jamessiimon

[jamessiimon]

The word: Pride

My normal work to life ratio is quite hectic. If I am not travelling to a performance, I am meeting a client in a different country or trying to maintain normal friendships back home in Belgium. But with my recent accident, I have had a longer period in one country and a lot more thinking time, even if the time spent thinking is in a state of medical numbness to try and reduce the pain.

I have recently returned home from a “holiday” with my partner, I have put holiday in quotation marks as it was a sort of a holiday but more of a ‘lets introduce you to my family and friends that I deserted to move to Europe and live my dreams’, sort of trip. It is the sort of trip that people normally only do once in their lifetime, as it is quite far, 17,000km far. Australia is my home country as it is the place that I grew up and where my family live. Normally my return home were for practical reasons, passports or visa applications, with little or no money and when the question of how is life was asked, I was in a state of “I don’t know”, so the only logical answer was “everything is fine”, when actually in reality it was far from “fine”. It was never an easy trip back, as I was always defending my choice to move, fighting my own urges to remain in comfort in Australia, so I would just sit and hope that when I returned back to Europe everything would get better.

So after five years of ups and downs and a massive fight for what I wanted, I finally returned home, this time with my head held up high and a boy that I love (and who loves me back) on my arm, and this time it was a real “holiday”.

I never knew how emotional a “successful” homecoming would be. I think maybe because I never realised how many people were watching; either from behind their computer screens, through the word of mouth from others or through the Facebook page of one of their children that I went to primary school with. And, even though they don’t like or comment on any posts, they are there. Watching, wishing you well and following your life’s journey.

The thing with Facebook and social media is it is a virtual world, so you can make your page within the world seem as glamorous and wonderful as possible through travelling often, restaurant check-ins and filtered pictures. Even if you’re struggling, your page makes it out to the people watching that “everything is ok”, as nobody wants to read continuously, “I don’t have enough time to visit friends”, “I miss home”, “I miss going to the beach” or “I don’t have a house nor enough money to eat”.

It has been 2 years since my last departure, 28 hours in transit and too many alcoholic beverages; the emotions were flowing when we finally reached Melbourne. Within the first three days of being there I had cried so much, more than in the entire time that my partner had seen me cry while were together (poor him). It was a concoction of drinks plus reminiscing on the journey with the people that were there for the ride. Not on the journey with me, they live 17,000km away, but they were there, calling, messaging and/or supporting me and/or my family members that I left. The equation was then solved, with tears the answer, and the defining factor was the over powering feeling of pride.

For me, pride was a dirty word and to be proud of yourself is absolutely disgraceful. I don’t know where this disgust for pride came from? Maybe it was the deadly stare of the nun at religious education. Maybe it was a self-worth issue. Whatever the case, I have pushed that feeling to the box in the pit of my stomach to chill with the secrets of my childhood.

Growing up I found my dream to be on the other side of a very big pond and I was going to throw myself head first into the pond, no matter what. There was no other choice for me and with all the skills I had learnt growing up, it was not my aptitude to swim that was in question just my ability to survive and pursue.

I have done many amazing things within my life, some for a deserving reason, some for a friend’s wish and some because I needed to prove myself to someone and ‘that’ someone was not worthy of the effort. During my quest the fuel that helped me go forward was the thought of hearing a few small words come out of a single persons mouth, “I am proud of you” (I guess this is where the disgust for the word stems but I am no psychologist) and it is not that I haven’t heard this sentence. Many people, more important to me than the singularity, have said these words in the most heart-warming of ways but it just never satisfied my need for him to say it.

When the time came that my feet once again touched Australian soil, so did the day of the anniversary of when I first departed. 5 years, almost to the day itself! I was gone from my home country for 5 years and honestly I have returned a completely different person to the boy that left in pursue of his dream.

For the first couple of years after my first departure, I was trying to find myself and to try and find a way to hear those words I so desperately wanted from him. I used this as a tool, a fuel to my heart’s flame, and when I spoke to people it was burning so brightly, with ‘he’ the subconscious reason.

Through all the ups and down, the finer moments and the moments that almost broke me, that fuel was what I needed to keep me going… so what happens when I finally realised that the fuel I was using had changed? Instead of a hateful, self-destroying desire to hear words from a man that doesn’t even speak to me, I was running on my own ambition, purely on my dreams and aspirations, only for me and, I was succeeding!

To answer the question, a mental and emotional breakdown is what happened. But with this breakdown I was finally able to thank the people whom were actually my true support, the people whom supported my loved ones encouraging them that “it’ll all be ok, he will be ok”; so that when my loved ones spoke to me on Skype they could be strong for me. After all those years of not feeling anything, sitting with these family members and friends that have been there for me for years, I could finally hear and feel those words that they have been telling me all along, “I am proud of you!”

We had a fabulous holiday filled with family, friends and so many different experiences that my partner and I will treasure forever. And this will not be our only trip. Thank you to all that made it so fabulous, really from the bottom of my heart, thank you!

I was an emotional mess (much more than normally) when the plane pushed back away from the gate, departed and finally we were heading home. Maybe it was the feeling of “I don’t know when I’ll see some of these people again?” Or, the fact that I was so inundated with good wishes and the feeling of support from my entire network of family and friends.

I think it was because of one word, pride. I was finally proud of everything that I have achieved. I was going home and for the first time it was my home. I was going to see my friends in Europe. I was coming back to the country I have decided to live in and create my life and life’s career. I can create any opportunity I desire. And, finally have the chance to open my wings and show everyone what I can do!

The first five years were just preparations now, I am ready. I am prepared. Watch me soar!

[jamessiimon]

Can yoU Not Talk...

It is funny how effort can help build a much stronger bond in any sort of relationship but a lack of it allows a realisation of reality. The effort taken to go for a run allows no guilt when consuming your third piece of cake but without the effort, as your taking the first bite of the third piece, guilt will consume your entire body. The effort taken to send an “are you ok” message can put a smile on the receivers face just enough for them to open up about a problem that has been eating at them. Without the message, the problem would’ve become too much and life not worth the struggle.

Or, the extra effort it takes to give time from one’s busy schedule to see a friend that has been gone for an extended period of time. But maybe that chapter of life was too hard to re-read, maybe what was, was. And the few photos are all that remains of the friendship. I can understand not wanting to see a lost friend, ex or “father”. How ever the relationship ends it hurts and leaves a scar in your heart that will either never heal or you find a way to fill the void with other/new friends, drugs/alcohol or both or simply feeling sorry for yourself. Some of these coping methods are completely reasonable and quite normal; others will see your own demise.

Not seeing someone because it hurts or it could hurt is a cop-out. The real fact is that you have some unfinished or unresolved issues that you don’t want to face. Maybe it is not possible because you don’t talk anymore due to a fight, maybe you chose a different life path or maybe you’re just too weak. But how are you supposed to move on from the hurt without some sort of conclusion, even a negative outcome. How can people go through life with questions left unresolved?

Of course there is two sides to a conversation and both sides need to talk to have this resolution. Naturally I have fights that have no end, questions I wish to have asked lost friend and friends I wish I could call again and ask for their advice. I know that life moves forward. I understand that people change, including myself. But would the world not be a better place if we could come to some sort of agreement or a conclusion that both sides could agree with and leave the table content?

I am sick of trying to maintain friendships when the effort is only one sided. I am sick of feeling like the person people use over and over again because they know I will put in all I can, to then be called out as “selfish” or “that I don’t try” when the day comes that I say “no”.

I am sitting at the table waiting for you to make the effort to talk… we have issues we need to resolve. Issues you need to talk with me about but clearly they are issues that you don’t want to talk about. Clearly they are the reason I can no longer call you a friend. Clearly they make you not want to spend time with me. I miss you. Lets talk through whatever I have done for this to have happened, lets talk through the problems you-can’t-face… 

[jamessiimon]

Names hurt more than sticks.

After years of contemplating, I’ve finally taken the risk and gone on medication to solve my acne prone skin, a decision my mother is not fond of… The choice is a difficult one and has not come without periods of long thought and realisation of the side-affects that could occur. But I cannot escape the torment I endure every morning when I see my skin’s reflection and feel that maybe when I see a person with beautiful skin in the mirror, the words that torment me will finally fade away.

Since I was a pubescent teen I have suffered severely with acne. I have tried all sorts of cures, creams, peels, scrubs and even a change in diet, but to no avail. I always found it so amusing that on pretty much every package of “miracle cream” that boasted about being able to “clear your acne in how ever many weeks” was a model with little more than a drawn on beauty spot, that would miraculously disappear with a little spurt of water and a gentle pat of a towel. Too my dismay the creams did little more than waste my money but I always bought a new type as soon as I had given up on the last, hoping that this one would change my appearance.

I first broke out as early as 13 when I had slowed down on my gymnastics training and my body took its opportunity for all the natural changes to start occurring. At 13, this meant that my skin thought it was under attack and sent little white cells in defence, creating “disgusting pimples” and the key to my embarrassment. I was a late arrival to the “becoming a man” party, not actually growing body hair, hardly having a beard and nowhere close to a growth spurt but boy, was I the first speaker at the “bad skin conference”. I may have started there alone but soon other came to join the conversation.

It is humorous now in my mid 20’s, to realise how horrible kids can be, how they have little to know filter and how much hurt you can bottle up inside. I think that one of the main reasons I hated myself was the teasing. Okay, I admit, I was a different child but the words and actions that I, and a select few other peers, endured during so many years of high school was pure abuse. If that kind of behaviour was to happen in a workplace, the victim could report for harassment and there would be severe consequences. In the schoolyard it is a completely dissimilar story. The schools would like you to believe that they do “everything to help prevent bullying and when there is a situation, everything in their power to eradicate the issue”. BULLSHIT! The only thing that schools are eradicating is their responsibilities and reasons not to have thousands of lawsuits or complaints to deal with. But the fault isn’t all on the shoulders of the schools; it also falls into the hands of the victims. As I know too well, it does not matter how much a trusted member of staff asks if “you’re ok” in any form, you’re not going to be the loser that “outs” the bullies because you know what that would entail… more of the same shit from other dickheads.

