Today I look like somebody else. Something is going on with my left eye and so I am wearing my silver Gucci specs on my way to the eye clinic. They're making me nauseous. Now I understand the 'where are my glasses?' comedy routine my dad goes through every single day. This is for the birds.
On the upside, my biggest kick of the day so far, is the discovery of my Mums supa dupa juicer. (my mum always has the best gadgets) 3 bags of organic carrots and 2 impromptu apples later, and I am in a juicing frenzy, reaching for the mango, and already picturing myself back at the supermarket buying wheatgrass powder, tangerines, more carrots, potatoes.
Potatoes?
This past Saturday, I took the train to Peterborough for a shoot, in an old burnt out disused air force base. The windows in every cavernous room were smashed in and with one tiny heater and a crew of 11, I've had easier shoots. But it's still all so wonderful to me.
At class today, my amazing yoga teacher, once again blew me away with her messages. Last week was slow, workwise, and although I have done 3 really good test shoots in the last 10 days, and had 2 editorials come out, I do worry some.
She addressed the class, but I feel, spoke to me when she said
"When you are called to persevere, can you persevere for one more breath?"
And you know what? I can and I will. One more breath, then one more, then another, and before long, you are once more, effortlessly breathing.
In all her wisdom, she also said "you have been called to yoga, because you have suffered". I cannot begin to tell you how true that is. When my heart could hold no more sadness and threatened to drown me with its sorrow, yoga turned me back around, and I say this without dramatics, it saved me. If I'd heard those words a year ago, I would've been her case in point
and dissolved into my mat. But now, it makes me feel emotional, but strong.
In the eye clinic waiting room, the crowd has thinned out. 2 eastern European men, formerly quiet, start a conversation. The sound that comes from the older one, is James Earl Jones deep, I move the magazine I brought for entertainment, in front of my face, as I feel the need to laugh suddenly.
They strongly smell of high tar cigarettes and 'man', that musky stale sweat, old man's trousers and testosterone thing. Its nasty.
They laugh out loud and the younger one looks alongside at me, as if to reassure my non comprehension of their language. Little do they know, that without my glasses, I can't really see them, either.
