On the first day of spring where there should be a spring in my step, I've fallen flat.
As readers of this blog are aware (and newbies about to find out) today I had my appointment with a fertility specialist to chat about egg freezing.
I was all gung ho (re-reading my former post I note this sentiment) about taking action to ensure I had my reservation at the baby making table.
Today's appointment was a real eye opener. I didn't spend too long with the specialist because as soon as she quoted the costs ($12 - $13k minimum) for the process, I tuned out making my mind up then and there that if children weren't in my future the natural way - as a current single woman, I wasn't going to test run the science.
Apparently one needs about two rounds of 'egg collection' (across two cycles) to maximise their chances of producing an egg right for fertility. Of course I would have to pump hormones into myself to get more eggs created than usual and for the process to 'harvest' them I would have to go under a general anaesthetic (that part of which I knew). And once the eggs are frozen - it's about an extra $1500 to inseminate with the male's sperm.
This was all getting a bit much.
I could go further into the ins and outs but for want of not getting too technical or tedious - the upshot is this: I'd be looking at about $30K outspend to have a baby from frozen eggs.
Which had me sitting across from the doctor thinking; do I want a kid that badly? And today without a partner in the picture, my gut says no.
In anycase - on the first day of spring, when the sun is shining and nature is set to bloom - my rosy cheeks have paled. Even if I had the money I don't think I would do it.
It just seems too hard.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Saturday, August 20, 2011
The search
We all seem to be searching for something. Obviously it’s age-old and part of the human condition.
There are those searching for a partner for love and/or to begin a family; and there are material collectables many are seeking to acquire - a better home, a car - and the need for a well paid job to achieve it all.
Always searching, searching, searching.
Last night I met a 41 year old woman not dissimilar in looks to Kylie Minogue. One might jump to the conclusion that such a sweet, pretty person might largely be satisfied with her lot. But scratch the surface and I uncovered there was a lot of searching going on inside.
This lady – let’s call her Kylie – wanted to attract the right man in her life and the process she was undertaking to achieve this left me leaning in to hear more. I’ve heard close friends talk like this – but as a relative stranger, Kylie was brave enough to share it with me right off the bat.
She kept a ‘grateful diary’ and would list daily occurrences she was grateful for. Along with the grateful diary, Kylie had prepared a checklist of the qualities she wanted in her future partner. Mixing the two (the grateful diary and her most eligible bachelor checklist) she would read it aloud and in doing so, hoped to manifest both – a grateful life and a wonderful man.
I can only support her that the universe answers this call. Add to that "I'll have what she's having." (When Harry Met Sally)
And me - I shared with Kylie my search for the right place to be with God.
Kylie offered that she was a spiritual person, she too like me had attended a religious style school, but she took a more open approach to God – ie God is any God – not just a Christian one. Of course - I agreed.
My relationship with the church started young and as a school boarder from years 8 – 10 in Adelaide, it was routine to attend church on Sundays. We would kit out in our Sunday best - school uniform, hat and gloves and the School Principal would walk around the dining hall to inspect everyone before we were allowed to board the bus.
Our shoes had to be perfectly polished and hair tied back neatly and if they weren’t – we would be sent back to our rooms to rectify the situation.
When my parents relocated from Alice Springs to Melbourne (and I left boarding school to live with them) my mother, living with cancer, found solace in the church. So every now and then I joined her.
When travelling Europe for the first time, I visited some of the most beautiful churches and remember sitting in one in Brussels feeling a firm sense of peace. It was here – in a church – where I felt closest to God.
So it makes sense that I've continued to step into a church from time to time. But sadly, at 37 years old and single, church attendance doesn’t quite fit.
I know Melbourne’s churches would LOVE to have younger people join their congregation and it’s not an uncommon story dwindling attendance requires a boost in new blood, but church going remains predominantly a blue-rinsed affair.
I’m not seeking to be a ‘happy clapper’ born again Christian, Hillsong devotee, or new-aged Buddhist – all of which do tend to attract a younger demographic. But sometimes I just want to sit in a pew with God. And it frustrates me - hard, wooden seating aside - that I don’t feel I comfortably can.
