intentions, outside-in. In the glaring intensity of the full-length mirror there is nowhere to hide from the confronting reflection fueling the noisy voice within.

Now think about the activities of your daily life. What other endeavor can you undertake specifically designed to reveal your points of physical weakness (except maybe a full body scan…) and slowly, systematically develop and strengthen them? And yet we shun the discomfort and challenging honesty of this process. How often have you heard someone explain “I would love to do yoga, but I have no balance or flexibility?” When was it decided we should only do what we are good at (and not work to strengthen or improve those areas of weakness)? Surely we are only exacerbating these imbalances by only focusing on our strengths?

Most active pursuits are both external and outcome-centric: how fast can I run, how heavy can I lift, how accurately can I throw the ball? Focus is external, measured in minutes and miles. Breath is a function of the activity, not the focus of it. The intention is the outcome, ultimately it is about “getting it done”. Consistent training will teach our bodies to bring the breath without us needing to think about it too hard.

Now consider the yoga studio mirror, your mat placed in warm anticipation of the gift you are about to give your mind, body and spirit. You welcome patience, acceptance and determination. Eye-to-eye, practice begins (and concludes) with breath, because there is nothing more important. The rhythm of your breath sets the foundation like railway sleepers under the rails of your meditation. There is no life without breath. We start and conclude with Pranayama, each of the postures an “asana”, fueling your cells with nourishing, energy giving oxygen.

“Yoga” means “union” and whilst there are numerous interpretations within this definition, most agree that core to the practice is the union of breath, mind and movement. Is your practice more about exercise (outside in) or meditation (inside out)? Do you start each class with the intention to leave the world outside the studio outside, to give yourself 90 minutes of mindful focus? Or do you (unintentionally) bring your noisy mind to class? The constant chatter of the voice within can be deafening – “man it is hot – why can’t I do this posture  - I had it yesterday – how much longer…” however if you can quiet this noise and focus on your breath, your practice will deepen in ways you may not have imagined. Instead of “doing” yoga, try “being” yoga.

The studio mirrors are provided to assist your understanding of the mechanics involved in each of the postures, however they can become a crutch. Try using them just for focus. If you find judgmental thoughts creeping in, let them go and bring your focus back to your breath, back to the union you are seeking. Put your mind in your muscles, feel them strengthen and lengthen. Think less about the outcome and more about the input. Yoga is the one place where you truly do get a gold star just for your good intention.

From budgie smugglers to mutineers, the Australian Parliament is well hung!

There should have been excitement. There should have been a sense of national pride. Instead there was a forward stance but downward glance as Lady Julia ascended the throne. Looking from the outside in (expat glasses on) I was sad to see the occasion of Australia's first female prime minister marred by the fact that she was not elected by the people, and in fact the mutinous events leading to her ascent seem to have rendered her more impotent, as it is evident that she is just another puppet in the Labor party machine. Too bad again that at this juncture and opportunity for Australia to truly elect their first female PM, the shadow of her Lady MacBeth-esque blood stained hands affected voters - many of whom like-or-loath Rudd seem to feel that the whole process of succession was very un-Australian. Meanwhile, it seems that one of the strongest things the opposition leader Tony Abbott has going for him is that he is a beach lifeguard who proudly sports a classic pair of Aussie Speedos - how Aussie is that?! From my conservative North Shore vantage point it is hard to see why the outcome was not more decisive...

No longer in de-Nile...

So, what can I say after 3 weeks in Egypt? Well, I feel like I have been here a long time. I feel like I have a novice understanding of their culture, and a basic understanding of the history. Both should be stronger than they are, but starting from zero I guess I am significantly further ahead of where I started.

A very male dominated society, I wonder how different my experience would have been had I been accompanied by a significant male? I have loved my time here and made some real friends on the tour, but almost always I felt a little “exposed”. This in spite of dressing “conservatively” and ensuring as much as I could (given that I was traveling alone) that I was not alone in public. I tried to avoid situations such as the one I am in now – sitting alone in the Heineken Bar at Cairo International airport, sipping red wine, typing on my computer (not a book/magazine store in sight…). I previously would never have imagined situating myself near a table of “English lads” in a beer bar would make me feel somewhat less exposed. Funny how your perceptions can change so quickly!

Having said that I have been wonderfully taken care of by the men/tour directors/representatives/ships crew tasked with watching over “the president’s wife”. They were warm and sweet and attentive (without being too attentive) and have left me with some very fond memories of my time here.

Egyptian men are insatiable flirts. With the virility of the ancient pharaohs, it seems every encounter is an opportunity (distant strains of Mark Knoffler, “you and me babe, how bout it?”). “They mean no harm” is the rationale given to explain the intrusive behavior (if you can call being greeted and complimented at every turn intrusive…), and I honestly believe that is true. It is not threatening in a menacing manner, there is just an intensity to the approach that makes you feel uncomfortable (especially as a woman alone, especially after being in Africa where I have seen first hand how the solo animal is an easy target…).