So why do kids bully other kids? Is it a fault that is passed down from grandparent to parent and eventually filters down through their offspring like some DNA evolutionary prerequisite? Is it that fate, god or whatever higher power needs to teach some kids to put others down and for the less lucky counterpart, put up defences and “grow a thicker skin”. As a not so proud member of the later club, I feel that my mother hit the reason on the head while consoling me in my room, trying to somehow make me feel anything other than worthless. To answer my questions of “why” her reply was “I was different to the other kids and when someone is different, people normally get scared and say horrible things to make them feel stronger”. I still believe that she is close to the real reason, but feel that being different allows you to be an easy target, something you do not want to hear while crying in your mothers arms. People like power. Some people like it so much that they are willing to put others down or even destroy them so that they can hold onto the power. Power means control. No one likes when you’re trying to tell a story and people are distracted or on their phones. But, if you have their full attention then you’re in control and it warms your insides. That warm feeling is power, and can be extremely addictive.

Kids need this confirmation and get it anyway it is possible. Kids have also yet to acquire the “filter” that most adult learn to apply when responding to a difficult question or giving feedback. Kids will tell the truth even if it is deemed “inappropriate” and if they receive any sort of reaction to their comment, will continue to imitate and repeat it until told otherwise. The need for power and the space that a school yard provides the perfect atmosphere for bullying to develop. Most bullies grow out of their abusive character as maturity kicks in, some even grow the balls to apologise for their doings in effort to make their passed actions obsolete or fair. But victims will carry the hurtful comments and put downs throughout their entire life, always in some way having the words affect them. Cuts and bruises heal and finally fade, but the hurt felt leaves an open wound that has forever changed the person.

They say that sticks and stones may break bones but names shall never hurt you. I was called names over a decade ago and I am still hurting…

[jamessiimon]

Money is worth no more than the time you give it.

It has been a while since I have had a moment to put pen to paper and write down some thoughts that are flying around in my head. Maybe it is that I am “too busy” because I “have too much work” or that I am “too lazy” or, maybe it is due to me finally finding some sort of stability within my life that blocks the need of my little voice in my head. The voice that forces me to write down the dark moments of my past that resinate in my mind, so that motivational words or inspirational ideas can be heard as I am obliged to read it back for editing and in turn listen to my own words of advice. This forced application of guidance is highly ironic as it is the only condition I give to a person that has requested my advice/opinion. I will tell you what I think or what I think you should do but “don’t try and tell me what I am about to tell you. I know I am right and it is good advice, but I don’t listen to myself”.

You make time for someone or something. You take precious moments from your day and give it to another, hoping that the result is not wasted time. Time is more valuable than money. Money is paper or plastic notes that we as a society give a worth, and these days, it is just the digits you can see on a computer screen. It is something that some people are born into, is borrowed or has been stolen. Money is earned by working and saved in banks. It is given away as a prize or used to manipulate. It gives a value to everything and we never seem to have enough of it. Money can value a car or a house due to where it is located, can put a price on water, food or even the sun and you must ask the banks for more money to buy more things, that you don’t need and pay back the money with extra costs and with interest on top for borrowing it in the first place. Money can give opportunities, allow people to buy happiness or at least things that make them feel happy for a little while but money can make people do crazy things.

You can spend your hard earned wage on the newest gadgets and most expensive items to then resell them in a bid to try and win more money gambling. You can move to another country, live in a house with 10 others, get pregnant to reap the rewards of the high quality healthcare and a monthly governmental allowance that you and the other 10 people you live with also receive. To then live in your little community with your own rules and beliefs and not really want to integrate into your new country, shutting out anything that is not like your home country and having the rest of the tax paying population deem “their kind” (you and anyone like you) the scum or leeches/parasites of society.

You can also have nice money as you leave university into a nice job that pays a nice monthly wage so that you can rent a nice apartment in a nice neighbourhood and your nice friends take you out and you meet, what you think to be, a nice boy who shows you a nice time and new experiences. You spend more and more time with this nice boy and your friends eventually warn you that he is not so nice but you have fallen for him. You are stuck with your new experiences every weekend, spending your nice wage, not going to your nice job and your nice friends are done with trying to help you as they are sick of all the hurt he brings to you. Your nice boy then continues to hurt you but you don’t see he is poison as you’re blinded by your love for him. You fall deeper and deeper, shutting out everyone from your nice life who try and make you realise that you’re making a mistake as they “cannot see how much he loves you”, which is true he doesn’t love you, but you cannot see it as you have convince yourself that you don’t believe it. He ends up running from the police and you help him by hiding him in your nice apartment that you have to move out of as you lost your nice job. To make some money you take his “new experiences” and try to sell them. He is caught and you are stuck with nothing from your nice life, trying to sell “new experiences” to the next sucker as you hide from the cops. You had a chance of “normal society” but you chose another path and lucked out.

We as a “normal society” hold the value and need of money high up on a giant pedestal of utmost importance. If you don’t have a house, with the newest things, quality furniture, a top model car, the ability to go out and drink expensive wine in exclusive clubs than you are poor and society looks down on poor people. Time on the other hand is free and anyone can have it no matter what race, gender, sexuality they are or the place they live, everyone has 24 hours in a day and 365 and ¼ days in a year to use however they feel. You may use your time for good or bad, parties, relaxation, finding yourself, helping others, watching TV or reading a book. You may have time to ride a bike or save time by taking the car, take time to see a friend or catch up on work. You may even spend your time writing a blog in hope that some people may take some of their time reading it. Time is always spent and you can never save it, there is no such thing as a time bank, no putting it away for a rainy day or hiding it under the mattress. We all have time and spend it no matter what, it is always coming and going, continuously.

Every task, every chore, even free time is spent whether you want it to be or not. For each and every obligation we must give it time and therefore a worth based on how much of our 24 hours the task going to take from us. Some tasks are a requirement or priority and others are done in leisure time. No matter whether we are forced or chose to perform a task, time is always spent. For instance, in the morning you have certain tasks that you normally complete before having to be at work. There are differences between everyone but let say you have to work out (30min), shower (10min), make yourself up (doing your hair, deodorant, make up etc. 5-10min), dress yourself (2-10min depending on whether you selected then clothes for the day last night), breakfast (5-15min depending on coffee, what you eat, if you watch the news etc.), brush your teeth (3min) and pack a lunch (5min).

In total it normally takes you an hour to and an hour and a half to get yourself ready, at a comfortable pace and calmly. But today you have over slept and only have 15min before you’re late for an important meeting that you cannot delay. So you have to prioritise your morning, coffee on before shower and that is breakfast, you brush your teeth and spray extra deodorant and that is shower done, you don’t have time for your workout or to see the news and you’ll have to make yourself up in the car, bus or train. For clothing as you have not prepared yourself you grab whatever is free and closest out of your closet and throw it on. It doesn’t really match but you don’t have time. You have to buy lunch and junk food throughout the day as you haven’t had a good enough breakfast and feel bad about your diet that you didn’t work out, promising yourself that you’ll do it after work which you already know is a lie as you will be too tired. In all it is a terrible start to the day and for the rest of the day you probably will feel rushed and not clean but remember that you can do it all again better tomorrow, you just need to give yourself time.

Take your time. Treasure it, because it is not always going to be there. No one knows what tomorrow brings. A person can be in your life one moment and gone the next and all you have to remember them by is the time spent with one another. Give time to the things you find important, your friends and family, your work or hobbies, time to better yourself or help better someone else. Cook for someone even if you’re a terrible cook, sit together and laugh over the past or plan for the future. Effort should never affect time spent; if you like to do something never let the effort of doing it affect you. Just do it. Make time to go on a holiday, even if it is to walk in a park or swim in the sea, just a moment to escape.

Time doesn’t ask money. Time is always there, ticking away. You have 24 hours in a day spend it wisely.

[jamessiimon]

“Everything is fine…”

Why do people hold onto something that is destroying them? Why can people be so blinded by love or what they presume to be love? Why does it take so long for people to realise that the thing they hold onto so dearly is the poison that is killing them? The hard realisation is that this poison feels so good.

There are many “poisons” within ones life; alcohol, drugs, gambling, sex, lies or even a certain person can all be considered poisonous. We can normally enjoy these poisons sparingly with the little voice inside our head telling you “you shouldn’t be doing this” but that is the exciting, adrenaline producing moment and the main reason for our want to have it, the need of the poison.

But when the poison seeps into the entirety of your life, filling every crack, bump or dint with that good feeling and you are so drunk from the ecstasy that it creates. You become addicted to it. It’s slowly destroying you and you don’t want to let it go, you bluntly refuse too. Why do you lie that “everything is fine”? Why do you continue to let the poison affect you? Why do you forgive it? It is hurting you and you’re letting it!

As friends or family we are there to pick up the pieces, we are ‘a shoulder to cry on’ and the stern words that we hope sticks onto something within you mind before it flies out through your other ear. It hurts to watch you continue like this. How many times must we tell you that its hurting you? What will it take before you give it up? We know that you understand it is killing you. We know how hard it will be for you to let it go. We want the best for you. We are here for you. We love you. But you have to try. You have to try and leave it. You have to try to not want it. You have to try for yourself, your health and your life. But we know that without a drastic change or want, you will go back to the feeling, back to your poison.

