Louis Vuitton.

And there I was telling the same old story to the backdrop of the worlds smallest violin. I rattled it off once again. I tried to stick in little morals. I tried to make things sound more poetic. And I searched and then I searched some more for an ending but the story just got lost in some grey weird sort of area.

And in that grey endless tunnel was where I realized how baggage is birthed and nurtured. In the very moment when we think we are called to be little and weak the second life breaks your heart that’s exactly where baggage is born. And it grows huge and causes havoc when we don’t give ourselves the sweet sweet endings we so deserve.

You see, I’m THAT girl. The one who packs too many bags. I pack clothes I used to fit into in case of a chance I may lose 5kilos in a day. I pack bikinis in winter because I just can’t bud summer. I pack books I’ll probably never read. And all of it I squeeze and tuck (and occasionally jump on) to try fit in my bag even though it serves me no purpose just so that it allows me to think that maybe, just maybe I can still be a person I should of let go of yesterday. (Or last year). And you know what all of that crap is?

Thats baggage. Its all the stuff you hold on to (far too) tightly with some kind of childish hope that it will one day change you or that it will change or that anything will change. I mean change is inevitable right? They tell us that all the time. Something will change so I’m just going to carry this stuff. It’s heavy, but I’m carrying it anyways.

DEAL WITH IT.
I know, I’ve heard it before. Jeez, if only it were that simple. If it were we would all just stop hurting each other just because others have hurt us in the past. The truth is that the past is just a bunch of stories we tell ourselves. On repeat. And we grow when we realize that these cool little stories have power and that they could make someone feel better about themselves instead of just making ourselves sound broken instead. Each story is just one of the thousand and 1 opportunities to be trumpets but we would rather just sit in the corner and cry.

I failed. I hurt him. He hurt me. My friend moved away. My dog died. She lied to me. And what I’m realizing is that what I wish we could do is have a big party with one of those black wheely bins and we could choose all the things we hold dear and just chuck the rest away. The movies we shared. The “our songs”. The silly arguments from old friendships. That thing your grade 5 teacher said. All of it. Into the bin. And then burn it.

So I’ve kind of just made a decision that I’m retiring that story and I’m going to stop thinking that 1 day I will find an ending. Instead I will just pluck the (few) lessons and let the rest go. I’m walking away. Far Far away. Like a gangster. Like a baller.

I can’t make you unpack your suitcase, but I’m happy mine’s gone.

Jenna Jay x

Leaps and Bound….aries

There’s this feeling that comes over you. It rushes over you. When you realize that you have a single pair of hands. Just 2 feet. And 1 mouth. That there are only so many waking hours. That the week is made of just 7 little days.

And its not times fault. Oh no. I’m tired of time always getting the blame. Its not like Thursday wakes you up in the middle of the night and goes “Hey today I’m going to be 18hours long, so deal.”

Its that I’m realizing that I’m just one person. And that our hearts were never meant to be pulled in this many directions. And Its not selfish to slow down when we realize this big fat truth that our bodies and our hearts and minds, spread out this thin, hurts more souls than it helps.

I need boundaries. I always reserved boundaries to the party of things I need to break. To the stuff that keeps me from having fun. But here I am setting them up knowing that I need to if I really want to be happy and whole and stampede forward in my professional and personal life.

We go to sleep scrolling through our timelines and wake up checking our mails. And we’re all just starting our days exhausted and influenced by about 6000 dirty little social fingerprints. And it all just gets a little much some times. Most times.

Our iPhones now control us. We take authentic moments and we swap them with a presence that if we’re honest is half baked and two dimensional.

Be the boss of your time. Set up your own levels of expectation for others.
Put your “office hours” in your signature.
Let people know that every now and again that you do in fact feed your soul, with hiking and Geordie Shore.

And with this I’m birthing a life that will no longer let me be dictated by the glow of a screen.

MY 2015 NOT-TO-DO LIST.
Office Hours (M-F) 08h30-18h00
Email checking only starts after 08h00 and ends 19h00. No excuses.
Social Media-ing Stops after 19h30

Unplug. Go play outside. Give yourself space to generate new ideas.

Fresh air, tangible stuff, and warm bodies are good for us.

Jenna Jay x

I don’t want to be pretty.

This growing up thing. Its so messy and scary and its constantly tapping me on the shoulder and reminding me that every time I think Ive learnt a bucket full in the distance there’s a well FULL of memories and experiences, trials and celebrations.

After last weeks post I had so many responses and the occasional reassurance.

“Don’t worry, you’re pretty”

Pretty. I smiled.

Along the way I became a slave to 2 syllables. 5 letters.
P-R-E-T-T-Y.
I’d heard it before. A word tossed from girl to girl, rarely meant. Pretty is a crippled, distorted word in a world that matches it against thigh gap existence and pearly white smiles. The world had drained out all the metrics of measuring women and replaced it with Pore size and calorie counts.

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