“Look, I am so…so happy for you guys, but you getting married just reminds me of the fact that I’m not. I’m not even close.”
(Rachel to Monica after being accused of ‘stealing her thunder’ over her engagement to Chandler).
Does this sound familiar??
It certainly did for me a while back.
My beloved fiancé isn’t everyone’s cup of chai.
He’s brazen, he’s audacious, he’s messy and without filter.
He smokes more than he should, eats carbs on top of carbs and could talk an eskimo in to buying ice, he’s that convincing.
He parades around every festival we attend like he owns it, and makes a point of boycotting any pub that dares to sell Strongbow.
You don’t need me to tell you that the human race is in a dangerously vulnerable place right now.
It’s my belief that we’re mainly here due to the global fetishization of what I call a ‘McDonald’s culture’: we’ve become so accustomed to getting our desires and whims met instantly (hello junk food, online shopping and digital porn on command) that we’ve forgotten that in most cases good things take time.
Nowhere does this seem to be more overlooked than when it comes to our love lives.
As the Johnny Cash song goes, love is a burning thing.
(And i’s been known to make a fiery ring on more than one occasion… GAAAAAH I’m so sorry, couldn’t resist. FILTH.)
Love, in the romantic sense, has always been my northern star:
My medicine in equal measures.
In Costa Rica, they have an expression.
This expression itself is incorporated in to everything - from conversational greetings and farewells to every conceivable manner of branding and advertising associated with the country.
The expression is ‘Pura Vida’, which literally means ‘pure’ or ‘simple life’.
One of the most interesting (and random) things I’ve noticed about Costa Rica is the relationship between dogs and their owners:
They seem to have the same dynamic that us Brits have with our cats, letting them come and go from their homes as they please.
When I was younger, I spent around 70% of my waking hours with horses.
My best friend Salena’s parent’s happened to own the stables around the corner from where my family lived, and right by where both Salena and I went to school.
The first time I went to my friend Fleur’s aunt’s home in Devon was five years ago – immediately after a holiday in Beirut where my then-boyfriend Sam had spontaneously decided to get a nose-job.
Devon that year was equal parts wonderful and depressing
Haaaaappy New Year!
Hope you had a super NYE (and aren’t feeling too squiffy if it was a biggie… we’ve all been there).
Now, I have a question for you:
We all know that the 2nd and 3rd of January is the best time to start making New Year resolutions (once the dreaded NYE hangover has started to wear off, of course).
Recently, one of my new love-coaching clients was telling me how much she’s dreading yet another NYE party with no one to kiss at midnight, because - as she put it - she happens to be “the world’s worst flirt”.
I hope you’re having an absolute blinder of a day <3
Just a super quick one from me - because I know you’ll likely be marinating in some much-needed family time (along with heaps of roast potatoes & box upon box of Celebrations).
The experience of university was a pretty mixed bag for me.
Having been part of the ‘cool’ clique at school, I really struggled when I first arrived at Exeter University to discover that the lion’s share of the social power and popularity belonged to the ‘Rahs’:
Those that had been to boarding school, lived in the home counties and had a penchant for pearls and pashminas (i.e: not me).
If the festive season is leaving you feeling less ‘Love, Actually’ and more ‘BAH, HUMBUG’, I’m here to tell you that you certainly ain’t alone.
When I was in my late-twenties, my friend Noo took me to see an energy healer.
We were both quite recently single and trying hard to work through all our ‘stuff’ around romantic relationships to ensure we didn’t keep fucking them up in the future, like we had up till now.
Whilst I’d done a ton of therapy and spiritual coaching by this point (which had proved highly transformative), besides my regular yoga practice, I hadn’t done all that much ‘body work’ before.
Matt was the first boyfriend I ever (knowingly) stole.
When we met during my first year of university, I’d had my own boyfriend back home in London.
However, the long distance was taking its toll, and we’d had a rough time of it as a couple after his dad had passed away after a long and torturous battle with cancer the previous summer.
For the first five years of my career shift in to life and love-coaching, I worked part-time as a tutor and mentor to keep the pennies rolling in whilst I set up shop.
(As I always say, good things take times to grow – especially when it comes to setting up to a heart-centred business).
With a Bachelors degree in English Literature and a Masters in European Classical Acting, I was a good fit for teenage girls doing GCSE’s or A-Levels in English Lit, Classical Civilisation and Theatre Studies.
Three days after I met my boyfriend Joe in a rave in the woods at Wilderness, I found myself eating spaghetti bolognese with his aunt and uncle at their house a few miles down the road from the festival.
I appreciate this was pretty fast moving, as relationship progressions go.
However, having not washed for an entire long weekend – and gotten soaked through in a torrential downpour as we were packing up our tents – I’d be damned if I was going to turn down Joe’s offer of a hot bath and meal within 20 minutes.
When I was in my third and final year of university, I had a very rude romantic awakening.
It was the first time since lower-sixth form that I’d officially been single (even though I’d cheated on the two boyfriends I’d had within that period… a lot).
A year or so in to our relationship, Joe and I were leaving a restaurant near Embankment station in London when I caught sight of a man selling his handwritten poems by the side of the street.
On closer inspection, I realised that this was the same man that my ex-boyfriend (‘Tiger’ in The Inner Fix) had bought a poem from the day we broke up back in the summer of 2012.
That poem - which Tiger had given to me when I left - was called Farewell Blessing.