We as a society, as colleagues, as friends and family are also to blame. We will allow someone to let their poison consume their life, we permit them to fall off the radar, have them lose everything because we are naïve and scared. Naïve to the fact that there is an issue, that they have a problem. Naïve to the severity of their struggle, as it is better off behind closed doors or under the rug. We are scared that it will become in turn our issue, our responsibility. We are scared that in saying something we might offend or even lose a friend… you’re going to lose a friend in one way or another if you don’t do something.

Speak up if you think something is not correct. Ask if everything is all right. Make it your issue to help. Help your friend get rid of their poison and take back their life. They may have lost their path or way in life, but you can be the one to help pull them back, help to save them!

It is quite easy to suffer in silence, to say nothing and hope that you get better. I should know I have been lost before. I was so convinced that what had happened and was happening to me was normality. Even when I finally could admit to people, my friends and family and admit to myself that it was wrong, I was called out as a liar. I was hurting and begging for help to the people I considered my friends but they just walked on by.

Years passed and I didn’t know who I was, so I went looking. I tried looking in the bottom of bottles, with all-weekend benders that turned into a week long bender, in guys that I met briefly at the club or online and we fucked so that maybe I would feel like me again, but I have never known who I was. Who I thought it was turned out to be a lie and a fraud, something created by someone else’s hate, envy and jealousy.

I found myself. I found who I am. It has taken years for me to find me and even longer to accept it. I have celebrated the highest of highs and still find myself fighting the lowest of lows. I have found a job that I love, an adventure to keep me excited, friends that accept and love me for the fucked up person I am. I have family back home that have allowed me to follow my search, live my dream and finally be happy for the person I am. I could look back at everything that has happened and let the dark clouds roll on in and feel sorry for myself, and it happens sometimes on a bad day. And it’s ok for me to feel like that, it did suck but that is why they invented chocolate, sad/Disney movies and comfortable beds with big blankets.

What happened in my life has made me the person I am today. I was so ready to give in, let my poison consume me and was content in letting it drown me. FUCK THAT SHIT. I am so grateful to the people that made my issues theirs, the people that looked out for my wellbeing, kept me on life’s tracks and keep me in the right direction. Remember; life is there to be lived. It’s full of ups and downs, the hard times that you grow from and the best times that become memories. Don’t let life slip away because of a poison you cannot leave, life deserves more than that and so do you.

[jamessiimon]

I told you so, but you don’t listen.

Advice is such an odd human phenomenon. We take another’s situation, apply our own knowledge from our past experiences with consideration of the outcome of our decisions and give back information on how we feel best to approach the situation allowing our opinion to saturate the feedback. The issue isn’t that we are bad at giving advice, as most of us are happy for our “2 cents” to be heard even if it leads to a less desired result. It is not even that we only really listen to the advice of a select few people within our lives and even that only takes affect after multiple times being told the same information. The real issue is that the advice we give to others is the advice we disregard the most.

I am the first person to have a generally strong opinion about any situation or topic and I was going to tell you my opinion if you wanted to hear it or not, until I was told to wait for someone to ask my opinion, not just say it. I am a brutally honest person and will tell you as it is with no “sugar coating” to soften the blow; if you need to hear it then you don’t need any bullshit to cover the truth. I am also a person that many come to for advice. Maybe it is because of my honesty or maybe it’s due to me having empathy, the ability to put you in the place of another and feel their emotions. This allows me to create the scenario and place myself in it, imagine what I would do in their position and give a personal opinion with the advice of how I would handle the situation.

But my advice comes with a pre-clause or disclosure; “don’t try and use my own advice on me”. It is not that it is bad advice normally it is the exact information you don’t want to hear but know that it is correct. It is just that I also know it is good advice and I should be following my own words. This disclosure allows me to give you my opinion without you using it against me later on.

The other issue with advice is that it’s only important when someone you respect and listen to gives it. Having a complete stranger on the train tell you “your choice of friends is appalling and you should better yourself with a new group” does not have the same affect as if your person of confidence aka your mother (if you’re close with your mother) said it. But you would listen to the person on the train if they “liked what you were wearing and think ‘that’ colour suits you”. So why is it that we are more inclined to listen to advice or an opinion that is positive and let the negative or constructive advice slip through? Is it because we only want to feel good about ourselves, and a constructive comment or piece of advice can ruin our day or perception of ones self?

Constructive advice is like a disgusting tasting pill of medicine that is almost impossible to swallow but you need to take it for it to work and make you feel better. This pill is normally shoved down our throat out beloved, because they love you, they point out a major flaw or fault within ourselves that we know is prominent but chose to ignore.

Weight gain, excessive consumption of alcohol, drug use, depression and abuse are all issues that we as a society and as individuals choose to sweep under the rug and hope that they disappear. We have become so accustomed to just not talk or deal with these situations that are harming to someone or completely destroying a life until their life is almost gone. Why?

Why is it that we see addiction as a weakness or problem and not the cry of unhappiness? Why when someone subtly asks for help to escape an abusive hellhole do we look away from the issue and tell him or her that “it’ll be alright”? Why is it that when someone is extremely overweight and slowly killing themselves by gorging on junk foods to the point that their body is incapable of holding itself up, they get offended if you try to encourage them to lose weight and accuse you of calling them ‘fat’? Why is it that we don’t listen to the experiences of those from yesteryear and adapt their advice to today’s current situation? Why is it ok for people with certain beliefs to dictate who can love who? Why does ones colour of skin gives them more rights than that of another with a different skin colour? Why don’t government officials hear the opinion of their entire population rather than just those of whom fill their wallets? Why don’t we listen to ourselves?

I think that the last question is one of most importance. This is a question that we should all be asking ourselves and when we decide to do something new or are confronted with a situation, we should all take a moment and hear our inner thoughts. Our own wants and aspirations are a major key in unlocking your happiness. Hearing these needs, adhering to them, applying them to daily life and taking actions towards achieving them is what you want. Once you’re on your way towards these goals you will find your happiness on the journey, a sort of ease when it comes to the work needed to achieve them and motivation to pursue no matter the problem or anything that inhibits you and all of these are the best indications that you are doing something you find right, for you. These wants, needs and aspirations create the advice that you want to follow and don’t be scared if this leads you away from what others wanted of you. Your happiness should never be in any other hands but your own!

I hope that with reading this you listen to all kinds of advice as it screams loudly from so many different places. Your parent’s, friend’s and persons of confidence’s advice are the easiest to hear as you trust them, listen to them and they are wanting the best of you. But it’s the advice from places you don’t expect that I hope you can hear as life gives you clues and signs in unexpected ways. It maybe a child or a stranger that changes your thoughts, it can also come from reading a book or visiting a museum, but it is normally something you are ignoring. Look and listen for these clues, take the advice from others and create your own thoughts, but most of all listen to you, as it is only you that know what you want.

[jamessiimon]

NICA.

My experience in circus school started in 2008, with a two-week “work experience” period, as when I was sixteen I attended Cirque Du Soleil's show 'Quidam' and immediately realised that I could apply my gymnastic skills towards a plausible career. I researched how to make this a reality and after successfully completing VCE was accepted into NICA in 2010.

Our first day we were lined up in the order highest entry score to the lowest. This was a little confronting, as my name was the first to be called meaning I had past the exam on top. We then were sectioned off into four different teams depending on your score or “level” of the basics. NICA has a funny way of always putting the best coaches with the best students making them improve and leaving the less gifted students with the less qualified teachers allowing for a very small improvement. I am not complaining, I was not spending almost $10,000 a year to improve others; I was there to learn from the best, to become the best I could. It just shocked me when it came to examinations that they were surprised that the good got better, but the not so good got worse.

First year was easy, to say the least. The first three months in the circus training we did “conditioning training”, which included strength, handstand basics, tumbling basics and flexibility in the morning and in the afternoon (depending on the day) two dance classes (contemporary or ballet) and three theory classes (anatomy, physiology or psychology) per week. As I had trained over 35 hours in gymnastics from the age of 5, this level of training and intensity was: medium. Now, I get that as an institute you take in a wide range of students with many different backgrounds and NICA did many efforts to help with the differences; split basic groups, separate dance groups and open training with the other years (for advance students) but with a class of 28 or so, it still isn’t the intense, small class training I was expecting.

After the first three months, we then had the opportunity for three months to “shop” around and decide what specialties suited our body types, what specialties we liked and what specialties the coaches thought was appropriate for each student. This was a fabulous time, trying different and unusual apparatuses, pushing your body and your capacities and most of all feeling that you are moving closer to the goal of becoming a professional circus performer.

At NICA, you can have two main specialties and one group specialty, but the group specialties were limited to only three choices chosen by the staff, our choices; Icarian Games, Skipping or Teeterboard. A small group of us during the “shopping” period were very keen on pursuing flying trapeze and put a formal appeal to the staff to allow us to do this as a group specialty. We had the coach, we were committed to even out of normal hours training and to signing a contract within the team that we would finish the year together no matter what. It was denied and so my specialties included; handstands, tumbling tight wire and teeterboard.

The last six months of first year training were actually some of the best; new skills, exploration, improvement, I really felt as though I was blossoming and I was receiving the right sort of attention. I was able to hold multiple one-arms in handstands, due to my gymnastics background I excelled in basics and teeterboard but my biggest and most impressive apparatus was the tight wire. By the end of first year I was able to walk, run, perform multiple jumps and execute a front sault and backflip unassisted.

At the end of my first year I was presented the NICA Achievement Award. This is normally given to the most outstanding second year student who displayed great potential, it is a scholarship to subsidise third year tuition fees, and I was further honoured by winning it again my second year.

Second year was by far one of the hardest years, as it sort of went nowhere. We had our first full scale show which was a great experience into the different elements that go into creating a performance and of cause if you pushed yourself and trained hard you saw improvement, we had harder dance classes and different theory classes but you were sort of the forgotten year. By the end of the year, teeterboard was no more and I was ready to move to Canada to attend the Montreal circus school and then walked in our director of the third year group ensemble. She auditioned us all before second year ended to define parts and assigned different specialties to some of us, something challenging and motivation to stay.

