Throwing Stones in a Moving Tide

  Writing is an extension of the soul that leaves us bare and exposed. But it’s also a tool for discovery and communicating those discoveries with others. It opens and exposes us to a world of judgement and criticism.

    If you are honest and courageous enough, it can rock the foundations of your life mainly because you often realise after revisiting parts of your life, those very foundations don’t even exist. 

    What comes from all that though, isn’t in just the way we expose ourselves. What comes is the realisation that we mostly aren’t who we like to think we are. 

     Personal writing has often been looked at as the writing we keep to ourselves. Our diaries. But things have changed. 

   In a world that has become dangerous and hard many people have sunk deeper into themselves but at the same time, there is a changing way of being that has come with the internet  and that is to expose ourselves completely and without restriction.

     I find that when we share our personal narratives, we empower others to lift the masks we are so often coerced to wear. By sharing authenticity, we spawn authenticity. Does that count as doing our part? I wonder.

   .Lifting the mask that has kept you safe from the world is the only way you can truly start to live a truly authentic life. Learning to really not allowing the opinions of others effect us. Knowing that it just doesn’t matter.

    So as my writing has changed from my personal outlet or diary to one of self discovery and tearing down a lifetime of layers to tell the story behind each one, anyone who has any interest in what i have to say gets an intimate and extremely personal audience of who I am – often ingredients learning something about me at the same time I’m learning about myself

  .Writing roots you in deeply, and it’s in this connection that we better study the self. Yogis call this study of the self Swadhyaya. It’s the practice to answer the question: “Who Am I?” This study breaks through the masks we have come to wear and connects us all on a deeper level. 

   .Specifically, writing binds us together in a grand narrative. It’s the connective quality that makes social media addictive before the world uttered a tweet. Many of us are learning that we are not that different after all. Our fears and worries, our simple goals or dreams all have a common thread 

    The answer to the question “Who Am I?” could quite possibly be very different to the one you wrote about just a week earlier. It is that change I am trying to record and navigate for myself. Each time I’ve hit “publish” in the past are markers I leave behind in that discovery.

     Not too long ago, my writing took a grand shift. I shifted from the safety of writing about what I knew academically or commenting on something that was happening in the world to writing about my own journey and discovery. Writing about my life and my experience of it is both in itself frightening and cathartic.  

    It can even be addictively terrifying: searching out truth through the self. Why?

   .Because as I continue to unwrap my authentic self I keep finding that all that I thought I had known as my self — my foundations — actually shift like currents in an ocean. And just like the ocean, what you see on the surface isn’t always indicative of what is going on underneath.

   .Words, however, are set in stone through clicking “publish.” I will continue to evolve throughout my life as my ideology changes through knowledge and experience. But the words I have written in the past on the Internet will remain fixed in concrete and unforgiving of change and time, when in actuality they were just ripples through the moving tide .

    Writing is the window I am opening for the world to look in at any time and yes, of course, I fear the critic. I mostly fear the critic who holds me accountable for a day in time where my thoughts were recorded in stone but in reality have floated away in the tides of life and often are very different to the ones that the record shows existed. At least for a day in my lifetime. 

    So if I was ever to ask just one thing of anyone who stops by or crashes into my writing, I ask of them to remember it is a just a personal story or discovery I’ve written about and shared at any given time of my past.  And while those stories won’t change, with any luck I would have by any given time in the future. 

      My words are more often than not the skin I shed and not the skin I wear today


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The Resurrected Trader

I was the youngest 'local' trader in history on the Sydney Futures Exchange. There wasn't any other place I should be. I went from nearly nothing to having everything I ever wanted materially. The house on the harbour, the Porsche & Harley, an abundance of cash, drugs and everything else I could waste money on. My risk taking was out of control and if anyone knew the truth, they would think of me as insane. Certifiable. Then one day it was gone and life as I had come to know it was over. I'd lost everything I had and more. These are my thoughts in the aftermath. In my battle to stay afloat and ultimately, my fight for survival.

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