A little bit of inward learning

As I grow up, I realise the best way to learn about who you are, what your limits are and what you like and don't like, is to put yourself in unfamiliar situations. To push yourself so it feels a bit uncomfortable, like a patch of sunburn or a caramel milkshake when you really wanted chocolate.

Walk a new path, date a new dude, move cities if you have to, so long as you can glean even an itsy bitsy piece of new information about yourself, then it's worthwhile. 

For me, the quest for unfamiliarity and a bit of discomfort drove flew me almost 17,000 kilometres, to the other side of the world. In December 2013 I packed up my entire life, left my job, farewelled my friends and family, and hopped on a plane bound for London. Cue cliche.
Let's be honest, I am not the first and by no means the last Antipodean to have ventured to the mother country. It's not overly remarkable, it's not a new language. But it's been a challenge, nonetheless.

The most interesting thing I've grappled with over the six months since I've been away is adjusting from my routine, and comforts, and realising that although the UK has the same language, a similar culture and a busy city just like home, it's a world apart. 

For starters, when I arrived I was sans job, sans home, sans (many) friends... the odds were definitely in my favour. I was what you call a catch. My first few months living in London consisted of staying on friends' couches - over six weeks I lived in six different places. And work was tough. Without British media experience I wasn't having success in my preferred field, so I swallowed some pride and decided to turn my hand at temp administration. Earning a pittance and doing the most mundane of tasks, it was a great learning experience. Admin was definitely not my passsion. How lucky I was that I had already found a career that actually satisfied and nourished me, and that I at least knew what I wanted to be doing, even if I wasn't quite there yet. 

Not having many possessions, limited by a 23KG suitcase, I learnt that I had been pretty superficial in the past. Shellac each fortnight, massages, an obsession with triple-milled soy candles... you get the gist. When earning 8 quid an hour, your priorities quickly change. No longer can you justify that incredible eyelash extending mascara that costs four hours of pay. And a zone 1-3 travel card seems like a luxury. On the other hand, a 15 pound cocktail has never tasted so good. Because that's the equivalent of two hours answering phones. 

Celebrating Australia day with one of my Aussie friends in London

In the past few months I've been lucky enough to have found a great house living in Battersea, near a beautiful park and not far from the well known The Kings Road, Chelsea. I have a job working in Communications, and I now also have a bf, which I didn't expect when I arrived here in January. All of which are offering pretty meaty learning opportunities. 

It does beg the question though; surely you don't have to travel half-way around the world to learn about yourself. Relationships, new jobs, your family; they all teach you different things. And the best lessons are the ones you're not expecting. The ones where you're not quite sure how you'll get yourself out of a mess, or where your friendship or relationship might go next. The best snippets of understanding are those that are completely unexpected, but leave you with another page to add to your very own encyclopaedia of lessons about yourself. 

Confession Time.

Okay, I have something to confess. You see, it all started off as an experiment. Online dating. There, I said it.

"How different can that be from social networking sites like Facebook and Twitter?" I wondered.

"Perhaps I should give it a go?," I thought.

Sitting with my little sister, watching television, an Oasis Active ad came onto the TV. "Why don't you make a profile, Missy?" she asked.

Good question.

"It's not like you have a boyfriend or anything," she said. Fair point, but ouch.

So after much giggling, many "I can't actually say THAT's" and lots of backspacing, I finally created a profile and waited for the requests to come in. And come in they did.

After about a million 'no thanks' rejections to the weird and disturbing profiles that kept asking me to add them, I stumbled across a few that were normal. They had jobs, they have passions and interests, and they looked pretty nice in their photos. So I decided I should give them a chance.

At this point I might add that the power that comes with a dating site like Oasis Active is huge. As a girl you can reject all the creeps and freaks and still have millions of requests. You feel so popular and sought-after. I should point out that for some of the guys on online dating sites, it's like buying a ticket in a raffle or making bets on horses; there are more chances of winning if you buy more tickets (or bet on more horses)- consequently they make requests to anything that selects the 'female' gender box.

So my online dating experience began with a few odd characters -which had slipped through my picky and highly selective net- who started asking dodgy questions, sending me their numbers, asking for me to add them on FB etc. I was really pretty uncomfortable with this - I wanted to separate my 'virtual' world from my reality. But then, I started getting asked out on dates. Real-life dates with real-life people. It wasn't just 'ilovetrucks69' or 'clawwarriorking' or 'mrdangle21' (yes, the names are just like that), but these people were real and they wanted to meet me. I freaked out. I didn't quite know how to deal with the idea of going on a date with someone who I hadn't met via a friend or a mutual-interest, or a job or at university. So I said no. No no no no no.

Then, one guy asked me and I said yes. We had only been chatting for about thirty minutes but the conversation flowed and he wasn't stupid. He was smart and interesting. And when he asked for my number because he preferred to speak rather than type from behind a screen, I obliged. We chatted and decided that we should meet and, that night, we did meet up. I'm not quite sure why I suddenly decided I was ready to bite the bullet, but I did it. I met with him and we had a glass of wine at a bar not far from my house, and it was nice. It was normal. No-one in the restaurant would have guessed we'd met on an online dating site. And I certainly wasn't about to scream it out.