My best friend and I were in the small group of selected students to perform a different specialty, she then went further to tell us that we could design, create and execute the act we wanted. This was an experience that (I believe) is only possible for students of an institute and I am so grateful for this. I was also told 8 weeks from premiere night that I would need to learn and have an act with an aerial net. The stress of two new apparatuses and my own specialties was exactly what I needed to keep me busy and working hard.

Training was not without its fight. My coach and I didn’t quite see eye to eye and so would have training sessions in silence. He wanted me to do a more traditional act and I wanted to explore the tumbling on and off a lower wire. He would only talk with me if I had achieved something incredible, which happened a few times, when I did a back sault unassisted, when I completed an aerial walkover (walkover without hands) on the wire and when I completed a back flip-back sault combination (in lines) on the wire.

My favourite moment was when I ask a friend “what is the most craziest tumble you would not think to see on a wire” and he responded with “an Arabian (back half twist front sault)”. This was on a Friday afternoon and I said, “I’ll train the preparations today and Monday ill do it”. Monday training had arrived and within the first 5 minutes my coach had left the training so I called over my friend and three attempts in completed the Arabian. My coach who was watching from above in his office ran down, hugged me and begged me to send him the video, as he thinks I could have been the first to perform this.

My end of year showcase piece was a tribute to my past, my family and a message to myself to “never give up”. I performed it on the tight wire as I thought that in the future I would not have the chance to perform it as easily as in the institute.

In my final year I participated in The Heath Ledger Young Artist Oral History Project for the National Film and Sound Archives. This entailed interviewing the most outstanding male and female students of the graduating year from each major art institute in Australia in 2012.

After graduating, I was invited to participate in the NICA cast for their first representation at the largest international circus festival, Cirque de Demain in Paris, France. I remained in Paris for three months networking within my industry, attending numerous circus performances and visiting art institutions. This resulted in obtaining a position as an acrobat for the crossover Belgian circus company. Performing for two seasons with the company, I have now left that company becoming associate within On Stage Events, performing my own acts internationally and created with my team our own circus cross live music performance “Fillage” by Sur Mesure.

[jamessiimon]

Institutes: a world that is safe but a world of its own.

What I think circus schools lack when it comes to preparing their students and skill taught for the circus world is communication, public relations (promotion) and sales. I am a NICA (Melbourne, Australia) graduate and know many graduates from ESAC (Brussels, Belgium), I believe there a many negatives to the institutional systems for circus artists but through my own experiences and seeing the other graduates progress a few key issues are; there is a massive lack of knowledge of how to communicate with potential clients, a “fear” of promotion and sales of an act, but most of all a complete lack in the skill of creating opportunities for oneself.

I believe institutes are slowly killing the circus world.

Students are pumped into the circus world in the same way farmers produce cattle and poultry for the slaughterhouse, with one subtle difference; there is a demand for the supply of animals. The circus world is so small and is quickly being filled to the point of explosion; this has a knock on affect for everyone in this profession. There are many more wage disputes as newcomers perform for almost nothing trying to get work, which means that many professional and established performers are being considered “too expensive” and the work is given to performers willing to work for peanuts, leaving the image of circus in tatters.

During my time at NICA, I saw the class size double. When I was there for work experience in 2008, the class size was between 15-18 students. When I started my first year in 2010 my class size was almost 28. The graduating year now is somewhere close to 40! This puts strain on trainers and medical staff for what, the extra income from the students? The once one-on-one training is now become a group of 3 or even 5 per one trainer. How can you produce high quality acts/performers when you have to focus on 4 or 5 students, every hour for 6 hours a day!

When finishing NICA, I (was lucky) to graduate with three specialties on paper and another two due to a artistic director wanting to push my limits. When I found out that other institutes around the world only produce students with one specialty, I was a little confused. Ok, it means that they have had the chance to research in depth their apparatus’ and explore options of creation but clients these days want diverse and multi-skilled full performances and/or performers with more then one specialty. If you do not produce a world class act in your graduating year, with your one specialty, you will find it hard to prosper as developed companies are looking for multi-talented performers.

In an institute there is a somewhat “safe” atmosphere created for the growth of performers. You can have the space to create, take risks and find yourself, which is an amazing thing but there has to be a ground point that pulls you back to earth. Having an act that takes six different technical people to set up with fire, a cat and the requirements of aerial space is nice, if it is an amazing act that will be picked up by a casino or cirque du soleil. I am not saying don’t reach for the stars, its just sometimes a practical mindset or plan B can allow you to not just be a graduate but become a professional artist. Clients don’t usually have budgets for acts like this and more knowledge of this could have gone a long way for some of my classmates.

Being in Australia, you have only a few options on surviving the first years of leaving the safety bubble that is the institutes’ four walls. Be one of the best in your graduating year and get a contract with a developed company either in Australia or internationally, have an act that is suited to the corporate world or have the skills (and balls) to pursue your own company either in Australia or internationally (at a huge risk).

Getting into an already developed company means you need to be on top of the audition dates, have appropriate video footage and be talented in multiple areas. This is all achievable with hard work and persistence, something a lot of the middle to lower level graduates lack. I am not saying this is the fault of the institutes; it is partly the willingness of the student but the institute could pass on more information and knowledge to its students. Information about auditions and what to expect, creating a good promotional footage not only of an act but to showcase the student as a multi-talented performer and give them more of an insight into funding, space hire, creative processes and other markets internationally would be handy to the graduating class.

Being able to connect and stay connected to potential and previous clients is a skill that I have had to obtain from experience, a completely normal practise. But the first time I emailed or even phoned with a client I didn’t know what to say and was totally bamboozled. Again, I understand that you learn more when you are driving within the first hour off your learners permit then you do during the time you are learning to drive, but to jump into the deep end, as a graduated “professional”, is not what I consider good practise.

It takes a special sort of person to be able to create opportunities for themselves. Having a strong motivation, strong ideas and not being scared to ask questions are all factors that, I believe, are seen to be great help. People within this industry, especially those who have now ceased performing, want to help and teach the younger generations. Support from these people is a key factor to my success in Europe and being able to remain here. This is something that cannot be taught, it has to be felt, and you have to have some luck on your side.

There are many positives to institutes. I think that opinions will be different depending on what school you went to, what your training was before and where you want to take your career. We all have to learn from one another, grow and help others to grow and the starting point is schooling. I am not saying I have the answer to the issues that I have spoken about but for me, having other people to learn from and learn what mistakes they made so that I do not copy them, is a vital necessity, you just have to be willing to learn and never stop.

[jamessiimon]

Unite.

I watched your love fade to grey,

And with those faithful steps, you walked away.

How could you leave them all alone and there.

Pack your things, with no care.

You left them with nothing more,

You left them filled with despair and poor.

No matter who or what the choice,

We all should hold true to our voice.

As she stubbled, begged and plea,

You kicked the dust and left gracefully.

But in your heart, a want to be.

More than just the enemy.

Hey you, EU, the words what we spill.

In hope that they may change the bill.

Even if we think we’re right,

Its time for us to finally unite.

Rich, poor, black, white.

I have watched the love slowly fade to grey.

Different style, not the same

Those faithful steps and they walked away.

Once there and now gone

You left them there with nothing more.

Black dust, broken dreams

A social mess with bursting seams

Educated, smart and secure

Now just left despair and poor

Packed things, no care

How could they just leave them there?

Hey you, EU, the words that we will spill,

In hope that they might listen, in hope they change the bill.

Even if we think they’re wrong, and what we say is right,

Together we must listen, together we must unite

[jamessiimon]

Nabbit, Boof or Mushy, Madz or Moo. You’re still Jack and Mady to me.

With my decision to leave my home country to pursue my career came an enormous amount of emotions. Excitement for the adventure, nervousness for the unknown, confidence and courage even if it was faked and of course sadness, remorse and loneliness as I left everything to find my everything. But these were just my emotions.

When I first said my goodbyes and crossed into the unknown territory of the international departure lounge, I found myself in a tsunami of emotions, my own emotions and it was not until I returned months later that I understood my decision affected more than just me, but also my close friends, family and colleagues and to a degree that I didn’t even realise.

I have a very close bond with my family. My brother, sister and I (or I should say me and either one of them) rarely fought, we were always together and with the signatures on the divorce certificate of our parent they became more than just my bro and sis. It was so eloquently put by my Nonno (grandfather) “you are now the man of the house and they are now your responsibility. Your brother, your sister but most of all your mother” and from that day as he declared they were my, responsibility.

We grew up in a crazy family of five in the south-eastern suburbs of Melbourne, Australia. My brother and I were always considered twins from people even though we had eighteen months difference in age; we were the same height, were about the same size, wore the same clothes and did everything together. When I was five my parents enrolled me into Auskick, just as many four-year-old children are. Auskick is the Saturday morning activity for kids to practise and learn the rules of AFL, Australian Football League. Four year old me was not very interested in football but my two an a half year old brother was crazy about it, pity you had to be turning five within the year to enrol. So on the second Saturday of April, a few days after my brothers third birthday the family all go to the football ground to see my first day at Auskick. Two things happened that day; one, my parents realised that their son maybe gay and two, my brother got a birthday present he was obsessed by. Five year old me instead of wanting to kick and catch the odd shaped ball and tackle the other children to the ground for it was too busy doing cartwheels and making daisy chains. Never the less the next Saturday morning the person the coach thought was Simon looked slightly different and went from a distracted pansy to a focussed participant. For two years “Simon” was a eager player that showed some potential, until he disappeared and his younger brother came along who looked very similar if not identical.