And it is unrelenting, from the aggressive hawkers desperately peddling their wares “Madam where you from? You from English? You very beautiful, madam you buy postcards – special deal for you $5…” to the nightly dinner banter “hello madam, so glad to see you, I have missed you today “(cue dazzling Omar Sharif smile and napkin flourish…). Every encounter is treated as a genuine opportunity for a “sale.”  Customer resistance seems to make the chase more fun.

I would find living in this type of society very challenging. I am accustomed to the freedom and familiarity of western society; to the often gruff and sometimes dismissive service of hospitality and retail staff, working through the hours until they can clock off again. I will be more conscious and grateful of the freedoms that society allows me as a woman, at least for a little while until I start taking it for granted again.

Life is tough for the Egyptians. The climate is tough, the economy is tough, they are graced with perhaps the greatest history on earth, and at the same time with the knowledge that they possessed these treasures, and somehow (through lack of attention and management) let them largely slip through their fingers. Egypt has been conquered and re-conquered through the ages by Romans and Greeks who took much, and left little behind. The Christians left their mark most noticeably by defacing the “pagan” faces of the beautiful temple walls. Less than 20% of modern Egypt is Christian today and I imagine they must be a little ashamed of the destruction their ancestors bought upon these priceless treasures.

One could however take an alternate view, a view that in fact the Egyptians have been blessed with unusual luck. The Nile that is the beloved lifeblood of this country (even today) made the construction of these timeless monuments possible, and protected them through the ages, flooding the surrounding banks and plains, bringing silt and sand to cover the sandstone, granite and limestone. Hiding their beauty from the world, protecting them (to a degree) for a time when man would better understand their value. Their greatest source of revenue is the Suez Canal, followed closely by tourism, world travelers driven by desire to see the Nile, the tombs, temples and pyramids.

Standing at the base of each mammoth column and towering statue, one cannot help but take pause to consider the boundless focus, creativity and craftsmanship invested in each great monument. They say it took 100,000 people to build the Great Pyramid of Giza. What other companies today operate with 100,000 people, and what will their legacy be? The difference in intention is marked. The ancient Egyptians were intent on building something that would last an eternity and would bring glory in the next life. Which companies today think about an outcome beyond the next P&L spreadsheet? What legacy will we leave? Is there any chance for us to create anything other than ultimate destruction of the planet? I would suggest there is sadly not much evidence of it today.

And so perhaps the answer lies in globalization – and by this I mean “one world”. Perhaps there is a chance for human kind to band together. The more we travel the better hope we have of understanding our global friends and enemies. My group of travelers consisted of mostly retired folk who have been blessed with the gift of travel (far beyond anything the ancient Egyptians could have imagined).  Their reactions to Egypt mirrored mine – fulfillment of a life’s intention to “see the great pyramids of Egypt”, coupled with surprise and dismay at the state of modern day Cairo – crowded, polluted, expensive and (at least among our happy band of liberal feminists) “where are the women…?”

I like to think that the modern Egyptian Islamic woman is happy, that she feels loved, protected and fulfilled in her role within society. Unfortunately we were not able to speak with any such women, so I will leave Egypt with only the male’s perspective on the importance of the woman’s role within Egyptian society. It is hard with western eyes not to be angry when you see scarves and masks covering and “hiding” the women. In sweltering 46 degree heat they go about their daily lives, covered in black cloth from head to toe. How can this be a choice? How can this be something they do willingly in belief that it is right? I want to have an open mind, I want to be convinced that it works for them, but even after three weeks in their country, I struggle to fully comprehend how and why this practice continues. I would be interested to learn more in this regard.

My limited understanding of (Sunni) Islam is that it is a disciplined and peaceful religion with very specific guidelines on how to live life humbled by God’s greatness. The rules must be obeyed – and practice covers everything in daily life from eating, to praying 5 times a day. Family is core to this society, with specific rules and roles for men and women to successfully marry and raise their Muslim family. The woman’s role in this sense is integral but traditional. The Koran states that women must protect their modesty from foreign men – this is anyone they are not directly related to such as husband, son, father and brother. There is nothing that states this cover must be from head to toe, or that it must be black. As a minimum this means covering the hair and chest (from neck down) when in the company of “foreign” men.

There has been a resurgence of conservatism amongst Egyptian women over the last decade. During the 60s and 70s their public dress was far more liberal, in keeping with the times. One theory suggested to me is that with so many professional Egyptians traveling elsewhere in the Middle East for better work and pay (ie Arab countries such as Saudi) the men and women are returning with the more conservative values of those cultures, and it has started to infiltrate Egyptian culture. An interesting theory, but with no real facts to back it up.

What I do know is that as Western women, the concept of hiding your beauty so as not to distract the men around you is totally foreign, and the fact that society supports this – that men can be easily distracted by women, so women should hide so as not to distract them - is challenging.

But then this is the beauty of travel, of going to new and foreign places in an effort to better understand our Earth neighbors.   

Ultimately there can be no peace without understanding; and surely Peace, is what we are all wishing, searching and praying for.

(please note the above ramblings are not intended as controversial political, cultural or religious statements, but instead the simple observations and impressions of this lone traveler...)