So now I have deleted my account. I probably won't ever create another one or, if I did, I would go through a well-known company like E-Harmony, where they match your ideals and your traits, your hopes and aspirations with like-minded people.

I will say, though, that it was an interesting experience. I gave it a go. It didn't end in horror or in disaster, merely in a conclusion that I do not yet need to be on a website like Oasis Active. I still like going out and socialising and meeting people in bars, in clubs etc and not from behind my computer. But, if I do change my mind, at least I'll know how to weed out all the dodgy characters.

Images courtesy of: http://www.datingonline365.com/2009_01_01_archive.html

Dating and relationships in 2010.

I'll admit I've been watching my fair share of every girl's bible: Sex and the City, recently but I'm still more than confused on dating and relationships.

In this day and age, how do men (or boys, for those guys that haven't really 'grown up' yet) want us to behave? Are girls still expected to take on the traditional roles in a relationship; do the washing, shopping, cooking etc while the guy pays the bill?

I'd like to think we've moved on from this, but what about on a date. Does he pay? Is he still obligated to make sure his date gets home okay? Or is that pandering to an old ideal of how men should behave, which is now completely outdated and irrelevant?

I know that I consider respect from a guy to include looking after me - being courteous, considerate, and hopefully a little bit generous- but that's not to say financially I expect him to foot the bill for our relationship... I think we've moved on from way-back-when.

What I'm grappling with most of all is whether men want us to be 'forward' and tell them we like them, 'make the first move,' if you like, or to hold back and give the guy the chance to be proactive? And what if he doesn't make that move? Then what?

My good friend Alex Ristway, who is a self-proclaimed dating expert, believes it's a matter of assessing each individual situation.

"If you are more uncertain than sure, it's probably best to hang back until you know where you stand," she says.

I tend to over-analyse everything. From the composition of each and every text-message I send, to my shampoo choice in the supermarket. In taking on advice such as that of Alex, I might never make a move, because I might never be sure of where I stand - and what if a friendship is ruined by the mis-reading of the situation?

Perhaps I ought to continue watching Sex and the City until I'm sure where I stand ... or I could take a chance and see where it takes me... or maybe I could just wait 'til the guy makes the first move.

Valentine's Day

Tomorrow is my least favourite day of the year. And it's because I am b-i-t-t-e-r. And I don't pretend that I wouldn't absolutely love Valentine's Day if I had a boyfriend, because I certainly would. But I don't.

It's not that I would want a tacky giant teddy-bear, or a dozen red roses, because I really don't need a lot of money spent on me... I would rather a picnic packed up by my BF, with a bottle of wine and an antipasto platter he'd put together, and we'd spend the day lying on a picnic rug overlooking the harbour somewhere. Or otherwise, I'd love to be able to cook him dinner - something like spaghetti marinara, and we'd spend the evening together listening to good music, drinking nice wine, and enjoying each other's company.

I hate seeing extraordinarily awful Valentines Day cards around this time. I was looking at a few the other day in the newsagents and I almost gagged when I read one that had a picture of a guy on the front of it, and in side it said "Happy Valentines Day, your gift is my stimulus package." Nice, huh. Oh, and who can forget the cheesy "Roses are red, violets are blue" specialties. Yuk.

My problem at present is that I'm kind of disillusioned when it comes to guys that I would actually want to go out with. Sure there are lots of guys whose company I enjoy, but very rarely do I find a boy that really gets me. If I'm honest, I can be a bit self-conscious around guys and feel inadequate, so maybe I should work on feeling more confident about myself... still, I'm sure everyone has their own hang-ups, and when you meet the right person, you don't feel inhibited and self-conscious, you're comfortable to be yourself.

Well, because I don't have my very own boyfriend to cook for or to go picnicking with, I'll just have to settle for watching Definitely, Maybe (my favourite romantic comedy) and watching the dreamy Ryan Reynolds until my very own Prince Charming comes along.

Resemblances

Main Entry: re·sem·blance
Pronunciation: \ri-ˈzem-blən(t)s\
Function: noun
Date: 14th century
1 a : the quality or state of resembling; especially : correspondence in appearance or superficial qualities b : a point of likeness : similarity

The concept of resemblance has been at the forefront of my mind this week. There has been a "doppelganger" week on Facebook, whereby people have made their display pictures a photo of somebody they supposedly resemble. I've been told, more than once, that Nigella Lawson and I have similarities. Sure, we love to cook, and we have brown curly hair, and we both have hour-glass figures, so I guess we might resemble each other in some ways.

I'm currently reading a book titled Social Intelligenec: The New Science of Human Relationships by Dan Goleman. It has taken me quite a long time to get through it - with a multitude of complex ideas - but today I came across something that I found truly charming.