As we were so close we did everything together, we were hardly inside, always on our BMXs riding through the mountains or to the lake or anywhere we imagined to go. The only rule, be back before dark, a feat that brought on more stress than the final exams at school. I remember one time being at the park hitting golf balls around trying to see who could hit them the furthest and most accurate. I thought at one moment that he had hit me with one of his balls and turned around to find him behind with his ball in hand, again and again we were hit. Turns out it was a freak hail storm that destroyed houses and cars, and there we were in singlets and short trying to not be knocked out in the middle of the park. He was the brawn and I the brains and we were always up to something. We used our motorbike like a boat and ‘ski” behind it in the grass destroying the brand new jeans that mother had just purchased, try to spear on another with a length of electrical pipe while riding home on our bikes or build ramps that were technically not safe to jump with scooters, bike or toy car.

All of these ‘adventures’ came with a risk of injury, but that was just part of it. We used to tell our parents while they towed us on the biscuit behind that boat (its like a inflatable doughnut but flat like a mattress) to try their hardest to throw us off. One time with a freak wave from another boat my cousin, brother and I were thrown 2-3m in the air, I was catapulted so high that I had a moment to look at my cousin who was higher than me trying to swim in the open air. As I descended I landed on my brother and we broke the towrope as he thought he had broken his arm. There was also the time that while playing in the long grass in the spare lot next to our house my brother decided that his entry would consist of a belly flop. Little to his knowledge the builders of our extension had dumped their extra concrete in the lot. Nine stitches and a knee flap of skin exposing his patella later gave my brother the life lesson of look before you leap.

My brother is as stubborn as my mother so much so that if he wants to do something he will. No matter the danger or how many warnings from other people he may hear, it is in one ear and out of the other as he hurdles towards his goal. This stubbornness lead to a scooter accident causing him a broken arm, no bother to my brother as it turns out, it could be used in cricket to create a foul from the bowler and extra points (I don’t know the reason) and this only surfaced after the third time in a month my mother returned to the hospital to replace his cast. This stubbornness also sent him to the emergency department for reconstructive surgery to his skull. My brother and I were taking it in turns to shower (as you do when you’re young) while my mother got our two-year-old sister ready for bed. He was in the shower and I, waiting for my turn to hop in, was walking along the baths edge. He finished showering and with a “what ever you can do I can do better” attitude. He also walked along the side of the bath the only difference being that I was dry while doing it. He slips, hits his head on the porcelain soap holder, cracking his skull causing a 5 cm hole and severing a main artery. I have never seen so much blood and have never screamed so loud for help!

My sister was also stubborn and with an attitude of “I don’t need to listen as I know everything”. This attitude and two older brothers allowed her to have experienced life in a “keep up or don’t play” way. After not listening to me and my cousins warnings of the monkey bars being slippery as it was wet, she fell and broke her arm, which she was not allowed to tell mum as we were worried to get in trouble and it was her fault. Three hours later we told them what had happened and she went to hospital. She has been accidently hit with basketballs, golf clubs, cricket bat, clumps of grass with dirt attached and bikes due to her inability to listen. She has thrown her shoes into creeks, completely fallen into rivers and has been used as a human umbrella to stop my brother and I becoming wet in a downpour of rain. She has rode her bike through puddles that were over a metre deep, has sun stroke almost every summer that I can remember and is as blonde as barbie. But none of this will change the fact that she is our younger sister.

One of the hardest and scariest things that I have had to say to them is that “I am gay”. I was not so nervous to tell my mother and stepfather, as I knew their reaction would be a supportive one and my sister was excited to go shopping with her gay brother. My brother on the other hand frightened me so much that it took me two days after telling the other members of the family to build the courage to tell him. He was playing video games in his room with his girlfriend laying next to him as I walked in asking him to talk about something.

“yeah, yeah, after this round”

“no I really need to tell you something”

“yeah, ok, wait!”

then his girlfriend (at the time) got up and turns off the TV, “your brother needs to talk with you”

“what?”

And I am standing in the doorway thinking I can just say nothing and run away…

“I have met someone and I kind of like them… But that someone is not a girl”

I paused for a slight moment to remember all the good times that we have had together before the words left my mouth just in case it changed everything…

“Jack, I am gay”

I shut my eyes as its always less scary when your eyes are shut…

“But you’re still my brother aren’t you? And nothing changes between us?”

“no of course not”

“Than why did you have to turn off the game? It is live player and you cannot pause it!”

My mother is my rock as I am hers. She is a lady that will and has always given everything to her kids even if she couldn’t afford to, much of this going unnoticed by many but not me, I know it mother. She has been through a lot in her life and is always head held high and strong no matter the life challenge. But let me shy away from the bad moments and remember the better. The time that she nominated herself to be guardian of a group of my friends in primary school during a trip to the zoo leaving the kids to run wild in the walk through bird cage as she was afraid of birds. I think we were there for 30mins until another group came and the guardian could collect all the children and my mother to walk through the cage. She has taught me the importance of respect, to drive, to believe in myself, how to overcome any situation and the skill of eating chicken nuggets with dipping sauce while driving a manual 4WD as she sees it as a “handy life” skill. She taught me the way to create the perfect cock-sucking cowboy shot and after 11 rounds how to draw the Olympic rings. We have had long chats with red wine leading to a surprise Ab-Circle pro to be delivered two weeks later, we have shopped until we couldn’t walk anymore, have been to a cigar lounge to sample whisky (my brothers idea) and ran out of a dodgy taxi without paying. She has raised three amazing children and I am proud to call her mother.

When I was 16 going on 17 a special man walked into my mother’s world and fixed something that now will remain forever his. This man allowed me to take back apart of my adolescence he took some of my responsibility of supporting my family and with this took a part of the weight that was on my shoulders. I was for a long time unable to accept this as it was not his responsibility but he ensured me that he meant no harm and by doing so allowed me to be an actual 17 year old again. He walked into a broken family filled with hormonal teenagers and was “not going to leave no matter the situation as he loved my mother”. Walking her down the aisle to the man that has her heart, words cannot describe that feeling.

My family has been through a lot but throughout everything the only thing we have remained is a strong entity, a family. I am sorry in a way that my life goals have hurt some close friends and my family. But in another way I am not. Without their support, my adventure would have been impossible. I believe in myself but when I don’t you’re there. I will fix any situation that may arise, but if I need you, you’re there. I am 17,000km away but with a call you’re there. I miss you and I know you miss me but think of the adventure you’ll have when you’re here!

I guess what I am trying to say with all this is we are family we have been and always will be no matter where we are in our life or in the world. I love you and miss you. But most of all I need to say Mum, Tino, Jack, Mady and all of my supporters, Thank you.

[jamessiimon]

Habit.

You started as a fad,

To be social, to be cool,

Your yellow fingers gripped,

Like a cancer cell, you grew.

 Creation of the Davidoff,

Red ribbon around my breath,

Perfume mixed with vanity,

You held me so close to death.

 You are my guilty pleasure,

You’re like a cigarette.

I need you to stimulate me,

Imprisonment of an old fashion pet.

 The outsider is now outside,

I stood there all alone,

The last breathe of your C02,

Inhaled and now you’re gone.

 I miss those yellow fingers,

The risk of your taboo,

Addicted to our friendship,

I simply don’t need you.

[jamessiimon]

Thinking, thought and thought again.

While waiting for my x-ray results yesterday I caught myself, well more my own mind, wandering through thoughts, ideas and situations in an ‘awake but dream’ state. I find myself in this half way point before sleep or a sort of deep concentration state more often then not. Playing and replaying events that have occurred and that are yet to occur, with different replies for questions, a change of mood or attacking an answer with a different angle.

It is like a mood coming over you, you do not know why it is or how it has become but you just find yourself in it, sometimes it is because of people or events that throws you head first into the black spiral. Normally the state brings a calming effect over me,  allowing myself to create and answer questions or find and solve problems to scenarios that have or have yet to occur. It is a strange form of preparation but this feeling of being prepared is like taking a Xanax with a glass of red wine after a big weekend, calming and sleep invoking.

I am an over thinker.

In any given situation I have thought thoroughly through every possible situation prior to the confrontation, discussion or even in general conversation. I am overly prepared, everything from my reply, the possibilities of your reaction to my reply, your answer and my reaction to your answer, to any changes in your body language, mood or tone used are all up for analysis.

My over thinking allows me to assess and analyse your question while contemplating my reply. During the “thinking time”, I set numerous questions to myself and answer them before answering your question to try and ensure that the situation plays out to be in my favour, not always a possibility but you have to try.

These questions give my brain the best chance of acquiring the most information about the discussion and the mood or meaning from the person or people I am engaged with. Questions like: why have they asked this? Why was it asked in that way? What is the meaning behind that? What is with the change of position? Why a longer pause between those words? Why the use of that word and not another? Why the loss of eye contact? And so on…

Of course, I do not know the correct/definitive answer, I am not a mind reader, so for every question I answer it with any possible or almost possible answers I can think of, then re-ask new questions using the answers I have thought of and find any other possible changes or reason behind them. This sounds like a lot to think of and do in a normal ‘question - answer’ conversation but my mind has some ways of coping.

While in a normal question-answer-question conversation my mind listens to your question as well as analysing your body language, eye contact, tone and facial movements. While thinking about my response, I am asking myself and answering all the questions possible about what you have asked and how you asked it, forgetting the ridiculous or unimaginable answers as well as taking in to count any subtle changes in your behaviour. With my reply, I am retaining the answers to my own questions and allowing a deeper thought into the plausible outcomes meanwhile taking into account your physical changes and then you reply, and the whole process starts again. Now, all the outcomes are not lost, they just go to the back of my brain for further dissection and any useful findings are relayed back to use within the coming questions or answers to help me “control” or at least think I am controlling the conversation.