So perhaps a meditation class will be my happy medium.
I mentioned this to Kylie and again she surprised me. She too had searched for a good meditation class and was able to recommend a place in Caulfield for me to try.
Meditation is not quite going to meet my need to revisit the Brussels' church experience; but neither is going to my local church sitting next to a group of oldies keen to latch onto me on a Sunday. I know community meditation is an experience I’m destined to try.
And there’s one certainty about searching. It never stops.
There are those searching for a partner for love and/or to begin a family; and there are material collectables many are seeking to acquire - a better home, a car - and the need for a well paid job to achieve it all.
Always searching, searching, searching.
Last night I met a 41 year old woman not dissimilar in looks to Kylie Minogue. One might jump to the conclusion that such a sweet, pretty person might largely be satisfied with her lot. But scratch the surface and I uncovered there was a lot of searching going on inside.
This lady – let’s call her Kylie – wanted to attract the right man in her life and the process she was undertaking to achieve this left me leaning in to hear more. I’ve heard close friends talk like this – but as a relative stranger, Kylie was brave enough to share it with me right off the bat.
She kept a ‘grateful diary’ and would list daily occurrences she was grateful for. Along with the grateful diary, Kylie had prepared a checklist of the qualities she wanted in her future partner. Mixing the two (the grateful diary and her most eligible bachelor checklist) she would read it aloud and in doing so, hoped to manifest both – a grateful life and a wonderful man.
I can only support her that the universe answers this call. Add to that "I'll have what she's having." (When Harry Met Sally)
And me - I shared with Kylie my search for the right place to be with God.
Kylie offered that she was a spiritual person, she too like me had attended a religious style school, but she took a more open approach to God – ie God is any God – not just a Christian one. Of course - I agreed.
My relationship with the church started young and as a school boarder from years 8 – 10 in Adelaide, it was routine to attend church on Sundays. We would kit out in our Sunday best - school uniform, hat and gloves and the School Principal would walk around the dining hall to inspect everyone before we were allowed to board the bus.
Our shoes had to be perfectly polished and hair tied back neatly and if they weren’t – we would be sent back to our rooms to rectify the situation.
When my parents relocated from Alice Springs to Melbourne (and I left boarding school to live with them) my mother, living with cancer, found solace in the church. So every now and then I joined her.
When travelling Europe for the first time, I visited some of the most beautiful churches and remember sitting in one in Brussels feeling a firm sense of peace. It was here – in a church – where I felt closest to God.
So it makes sense that I've continued to step into a church from time to time. But sadly, at 37 years old and single, church attendance doesn’t quite fit.
I know Melbourne’s churches would LOVE to have younger people join their congregation and it’s not an uncommon story dwindling attendance requires a boost in new blood, but church going remains predominantly a blue-rinsed affair.
I’m not seeking to be a ‘happy clapper’ born again Christian, Hillsong devotee, or new-aged Buddhist – all of which do tend to attract a younger demographic. But sometimes I just want to sit in a pew with God. And it frustrates me - hard, wooden seating aside - that I don’t feel I comfortably can.
So perhaps a meditation class will be my happy medium.
I mentioned this to Kylie and again she surprised me. She too had searched for a good meditation class and was able to recommend a place in Caulfield for me to try.
Meditation is not quite going to meet my need to revisit the Brussels' church experience; but neither is going to my local church sitting next to a group of oldies keen to latch onto me on a Sunday. I know community meditation is an experience I’m destined to try.
And there’s one certainty about searching. It never stops.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Hair for all seasons
My mother was loathe for me to cut my hair when I was a late teenager/early 20s. She always said to wear it long. I suspect in main because she subscribed to the "over 30 must wear hair shorter" consensus, and was generally at pains to point out the time one could wear their hair long was short.
But she needn't worry about me cutting it or experimenting too madly with colour back then. My locks were always long and blonde - a natural blonde - and when they darkened over time, I kept it light with highlights.
However since then I've kept it long (long after 30!) and seen a few colours rinse through.
Today I'm red.
I feel it suits me at this life stage. I am a Leo afterall (the Lion with its glorious 'red' mane). Strong and fiesty. Defiant.
