Change.

And now, as 2011 draws to a close, it's time for a little review of all that has been and to consider where I am heading.

As far as goals go, it's been a bit of a mixed bag. I've achieved some (getting at least 5 articles published), I've almost achieved some (reading 17 books, when I set out to read 25) and some have completely fallen by the wayside (transforming my body).

It has been a remarkable year. Very eventful. It has only been now, in the quiet, that I can look back and see how much has happened and how far I have been propelled.

I started 2011 in a job I wasn't entirely happy with, and so did Madelein. She started her business in June and I joined her in August.

My plans had originally been to return to the world of journalism, however, I got bored in between job interviews and offered to help Maddies out in her business. And now I work with one of our clients daily and still get time to write.

I now write freelance, with most of my writing work going to Alice Magazine and Rahotep Start Living website. The plan is to expand my freelance clients and at the same time to submit something to a writing competition or several.

And also to turn my body into a work of performance art. My friend Dori and I are kicking off the year with a one month experiment in veganism. And why not?

I've been looking over Start Wearing Purple and realised that what is contained in this blog belongs to another time, another place. It is mostly the past with some movie reviews thrown in for good measure. So, I am moving the blog. While Start Wearing Purple will be available to read to anyone who finds it, I am creating a blog that will be a little more in line with where I feel my life is nudging me.

Thanks for the reads. I will post the link to the new blog in the new year.

Motherhood. Not.

There was once a time when I ached for children. I am talking about a physical sensation, bringing about the understanding of wanting something with every fibre of one’s being. Every nerve ending reached out towards having a child and it drove me nuts.

As women, we live within an ocean of chemicals that trigger all kinds of very bizarre reactions. My (almost) demented longing for a baby began at 25, reached its insane peak at the age of 35, with me weeping uncontrollably every time an advert for formula or nappies flashed across the TV screen. It was clear to me that there really was a biological clock and that I could, in fact, hear it ticking.

And then, just like that, it stopped.

I reckon that it’s part of the hormonal soup we float in, sending out a message to use those eggs before they reach their “best before date”. I figure that, realizing that babies were so not going to happen, my body decided that rather than waste its time on pushing me towards procreation, its energy would be better spent elsewhere. Like on craving chocolate, say.



For a while there I did harbor some regret that I didn’t produce a tiny human. I don’t anymore, though. The reason is simple: I’ve become incredibly selfish.



A baby would not fit into my life at all. I like my space. I enjoy lying in and having weekends where my partner do nothing but cuddle in bed with the dogs. I don’t want to spend money on an education or clothing other than my own. I like that my life is my own and I don’t have to squeeze in school runs or karate classes or soccer matches.

And yet, there was once a time in my life when I was looking forward to all that. Packing school lunches, cheering on the sidelines, going to every match, debating competition, prize giving and extra mural class that could be thrown at me. I wanted to read bedtime stories and sing lullabies and change nappies. And I envied my friends and family who had that opportunity.

Now, not so much.

I see how having children has enriched the lives of those around me. They work a little harder than I do. They are more driven, wanting to create a happier life for their offspring. There is a depth to a life with children, from what I’ve observed. So many lessons to learn along the way in the raising of them, watching them grow and become individuals in their own right.

However, I do not feel that I am missing out on too much. I get to be the cool Aunty and cousin, a role that suits me to the ground. It’s a path that I have chosen for myself for my own reasons and it enriches my life in its own way.

Being without my own children doesn’t mean I don’t get to pass a legacy on to another generation. It just means that it gets passed on a little sideways and in my own peculiar way.