Sounds like the work of a crazy person but it’s not something I can control.

These “dream-like” states are what I like to think of as rehearsal or revision of situations. If the situation has already occurred, a “revision dream state” has me re-enacting the scenario and making slight changes to how I thought or reacted and what I can do better the next time I am confronted with a similar situation in the future. You learn from your mistakes and try and not make them again.

If the situation is to come in the future the “dream like state” is like a practise drive before you go for your licence. You make the mistakes in the practice and redo the fault so that in your test you wont repeat the same mistake. Sometimes I am imagining events that may or may not even happen. I make my choices and if I don’t like the result I think of, I go back and do it again.

But if I need to talk with someone seriously, discuss something important or even make a fight, I will, during these practises, find any possible question, answer or solution that might occur and respond with any number of reactions to then imagine your response and repeat with subtle changes.

I can go as far as practising out loud the reactions, noting my body language, mood, tone and choice of words to ensure that I have some control over myself. I can say what I need to say with practise and thought, calmly, rather than exploding and rapidly saying the first thing that comes to my mind, which never produces a good outcome.

You would think that with all of this practise I would be the Avatar of conversations, but unfortunately I think I need some more time, an ability to control minds or a psychologist to tell me I am crazy, either way I think that I am stuck with my over thinking and the relief that you feel when the results you thought were going to occur, don’t.

[jamessiimon]

Unworthy, unqualified and unexperienced.

As an artist I believe that you grow from experience and this growth allows you to find who you are in a world filled with non-believers and haters. Now, this doesn’t apply to just artists but rarely does ones life experiences alter not only themself but the way they conduct work, find issue and create solutions or the way that they think both in their personal life and within their professional career.

I could be wrong but; I am an artist and have experienced this first hand, I have had experience with other fields of work that show no clear evidence of this happening and I have never met a shop assistant, waiter or banker that due to them giving up everything to travel to another country and spend months learning from a tutor or exploring the nature and the countries landmarks, they find a part of themselves they couldn’t see before and once back at work their performance allowed them to achieve beyond their capacity in what ever they do… a nice holiday can give you a relaxed approach to work but it never, I should say rarely, changes the approach to the work and therefore performance within a sector as much as the arts.

As an artist you must do this. If you have chosen to live an artistic life, then your work is a representation of a part of you, maybe not entirely you, but you are or have been inspired by something and that is the reason for your creation. You are the creator. You are the driving force. You can step back and say to yourself “I created this”.

Also, as an artist you can help in the creation of someone else’s works, being apart of the creation in full or just another piece that helps to finish the picture of the puzzle. A normal crew or team within a performing arts production is generally a script writer, director, costume designer, music and lighting, sceneries and artists, some people do two or more jobs depending on the production. All of these roles must work together both in creation and when the production is complete and they all must do their own jobs to the best of their ability for a successful production.

The problem with being a new artist, just as being a newcomer in any field of work, is that employers want you to have experience. You go to the audition, do the best you can, you’re talented and show that you’re willing to learn and adapt, they ask you back for the next round of trials where you excel in the improvisation and acting sections. You are then sitting with only two other people in the room and your silently feeling confident, as you know that the other two didn’t have the flexibility or range of skill that you possess. They then read your CV and as you’re just finishing university your only experience is with some small gigs you were able to grab and the school production, so then they look at you, even if you are the best candidate for the part, they label you as unworthy, unqualified and unexperienced.

I know this doesn’t happen to just artists but I am speaking from personal experience.

So how do “unqualified” artists get experience? Normally they are the artists that will do what the “professional artists” wont. This is due to safety issues, contractual conditions but most commonly because of pay. An artist with some performing experience will give away performances that don’t meet their requirements allowing the up and coming artists to take the experience.

If an artist professional or not, performs an act for a price under the market value then the expectation of the same act for the same price is created causing the market value for the act to drop.

Within my years of nightlife performing, I have been accused of “over-pricing” my act saying that they can find someone cheaper, “good go ahead” is my attitude as I am a professional with many years of training and experience to allow my prices to be as they are. The best “fuck you” moment was when they had booked me to dance go-go the same night as my competitor. So as anyone would, I ensured to be there when the person was warming up to see if he needed any help and when he was done warming up and about to pack his apparatus away I asked if I may have a go on it. Two skills in I saw the club manager watching me, so I ensured to do an impressive drop and once back on my feet I got my payment, the look on both of their faces of “fuck” was just enough for me…

Quality comes with practise and experience and should be a representation of the price of the act. With the growth of popularity for an art, sees a massive influx of aspiring artists within that field, meaning more newcomers and inevitably a drop in demand and a drop in market value.

How can we allow this growth and still have the quality growing at the same pace? We have institutes that are pumping new artists every year into a sector that, without a drastic change, cannot accommodate them. Kids are leaving university thinking that because they have finished their arts degree, the biggest companies are going to snap them up. They are not looking for newcomers, they want professional athletes that they can train like a robot, paint their faces and call them artist.

We need to be teaching the graduating class that they have the power to change this suffocating method we currently think is correct. They are the ones that need to create their own art, not look towards a company but to create their own. We need to be supporting them to have the ability to be able to do this. We have seen the arts grow immensely but the quality of the art decease to a pitiful level. Art and the world of performing art as I see it is strangling itself and we need to cut the noose

[jamessiimon]

Free, ready for the adventure but alone.

In my late teenage years I had an irrational fear of being alone, a fear that slowly engulfed my entire being, rendering me unable to comfortably walk home alone from university, go to a party before at least one other person that I knew had arrived or to just be with myself for more than thirty minutes. The only time I found solidarity to be some form of a pleasure was during an overnight shift at work, where there were other people working throughout the same building or while sleeping but only if there was someone else in the house or apartment. Actually, the only time within my day that I was completely alone and somewhat comfortable with being alone was when I was driving. Driving allowed a calming affect to fill my anxious mind letting me relax until some dickhead did something to piss me off.

My fear became so overwhelming that I found myself sub-consciously planning my days activities with who I could go with and if I were to venture alone, then the rest of the time preparing myself for the task at hand. I didn’t and still don’t understand the fear nor did I realise I was even suffering from it until later in my life. I only remember that I had this all over nervousness feeling and I was always overthinking that people or things were around me but not actually there or even true.

I do not and have never suffered from being nervous for the usual reasons that someone might find themselves affected; I was a confident public speaker, I loved performing off and on the stage, I was a strong competitor in many different sports some at an international level and I was never afraid of my opinion being heard. But put me in a room alone with just me, myself and my overthinking mind and you would open the door to find me just as a child that was scared of the boogieman under his bed would have been, scared, unable to sleep and a blubbering mess.

I am really unsure whether other people caught onto my fear or if it was even obvious that I was struggling with it.

At the end of my university studies, I was one of the lucky fifteen to be selected to represent the school in a performance to open the biggest circus competition in Paris, France. As a graduating student that was eager to perform in Europe with my art, I decided that after the performance instead of going back to Australia with the rest of the troupe, I would remain in Paris to experience the European way of life, see the architecture and art establishments and finally make a comprehensive decision to, if I were to enjoy it, find work and stay here to start my life.

My family were supportive of the decision, even though they didn’t really have a say in the matter; it was in my mind that I was going, was something that I wanted and I was going to do it, supported or not. They were understandably nervous for me; but I didn’t feel nervous or scared. Maybe it was the excitement of finally seeing Europe, maybe the chance to perform in Paris or the opportunities that it may have created. Maybe the unknown of what lay ahead blocked all the feelings of the enormity of the task I had set myself. The date of departure crept closer and closer and looking back at the situation I was confident and stupid, which is a dangerous mix.

    Side note: to anyone looking to travel and maybe stay in their country of choice to work or live, make sure you do all your research into the correct visas to stay and work within the country. Don’t do what I did and just wing it!

Departure day and I said my goodbyes to my family and friends for a unknown amount of time, boarded the flight with the rest of the crew but was not seated next to them them as a close friend had organised special treatment for me, putting my seat closer to the front of the plane. Before take off, I was introduced to the captain, head of the cabin crew and Stephanie, my cabin crew assistant that was there if there was anything I needed during my flight.

I made my final call to my friend thanking him for the strings he had pulled and then to my mother, who was already crying and just before I started to cry I was asked to turn off all electronic devices. It is funny how a long-haul flight of 32 hours can at moments feel extremely short. The first four hours were like five minutes, with the excitement of leaving, the wonder of what it was going to be like and a bottle of champagne, you are a little drunk, eat something and finally pass out. When you wake up dying for some water, you look at your inflight map to see that you have finally left Australia. I remember looking around the cabin and almost everyone was sleeping as it was around 3am in Melbourne and that is when the letter my mother had given me just before walking through security telling me to “read it on the plane” passes through my thoughts.

When on a plane I find it to be a very individual experience, even though you might be with friends or a lover, you’re in a way alone. You have your own chair with t-v screen just for you and that only you can listen too. This creates a “personal space” that if you’re luck will remain your own personal space. You eat alone, sleep alone and are in a way alone, even though your neighbour can be only 10cm away from you in the next seat.

I totally make a “personal space” bubble when on a plane and only break it to go talk with the stewards when I cannot sleep (this always puts you in their good books). Once aboard I find my seat, keep what I need for the flight at my feet and stow my other carry-on, greet my neighbour which is normally quite short as with long-haul flights as they are wanting to sleep or if they are like me binge watch as many movies or series as possible before the flight ends.

But for now my mind was fixated on the letter. Opening the seal was like opening Pandora’s box; not knowing what dangers lurked within. My heart was pounding and I was already on the verge of tears, adding to the time it took to break the seal. Finally, I ripped the envelope open just as you should rip a Band-Aid plaster off, quick and painless.