Isn't that what people think when they see/hear "redhead"? Headstrong and difficult to tame?
I've come into the ease of red after noticing many beautiful women with its shade - naturally or coloured like me.
There's Christina Hendricks (Joan from Mad Men); Miranda Otto; Patricia Clarkson; Scarlett Johansson; Julianne Moore - and my current favourite redhead, Mirielle Enos, (pic attached along with a rather ghostly white and earnest one of me) from the US TV series The Killing (extra kudos here to Mirielle - she's married to 'Cameron' from Ferris Buellers' Day Off).
On the flipside there are some scary sorts who sport the mane - Vivienne Westwood, Sarah Ferguson, Grace Coddington (US Vogue); Rebecca Brooks (News of the World).
It is common knowledge that a woman often changes her hair after something big has happened in her life (and usually bad big!).
I long ago grew tired of being perceived as the gregarious blonde, after one too many personal knocks, this tag no longer fits.
So, I turned my locks to a more brooding brunette...that lasted a year before seeing red.
What I love about my current flame is a redhead is regarded as strong - yes, but not necessarily loud (something I know doesn't have to translate to 'blonde' but I have always equated myself as the loud blonde).
Hey, I don't mind being blonde; but I'm constantly striving to drop the 'loud' and sporting my red almost serves as that traffic light reminder. Stop! It's red. Are you being loud?
I've heard from many men that they're not as attracted to redheads as to blondes or brunettes. But stuff blokes - this colour stays!
And yes, it's not purely coincidental that I have chosen the shade while a single woman (ie no man to turn up his nose).
I'm loving the red but keeping it quiet.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
At what point did I suddenly become a cougar?
My peers may be disappointed in me for saying this - but I disagree with the general consensus (that life gets better with age).
The best time in my life was easily my 20s. I have a younger cousin (23) who I'm always reminding "live it up" this is your 20s - don't worry about how society tells you to live, live how you want and feel as this is your time; it doesn't get better than this!
People who know me and have followed the odd blog entry will understand when I say much has stayed the same in my life as it was then. I'm still in PR; renting in Melbourne, living with my same old, dog; single and no children.
Meanwhile - most of my mates have moved onto the usual phase of 30s' life - marriage and/or coupling + kids + home ownership.
So as you can imagine, why on earth in a society that predominantly equates beauty with youth, would I prefer living the same life I had in my 20s to today - ten years on?
And herein lays a further dilemma. Enter, me - 37 years old...the Cougar.
My new predatory ways were pointed out to me a few weeks ago when a good friend, Aquestra, visited from Sydney. We were having a few aperitifs at Melbourne's Supper Club in Spring Street after seeing some burlesque entertainment at 45 Downstairs in Flinders Lane.
The young waiter (probably about 22 years) inadvertently found himself subjected to my flirting ways and it was only when he took a wide berth from me thereafter, that I looked at Aquestra enquiringly. "You're being a sleazy cougar," she said. "He's scared of you."
I'm not proud to report that incidents of this nature have continued and as recently as Friday night. I ventured into popular nightclub - Boutique (first time mind you - I remember at 25 believing I was too old for nightclubs (!)) and found myself locked in conversation with a gorgeous 30 year old. In between our chats, I was also carving it up on the dance floor with a handsome young man clearly in his 20s.
Back to the 30 year old. There was a moment where I felt a kiss could be reciprocated so I moved in for the kill. Poor guy - he quickly moved his face to avoid meeting my mouth and my lips hit his cheek. It was a stinging reminder. Caroline, these young men - they're not your target market. Leave them to the Lara Bingle's of the world!
When I later caught up with a longtime friend, also single, over coffee we both agreed, even though we might not like it - and might not even feel it - we're older and we can't be hitting on the same men now as we did when we were 27.
Unlike Demi Moore - I'm not a movie star so the likelihood there will be a younger man who wants me as the (much) older woman is I would say as slim as this demographic of man likes his woman.
And nobody likes a sleazy cougar.
The best time in my life was easily my 20s. I have a younger cousin (23) who I'm always reminding "live it up" this is your 20s - don't worry about how society tells you to live, live how you want and feel as this is your time; it doesn't get better than this!