... something rather remarkable tends to happen with couples who live together for decades, finding happiness with each other. Their continual rapport even seems to leave its mark on their faces, which come to resemble each other, apparently a result of the sculpting of facial muscles as they evoke the same emotions over the years. Since each emotion tenses and relaxes a specific set of facial muscles, as partners smile or frown in unison they strengthen the parallel set of muscles. This gradually molds similar ridges, wrinkles and lines, making their faces appear more alike.

Goleman goes on to describe a study where wedding photos and photos from couples 25 years later were compared. Not only had their expressions and faces become more similar, but the more alike their faces had become, the more happy they were in their relationships.

This phenomenon results in partners being able to sculpt desirable patterns in each other. It is known as the "Michelangelo phenomenon".

In a similar way, many dog owners choose a dog that resembles themselves. One would imagine it would occur subconsciously; in my case, my dog has curly hair as do I. A new scientific study states that this is the case, at least this is the case with purebred canines, according to research from the University of California by Nicholas Christenfeld and Michael Roy.

Forty-five dogs and their owners were separately photographed and judges were shown pictures of an owner, that owner's dog, and one other dog, with the task of picking out the true match. The proof of resemblance was that a majority of the purebred dogs and their owners could be identified by the 28 judges called upon to examine the photographs, with the results showing 16 matches out of the 25 purebreds. There was no evidence of resemblance between the mixed breed dogs and their owners.

Given that dogs are a man's best friend, and you often seek out a friend that has similar traits or is like yourself, it is no wonder you might choose to select a dog that looks like you do.

Many times comments have been made about how my friends and I are so similar. We get each other's jokes and seem to speak another language; presumably because no one else can understand us (or at least they don't find our jokes funny). We also sometimes dress exactly the same - or develop the same obsessions - and it's all done without necessarily communicating with each other. We will get together and discover we've become mirror-images of each other, either through our outfits or our passions/ interests. Sometimes it's almost creepy how quickly your own personal identity is matched by someone else's.

In any case, i've enjoyed pondering the concept throughout this past week... look around you and see whether you associate with individuals that share great similarities with you? Has it always been this way?

What a conundrum!

I went out for drinks with my friend Claire and her two sisters and had such a fun time in Manly. We started off at Shark Bar and had a drink - I ordered my Vodka, Lime, Soda and realised in the first gulp i'd been given something that resembled peach schnapps and soda (bleugh) so I quickly had that swapped by a bar tender, who proceeded to drink what I handed back to him. Unfortunately 28-year-old Mollie, who was with us on our night out, forgot to bring her ID, but despite her 28-years, she was not allowed in, and had to catch a bus back to Brookvale to get her ID before her night could properly commence.

Lucy, Claire and I then moved to the Steyne after a quick by-pass through Henry Afrikas (not so impressive). Second drinks issue - the bar tender refused to accept Lucy's money, because it had a slight tear in it - was quickly resolved after the bar tender had five girls ask to speak to the manager because the money was in fact still legal tender.

We were soon joined by a group of four Norwegian guys, one of which was really pretty hot. We began talking with them and I was soon pretty impressed by him. A 30-year-old Civil Engineer who speaks three languages (German, Norwegian and English), plays lots of sport (he surfs, wakeboards, skis, snowboards etc), and has travelled to all but one continent (with highlights being that he was invited into mud huts in Nigeria and partying at Carnivale in Rio De Janeiro). So I was really quite interested after i'd sussed all this out.

Anyhow, we left them and went and danced, and at 3ish in the morning, decided we needed a rest, so Claire and I went and sat back down at a table, we were still at the Steyne at this time. Claire and I started to look through the crowd, checking out which guys were hot and which were not. I began telling her how I still thought the Norwegian guy was my favourite when he came up to me and asked if there was "any room for a Norwegian" to sit next to me. Of course I shifted over, and we began chatting once again.

We talked for about half an hour. I soon discovered he was leaving two days later... so there was almost no chance for us to get to know each other after our night. He kept looking straight into my eyes and sat quite close to me, being genuinely sweet and not at all slimy. He spoke English very well, albeit slightly formally. The other girls then were ready to go, and after he gave me three bands to listen to after we discussed our favourite music, I left him at the table.

What I regret is that we didn't exchange numbers. He had tried sussing out whether I had a boyfriend, and told me he thought i would make a great journalist, because "how do I say this in English... you have a winning personality." For some unknown reason, at the time, I figured if it was meant to be, fate would intervene and we would meet again. Although, given he lives in Norway, I certainly have my doubts. To add further to my problem, we never properly ascertained what each other's names where... although we chatted so easily, it never occurred to us to really find out our names.

Claire said that, when we left, the Norwegian looked really disappointed... perhaps he was just trying to pick me up for a one-night-stand, but he didn't seem like that kind of guy. Not really sure what to do now. I knew, after I met him, that he was really special - I've practically never met anyone I have so quickly thought I would like to be with. But c'est la vie. If you know of a Norwegian 30-year-old Civil Engineer who has recently travelled to Australia and has stayed in Manly, please let me know - it might save fate from intervening.