It was a hand written letter, a couple of pages long and made me cry before I was even a quarter of the way through. With the conclusion of the last “I love you and already miss you” smudged by a tearstain, I was a mess and ugly crying.

Ugly crying is when you’re not just shedding a tear that rolls down your face but when an event leaves you coughing, spluttering and sniffing. You are short of breath unable to breathe like you have been hit in a chest or are winded. There are certain places that it is ok to ugly cry. A funeral, the emergency room at a hospital and in your living room after the scene in Armageddon, when Liv Taylor has to say goodbye to Bruce Willis, her father, so that he can save the world from a giant asteroid that is on a crash course with the Earth. But to ugly cry on a plane…

My pitiful display was broken by the light touch of Stephanie’s hand, she embraced me briefly before saying that “she would be back”, returning with another bottle of champagne. Four movies, two meals and a swap of planes later saw us less than an hour from our destination, Paris.

Once in Paris there was so many new experiences that I don’t even have words to describe how amazing they were. The Louvre, Eiffel Tower and Arc De Triomphe are all breath taking. But it was the little things that really made me fall in love with Paris. It's bakeries especially the baguettes and croissants, the ease and accessibility of its public transport, the city’s architecture, the rudeness of the locals and when I was there it had and continued to snow.

There is something wonderful about snow in a city, it is wonderfully beautiful, it’s so white and pure. When we first arrived we had left 40 degrees in Australia and arrived in Paris with -6, for people that have never experienced this before it is like walking into the freezer or cool room at your local supermarket but you are outside and you can only escape it by retreating inside.

For the week we were in Paris as a team, we rehearsed all together and when we had any amount of free time we explored the Parisian tourist destinations. The performance went superbly, 4000+ spectators, watching 15 Australian circus artists open one of the biggest circus competitions of the world.

Before I could think of what had occurred in the past week, it was time to say goodbye to my colleagues and for the first time in my life I was completely alone, seventeen thousand kilometres from home, my family and friends and my mother tongue language. I stood in my little Parisian apartment and I had never felt more free, scared and motivated. There is something about being completely alone in a foreign city that liberates you. You can decide to do what your heart desires. You can sit and watch the world pass you with your espresso and croissant. You can decide to visit a museum and spend endless hours watching and re-watching the masterpieces, the same masterpieces that a few days ago you had to miss, as others wanted to be somewhere else. You have you and only you to worry about. No need to consider what other people wanted within the group, no need to wait in places you didn’t want to be, do the things that the group wanted to do but you were not fond of. There was no need to creep around your apartment in the night or worry that someone could hear you having sex. I was free, ready for my adventure and alone.

It has been almost four years since my first departure date. I have travelled on countless flights, visited most of Europe and have been to countries that I would have never dreamed of visiting. I have had three different visas for three different countries to try and remain in Europe, numerous immigration interviews and a denial into the UK as they thought I was looking to stay illegally. I have lived in the most expensive hotels and with not a Euro or Dollar to my name. I have been part of a company and was used in five different performances taking me to all parts of Europe, the same company that used me almost kaput and owes me €10,000. I have been in charge of a group that performed from Israel through Europe and the USA. I created a company and a show together with some close friends; we have produced, sold and performed it throughout Europe. I went back home to Australia to organise my Italian citizenship, so that I can remain in Europe. The continent I wanted to and have created my life in. I have travelled the world with my art and will continue to do so. I have left everything I knew including all my family and friends back home to pursue my dream. It was the hardest task I have ever set myself, a task I had no idea the outcome of or the difficulty it incurred to achieve it. But with everything, the good and the bad, I am a better person. I have learnt from my mistakes, grown from experience, met some amazing friends and people I consider my European family. For the most part of my adventure, I had to overcome my fear and accept that I was going to do this alone. I spent a lot of time alone, something I now treasure instead of cower away from.

A dream, goal or ambition is something you aspire too, something that seems impossible. To make the impossible possible, you must go through life’s twisted journey that will give you the highest of highs. And then when the lowest of lows arrive and you’re broken and ready to give up, you and only you have to find the reason why you began all of this. Remember the hard work you have put in, the supporters you have and your ambition. But the biggest motivation I had was the realisation of how far you have come. To achieve a dream, ambition or goal will take everything you have within you, but that’s the best part, it is within you.

[jamessiimon]

Give me an M - M! Give me an O - O! Give me an ... Oh! Don't worry about it.

Motivation: a powerful tool that if used correctly can be the key to unlocking success.

Motivation can turn a dream into a fully realised reality, a thought into a way of living a life, an act that can move others to act or because of a lack of motivation; a talent is not nurtured and ends up being wasted. Everybody seems to have the ability to talk about motivation, someone who has plenty of it or the time that they have had motivation but lost it. Rarely do these people possess the capabilities to motivate themselves to do more than chose the next series to watch on Netflix or what they want for dinner based on something that does not take too much effort to make.

Everyday we are faced with situations that require us to motivate ourselves to complete a task, sometimes a task we wish we had not to do. Motivation and obligation work very similar to a manager and an employee, one not necessarily wanting to do the work and the other forcing them to do it. Obligation is a major motivation. You are obligated to eat, but you may not be motivated to eat well. You are obligated to make choices, you motivation may mean you don’t care. You are obligated to sleep; but some people are motivated to do only this. You are obligated to have a source of income or work, your motivation should reflect your work ethic and therefore your pay/wage, but this is not always the case. You also give yourself “obligations” that you need to motivate yourself in order to achieve them. You want to get fit, but struggle to motivate yourself to go to the gym or for a run. You want more money, but are unmotivated to work harder than you already are. You want to travel, but are not motivated to leave the comforts of “home”.

Some people are blessed with the ability to motivate others. With their words and actions they can give people hope, inspire them to believe in themselves or in their goals, build trust and motivate them for either better and/or for worse. These motivational people can be a family member, a close friend, a colleague, a priest, a god or even a celebrity, anyone that you can look to for support, encouragement, hope or judgement.

But the most powerful kind of motivation is found within oneself. The ability to have motivation, no matter what the situation or anything that life throws at you, you are able to find within you the motivation to push forward. If you can find it within, even the tiniest amount of motivation, you have the ability to be able to do anything you think you can do and that is a force that can be unstoppable.

This force is a power you have, and just as if you were to have a pair of the same cards when playing blackjack in your hands, with it you have more of a chance of success. But people are scared of this power. People that see someone with a lot of motivation feel threated or scared, especially when they do not find a way to unleash their own inner motivation.

If a person finds themselves in a situation that is threating or scary, they will normally have one of two reactions; stay and protect themselves or run, the “fight or flight response”. This does not just apply to a confrontation with an angry animal but within daily life, it is just easier to observe in a life or death situation. With any threatening change within our lives, we psychologically make a decision whether we stay and work through the change, fight, or find a different way of living and avoid the situation, flight.

There are many situations that this can be observed or analysed. For instance; a new manager starts above you at work and they’re pushing you more than the last employee did, you will eventually come to a point where you have two ‘legal’ choices. So you can either; knuckle down and work hard to impress them, fight. Or you can quit and find another job, flight. Another situation is when you’re already three tequila shots in and your friend goes for another round but you are regretting those jaeger bomb chasers you had, so you can either; opt out and be called weak or a pussy for the coming week, flight. Or commit to the on coming challenge and sneaky vomit in the bathroom later, fight.

Why is it that when people are confronted with someone that has goals and aspirations and most importantly, the motivation to see them be achieved, do people either; take a step back, find excuses to not see them or completely cut them off, flight. Or worse, stick around and psychologically fuck with their mind, changing their goal, altering their aspirations and just annihilating their motivation and in turn; them completely, fight.

Of course, if you speak to anyone that has found their success, they have all had people that did not believe in them, the people that told them that it is not possible and the haters. These are the people that feel threatened, these are the people that want to see you fail, these are the people that you must drown out and remove from your life if you want your success.

As they say, there is always two sides to a story. This is their reaction to seeing your potential, your drive and motivation. This is their reaction to your power. You have to react to this and there is two choices: run away, leave your goals and aspirations, leave the preparation and work you have done and let them win, flight. Or, you can push past these insignificant people and focus on you, your end achievement and surround yourself with people that motivate you.

People that challenge you to become a better version of yourself. People that allow you to be you, they inspire you and you inspire them in return. People that will tell you when you’re not being your best, that will pick you up when you have good and bad moments and when you’re completely broken. People that are there for you even if your miles away, love you and most of all want you to do well.

Motivation is not a singular key but a set that you collect from many places and with this set you must use it to unlock the doors to your success.

[jamessiimon]

A speck I now call home.

I find it very difficult to learn something new. It’s not that I cannot learn, I am not an old dog, I am just a difficult student if I am not good at something directly. When I am not good or better than average after a few tries at something new, I lose interest. I believe that there is no reason for me to do something that I am not good at when there is probably someone that can already do it quicker and a hundred times better than me. I am a very competitive natured person, so when faced with a challenge that is something I am not good at, I will push my own limits and try to eliminate any limitations that could affect my performance. This gives me hope and allows myself to have the best opportunity to win or at least impress someone that is looking. An unusual and odd way to ‘fish’ for a compliment.

There are certain life skills that are necessary for every day living and as I have learnt with extreme  difficulty, you cannot be “perfect at everything”, a quote I have hear all too often. Driving a car, writing neatly and patience are all difficult life skills that I have struggled to learn at one point in my life.

My poor mother and her efforts to try and teach a pubescent-not-yet-out-diva how to drive a manual four wheel drive Toyota land cruiser are efforts worthy of a medal. The tantrums, arguments and hissy fits that she had to endure during the two years of my ‘L’ plates, could had lead her to disowning me. But, she persisted and every time calm me down and explain what my mistake was, which usually started another discussion or fit in defence as I didn’t like hearing that I was not good at something. She would then repeat her instruction, said “it would get easier” and in a few kilometres down the road it would happen all over again.