People who know me and have followed the odd blog entry will understand when I say much has stayed the same in my life as it was then. I'm still in PR; renting in Melbourne, living with my same old, dog; single and no children.
Meanwhile - most of my mates have moved onto the usual phase of 30s' life - marriage and/or coupling + kids + home ownership.
So as you can imagine, why on earth in a society that predominantly equates beauty with youth, would I prefer living the same life I had in my 20s to today - ten years on?
And herein lays a further dilemma. Enter, me - 37 years old...the Cougar.
My new predatory ways were pointed out to me a few weeks ago when a good friend, Aquestra, visited from Sydney. We were having a few aperitifs at Melbourne's Supper Club in Spring Street after seeing some burlesque entertainment at 45 Downstairs in Flinders Lane.
The young waiter (probably about 22 years) inadvertently found himself subjected to my flirting ways and it was only when he took a wide berth from me thereafter, that I looked at Aquestra enquiringly. "You're being a sleazy cougar," she said. "He's scared of you."
I'm not proud to report that incidents of this nature have continued and as recently as Friday night. I ventured into popular nightclub - Boutique (first time mind you - I remember at 25 believing I was too old for nightclubs (!)) and found myself locked in conversation with a gorgeous 30 year old. In between our chats, I was also carving it up on the dance floor with a handsome young man clearly in his 20s.
Back to the 30 year old. There was a moment where I felt a kiss could be reciprocated so I moved in for the kill. Poor guy - he quickly moved his face to avoid meeting my mouth and my lips hit his cheek. It was a stinging reminder. Caroline, these young men - they're not your target market. Leave them to the Lara Bingle's of the world!
When I later caught up with a longtime friend, also single, over coffee we both agreed, even though we might not like it - and might not even feel it - we're older and we can't be hitting on the same men now as we did when we were 27.
Unlike Demi Moore - I'm not a movie star so the likelihood there will be a younger man who wants me as the (much) older woman is I would say as slim as this demographic of man likes his woman.
And nobody likes a sleazy cougar.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
I'll take my eggs frozen
Usually I like my eggs poached or scrambled but today I made the hard boiled decision to settle on frozen.
Having just turned 37 and with one of my best mates (and one of the smartest people in the world I know) become pregnant at 38 years old, tell me all the realities of getting pregnant older (ie not so good); has confirmed what I already knew and accelerated my procrastination and fence sitting into action. I have to bite the bullet, throw my pride out the window, accept the confrontation and visit an egg freezer.
Calling up the fertility clinic today confirmed it - at my age, time is of the essence.
The woman on the phone caringly said: "We can't get you in with Dr X for an appointment until November, but mmmm - you're how old? Oh, right - yes, you really shouldn't wait...try these doctors - they are just as good, and you'll be able to get an appointment sooner."
So first day of spring (a nice tie in for fertility) I'll be meeting the specialist about hatching some eggs not for a fry up, but a freeze up.
It's a bit of a pain - yes, and it's not really fair; unquestionably - but better to have my current 37 year old eggs than older should it become my time to make a baby.
You see - I may have won myself that green card (referenced in an earlier blog entry)in the US Diversity Lottery and if my number comes up (I've been randomly selected as one of 100,000 for further processing) I could be relocating to live in the States in about a year's time.
This planning does not coincide too well with meeting a probable partner in Melbourne and/or Sydney; and settling down to begin a family. Yes folks, it would appear I may just end up with a yankee!
While there will hopefully come a time when I meet a suitable bachelor; realistically I may be knocking on 40's birthday door.
So, unfortunately it has to be - this egg freezing business. Not a cheap business either (no pun intended of the chicken 'cheep cheep'). Certainly much dearer than the six dollars I pay for my free range dozen at the markets.
Realistic I am and it helps having some pretty smart friends to remind me that I'll only be hurting myself for not taking action now.
In my basket, the egg comes before the chicken.
Having just turned 37 and with one of my best mates (and one of the smartest people in the world I know) become pregnant at 38 years old, tell me all the realities of getting pregnant older (ie not so good); has confirmed what I already knew and accelerated my procrastination and fence sitting into action. I have to bite the bullet, throw my pride out the window, accept the confrontation and visit an egg freezer.
Calling up the fertility clinic today confirmed it - at my age, time is of the essence.
The woman on the phone caringly said: "We can't get you in with Dr X for an appointment until November, but mmmm - you're how old? Oh, right - yes, you really shouldn't wait...try these doctors - they are just as good, and you'll be able to get an appointment sooner."
So first day of spring (a nice tie in for fertility) I'll be meeting the specialist about hatching some eggs not for a fry up, but a freeze up.
It's a bit of a pain - yes, and it's not really fair; unquestionably - but better to have my current 37 year old eggs than older should it become my time to make a baby.
You see - I may have won myself that green card (referenced in an earlier blog entry)in the US Diversity Lottery and if my number comes up (I've been randomly selected as one of 100,000 for further processing) I could be relocating to live in the States in about a year's time.
This planning does not coincide too well with meeting a probable partner in Melbourne and/or Sydney; and settling down to begin a family. Yes folks, it would appear I may just end up with a yankee!
While there will hopefully come a time when I meet a suitable bachelor; realistically I may be knocking on 40's birthday door.
So, unfortunately it has to be - this egg freezing business. Not a cheap business either (no pun intended of the chicken 'cheep cheep'). Certainly much dearer than the six dollars I pay for my free range dozen at the markets.
Realistic I am and it helps having some pretty smart friends to remind me that I'll only be hurting myself for not taking action now.
In my basket, the egg comes before the chicken.
The world needs yoga
I propose that if everyone in the world did yoga - it would be a much calmer, happier place. Let me explain. Yoga has transformed me. No this is not a blog for preaching - but my wellbeing significantly improved when I took up Ashtanga Yoga. And I've seen yoga's effects on my friends too. I've read about yoga's impact in psychology books sprouting its benefits for calming the nervous system and the mind.
I have drifted in and out of practicing styles all my adult life but settled on a couple of forms that gives you a pretty good workout along with the zen benefits it brings with. Ashtanga and Powerflow. Practice regularly and it will dramatically change your life.
I now work pretty much part time and earn significantly less than if I were working among the rat race - but this way, I can happily fit four yoga classes into the week!
Earning less can of course be difficult, as I do like the finer things in life, and many of my good friends are high earners (and thus it can be a bit annoying visiting their beautiful homes (self-owned), while I continue to rent)...but it is true - 'ego' and acquiring material possessions for the status it brings you becomes less important once you incorporate yoga in your life.
And this is why more of the Western World should practice yoga!
I watch the politicians on TV constantly looking stressed (and more often than not - overweight) and I think - if only they could take a break - do some sun salutations, a few downward dogs - they'd be so much better for it! And clearer thinkers. Calmer. More effective leaders (now there's a thought?!)
But one of the biggest changes that comes from practicing yoga is in the people you meet and are taught by. There are some very inspiring teachers out there. The gorgeous Duncan Peake (pic attached) shared a tit bit of wisdom with us at a workshop recently (he was visiting from Sydney) "you don't get what you want, you get what you are." This rang so loudly in my conscious that I made an immediate pact with myself to review all areas in my life and see what they say about me - who I am. If I didn't like any areas - change required (with healing - wink).
He also gave us such a good workout that once we were laying flat on our backs in shivasana pose at the end for relaxation - it was (and is) the BEST feeling in the world!
So you have to try it. I'm sure most reading already have and are - but there are many more (great for anxiety laden bunnies) who could.
Physically, mentally and spiritually a great yoga class makes you feel better about yourself and carefree about your lot in life. You'll begin to think - right here, right now - I wouldn't want to be anywhere else!
Cos yoga's like that. It sweeps you up during a class and you come out walking on air.
So, I'm off to yoga. Namaste (bowing to you).
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
The ex is getting married
Oh what a night it’s been; I feel like I’ve attended a wake and all the good mates are banding together in support dishing up words of love and support to a woman who is in need! That woman, dear folk, is me.