My perfectionist way is a trait that was beaten into me by my father and my gymnastics coach. Everybody thinks that if someone is very good at something they are blessed and have a ‘talent’. Do not get me wrong, natural talent plays a massive part in success but talent can be taught. With time, perseverance, money, inspiration, motivation and a undying belief in yourself, talent can be learnt, but is it still considered talent? I know many non-naturally talented people that found the correct facilities and had a goal or dream that nobody and nothing was going to stop them achieving their ambitions, so they became ‘talented’. I also know many naturally talented people that were forced to pursue or pressured to follow their talent but unfortunately, you can be the most naturally talented person at something but if you do not have self-motivation or ambitions for the future, than your talent is useless.

To pursue my career further and to fill a life goal of mine that I didn’t even realise I had, I moved to Europe, found myself and after three years have settled in the rainy, land of the giants, crazy but always wonderful, beer producing, chocolate loving, tiny country of Belgium. It really is a tiny speck of a country compared to Australia. It has been trampled on by almost every reigning Empire, fought over by each of its neighbouring countries and has a language border that splits it into three parts.

Apart from chocolate, beer and Brugge (Bruges), Belgium is a European country that most foreigners and even the tourists that travel here have little knowledge about, or at least for my family and friends back home that’s true. Many people think that the country is actually called Brussels, not true that is the capital city. Some people know that it is the home to the European Commission and NATO but it is also home to the diamond capital of the world. Belgium just like France has many castles and abbeys, but don’t know that the monasteries in the Middle Ages were a travellers must visit destination, to exchange foods and goods for the monasteries ‘glazen boterham’ or “sandwich in a glass” or for non-Belgians, a beer or more so, a strong beer that you have three off and that enough for your dinner.

When asking about the languages of Belgium many people know that is has two languages and normally guess French and German, which is not incorrect but not completely correct. Officially there are three language of Belgium; French, German and Dutch. French is the official language of the south of the country and the main language of the capital Brussels. Dutch is the official language of the north and Brussels region. Which makes sense, France to the south and The Netherlands to the north. The German speaking part is in the east of the country, is quite small and a region that has been passed back and forth between Belgium and Germany, finally remaining Belgian after the Second World War.

A Belgian citizen, especially those from the bilingual region of Brussels, are generally able to fluently talk both languages and have a good knowledge of German, a requirement especially if you are planning on working within the government. Within the different regions, they speak their mother tongue (French or Dutch) and learn the other language during school. Normally, the French speakers only speak French and will bluntly refuse to talk Flemish (the dialect of Dutch spoken in Belgium). The Flemish are less stubborn about switching language but this is a sensitive subject and one of the reasons for the tension between the two regions. Most people speak English to some degree especially those from a city.

When I first moved to Europe I didn’t really have a plan or know which country my feet would stay in. I would attempt to learn the language of my residing country or that of my boyfriend or boy interest at the time, not a very viable way to learn a language. I started with a Parisian boy and so French was the language of choice. I studied hard for five months, even after we had ended and were living in different countries. Then some German but found it stupid to try and learn German without finishing French. So I continued my French studies, even though I was living in a small country town in the Dutch speaking part of Belgium where French is as handy as English. The only time I practiced speaking French was when I was extremely drunk in Brussels and didn’t even realise I was not talking English.

A new boy, new house location and a bigger Dutch speaking city allowed me to throw away ‘French for dummies’ and start with ‘DIY Dutch 101”. I was motivated but as my boy was fine with always talking English with me and was not the most motivating person I have experienced. My Dutch improved in comprehension but nothing drastic. A break up and move to Brussels saw me tongue tied and confused, until I met him. I now have a private Dutch lesson once a week, can comfortably read the Metro, a ‘simple’ newspaper that you get free when taking public transport and can follow a conversation, most of the time.

As bad habits die hard and I am not a linguistic genius, there are times that I find myself acting as I did when I was seated in a gigantic car, stalled in the middle of the road, screaming and on the verge of tears. These moments are due to me feeling threatened by someone trying to help me at learning the language, I am frustrated and they appear just because “I find something difficult”, “I am not instantly good at is” and because “I don’t need to talk another language, everyone if fine talking English with me”.

One more thing that I should note about Belgium or more its people, especially those of the Dutch speaking part and usually living within the city. Due to the fact that their country has been used and abused more than Anne Hatherway playing the mother of Courgette in Les Misérable. Belgians are polite in languages and are more comfortable to switch to a more known language spoken within a group of people. A talent yes, but a trait I sometimes cannot stand. It is handy if you want to do business or are in a one on one conversation, but I find it extremely embarrassing that an entire group will switch to English due to one person not talking Dutch. Being that person I try and say to the others that it is fine that they talk their mother tongue but I am answered with a “it is easier” and “it is good for my English”. The worst is when you’re a guest in a family’s home, having a meal and they are not even talking their language between themselves, because of me.

Now, people might read this and say “stop complaining, they are being polite and helping you out, making it easier for you” and to these people I say, do you change your language? Can you honestly say that if you meet someone that doesn’t speak the same language as you, you would attempt to speak theirs? Unless you are a local from a non-English speaking country or are a local English native speaker and have family that were smart enough to teach you their other language, I could be certain that your answer would be no.

We as native English speakers are so naïve, selfish and egotistic that when we travel anywhere we have an attitude of “it is ok, everyone speaks English” and when someone doesn’t or they attempt to and it isn’t up to our standards, we look down at them. We are the people that should be looked down upon, at least they try!

The other reason I don’t like that the Belgians have the innate feeling to switch language is that it makes learning the language not a necessity. In France, Spain or Italy, you are forced to try and learn the simple words or sentences as not as many people speak English. Learning hello, goodbye, this, that, can I please, where is this, help and can you please, are not only going to help you when in the country but is a sign of respect.

If you are living in the country and are forced to try and speak the language in everyday life and you’re surrounded by it on TV and radio then you tend to pick up words and understanding a little easier. When always swapping back to English in general day life, I have no pressure that forces me to have to speak or learn Flemish, until him.

For the most part I am motivated within myself, I have a goal to sit at his family’s table and talk with them in their language and be able to switch comfortably when talking with him. The times I am not motivated I have friends and him to push me in pushing myself. This applies to more than just learning a language, but in my whole life.

A close friend of mine recently said to me “It is always hard to learn something new, it throws you out of your comfort zone so bad, until you get comfortable with it. But all these challenges make you gain and grow. If we wouldn’t, we would live in a boring world, in the same rut, sadly, like most other people. Because they like the comfort, I guess. We need to get comfortable with our uncomfortable a little more, because so much good can come from it.”

And she is right. Find your comfort in the things you find uncomfortable. Do something that you are afraid to do. Try to grow from experiences. Always find a better you. Nothing should stop you, so stop making excuses.

[jamessiimon]

Start with a Fillage.

Mood is something that interests me, in hindsight. The way it can change and develop freely, with minimal fuel powering it just as though a flame of a fire burning differently with what is placed below it, for a short moment, changing it. I love to think to myself of events that have occurred previously and remember the feeling of that moment, savour it. Know the way my body reacted to different changes.

Feel again the heat of anger within hearing false information or accusation, it building to the point that when it is my turn to rebut, I would almost explode. Or the moment that your heart drops from your chest to the floor with the news of a friends sudden death shocks you still.

But why can we not learn from our reactions while drunk or intoxicated by mood. Having the ability to not be affected by mood would save a lot of explosive arguments, stop me crying when something bad happens in a Disney film, but would ultimately kill my creativity. I’ve found that some of my best works have been fuelled by stress of a deadline, despise for a person or as an egotistical response to someone saying that “you can not do that”.

The switch to my creativity is inspired by my mood, the mood of others and my want or need for it. I often find myself mid-conversation answering questions that have baffled me for days, to then  awkwardly and quite loudly, blurt them to my un-expecting company. These blasts of random answers to questions only I am aware of, are met with a confused face and an explanation that is unusually unnecessary.

It was not until recently that people started to pulling me up on my inner conversation pauses, a phenomenon that I was unaware of. It seems that I talk with myself a lot, a “humorous amount” according to some. Normally these inner board meetings created information that is just as useful as tumble weeds passing through an open plain. But, sometimes, some how, a light bulb is turned on, creating the beginnings of an idea. This light bulb is situated in a house that, with a little thought, will illuminate creating a chain effect of the other light bulbs, in the other rooms doing the same, allowing you to see the contents of each room that have been revealed.

Now, the house is perched on a volcano and when all of the rooms of the house allow their contents to be seen, this is normally when the conversational “break up” blurts of information happen. The saddest moments of these explosions of creativity are if the person that you are with has little to no knowledge of the topic or worse, no care of it. Then the lights of the house shut down and the idea is stored in the bank, hopefully to rise again on the correct un-expecting victim.

If by the lucky chance you are with a person that is interested and engaged with the outburst, then the house is blasted from its foundations on the top of the volcano, as lava filled with ideas pour out. Problems are found and solutions appear to resolve them as soon as they arise.

The topic of the idea can be comical or complete nonsense, having a somewhat fairy-tale theme to it. Other times it happens to be a nostalgic moment of a past event and the “what if?” adding layer upon layer of unrealistic propositions.

The golden ideas happen when the sense of reality sets in, when the conversation turns from funny thoughts to questions that need a pause to answer. They’re the best explosions. Because when the ashes clear, you have a solid ground to really build on the idea. You have the means to inspire others and help them believe that it isn’t a wispy idea or a faint moment. It is an idea worth time, effort and money. I had one of these explosive moments and now we have a internationally touring performance.