In essence, it took a junkie to steal my laptop to be able to make the necessary steps to move on. Well, so I think it must have been a junkie – I’m really not sure. That’s semantics. What’s happened is today (through my laptop being stolen yesterday) I learned my immediate ex boyfriend has become engaged. Having said immediate, we did break up nearly two years ago – but I haven’t found love since, despite wishing for it.
How this all happened - I took myself off to see Tree of Life with Brad Pitt yesterday (tight arsed Mondays) but forgot to close my front window. I’ve been opening it to give the place some airing. As we all know from multiple blog posts – I have a 17.5 year old poochie (so smelly breath – poor Walt) so it’s been helpful to let some fresh (?) air in.
So while I’m away, a robber takes his moment to dive in and nab my laptop. Gone. On the laptop are a bunch of photos of my ex with video footage of the beloved Walter. And him – the ex. He was so lovely looking – I would have liked to have kept it – you know, sentimentality – for old times’ sake and to get the footage of Walt...so despite an eight month hiatus of no contact, I sent my ex a text. Along the lines “do you still have it – can I borrow your camera to get that footage? Oh, and by the way, I had a dream your best mate told me you’re married and have had a baby.”
So it takes him almost a day to respond but I get a message back that he no longer has the pics and yes, he’s recently engaged “very happy”.
My ex is 42 years old. He has never been married and yet had a long line of girlfriends, all to my knowledge who would have been up for marriage.
Suffice to say it’s cut me to the core and fortunately a posse of great women friends have come to my aid.
I really believe everything does happen for a reason and even though it doesn’t feel like it now, this is all part of the universe’s way.
What’s particularly difficult however is that my other ex did the same thing. Got married. And nearly three years into the relationship – is still married! Despite me feeling (both) had some serious issues they would need to work through before being able to sustain a long term bond. So this of course, points a finger back at me. And that's not easy!
All I can do is hope I fall in love again. And with a man where it works. As all this heartache hurts. Is there a universal purpose to having me ache like this? There must be –but surely I’ve upped the queue in “time to take care of Caroline”? I can only hope my ticket is called next.
In essence, it took a junkie to steal my laptop to be able to make the necessary steps to move on. Well, so I think it must have been a junkie – I’m really not sure. That’s semantics. What’s happened is today (through my laptop being stolen yesterday) I learned my immediate ex boyfriend has become engaged. Having said immediate, we did break up nearly two years ago – but I haven’t found love since, despite wishing for it.
How this all happened - I took myself off to see Tree of Life with Brad Pitt yesterday (tight arsed Mondays) but forgot to close my front window. I’ve been opening it to give the place some airing. As we all know from multiple blog posts – I have a 17.5 year old poochie (so smelly breath – poor Walt) so it’s been helpful to let some fresh (?) air in.
So while I’m away, a robber takes his moment to dive in and nab my laptop. Gone. On the laptop are a bunch of photos of my ex with video footage of the beloved Walter. And him – the ex. He was so lovely looking – I would have liked to have kept it – you know, sentimentality – for old times’ sake and to get the footage of Walt...so despite an eight month hiatus of no contact, I sent my ex a text. Along the lines “do you still have it – can I borrow your camera to get that footage? Oh, and by the way, I had a dream your best mate told me you’re married and have had a baby.”
So it takes him almost a day to respond but I get a message back that he no longer has the pics and yes, he’s recently engaged “very happy”.
My ex is 42 years old. He has never been married and yet had a long line of girlfriends, all to my knowledge who would have been up for marriage.
Suffice to say it’s cut me to the core and fortunately a posse of great women friends have come to my aid.
I really believe everything does happen for a reason and even though it doesn’t feel like it now, this is all part of the universe’s way.
What’s particularly difficult however is that my other ex did the same thing. Got married. And nearly three years into the relationship – is still married! Despite me feeling (both) had some serious issues they would need to work through before being able to sustain a long term bond. So this of course, points a finger back at me. And that's not easy!
All I can do is hope I fall in love again. And with a man where it works. As all this heartache hurts. Is there a universal purpose to having me ache like this? There must be –but surely I’ve upped the queue in “time to take care of Caroline”? I can only hope my ticket is called next.
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