OktoBeginWith has always been a place of peaceful rhetoric. A place where I and our colleagues spout inane garbage, delicious conjecture or inspiring prose with each post. But what does you, our reader (and yes, I’m sure there’s only one of you) think of our tight-knit group of mad yea-sayers and opinionators? In an internet world, where silopsism isn’t only possible, but probable, are you too much of a wuss to imagine there to be any tension?

Our episodic content (which has recently been pushed to the proverbial Friday late-night spot on our to-do lists) has been a little on the beatific side. We’ve spoilt you with love and witty affection. For the most part we have produced lists, stories and articles on things that are, not for a minute, contested. So, indubitably, you must feel of us as saints or demigods; capable of no wrong.

Okay, so not that. Nevermind. The point is, there have been moments where fighting has ensued. Discussion has taken place. Rhetoric has been dispelled as such through crude or witty retorcisms (a new word. Feel free to use it) and heated debate has broken forth. In fact, it would be remiss of me not to point out that, as much as our contributors admire each other, debate and argument make up the bulk of our less public discussion.

This was going to be a blatantly lazy port from our private RSS conversations but it would at this point be remiss of me not to ensue into a diatribe on my philosophy of friendship.

I’ve had a few friends throughout my life, and most of them are still. It’s important to note what friendship is though. Do any of us know? Our knowledge of friendship is really broken down in to one of two camps. The friends given to us are the learned camp, through which platitudes and truisms teach us the ways of enlightenment. The friends we make ourselves are the experienced camp, where we establish through concerted hardships  who we can benefit from. Both of these modes of thought provide us with potential friends, but neither with any particular accuracy.

I remember many of the people I once called my ‘best friend’ when I was very young. These were people I played with and concocted grand world with. People who I shared food and toys with, with whom I created dull havoc for my (and their) parents. I remember these people through brief snippets of visual or auditory stimulus. They struck me as good people. But as I look back upon it, those people who were my nemeses, who I hated to the quick of my bone, I realise were also friends but in a different way. The way I remember my past is as a grand game. My primary school years were taken up by emulating Neighbours with lunch and basketballs. I imagine my preteen years as a series of games, excluding one person in the hopes that they will take up arms and begin an even better game. I know now that the people who bullied me out of games were much as I: wanting to push the bounds of drama ever-onwards, to get to that new game everybody can enjoy (except for the new excludee-who must strive to build of themselves a new enemy). I look back at these days, and remember the friends I still have that were my enemies in each of these games. I remember them, but not my allies. My allies were always the followers, or the ones I followed. I think this and realise that these people, who I loved so dearly then, mean nothing to me now. This is the flippant nature of friendship, and I posit that these were not friends. I say this because if all of your peers are your friends in some capacity, does that make any of them a true friend?

Ah here we are. “True Friend”. This is the confuscian portion of our discussion, dear reader. While our parents would align us with children of their friends, and our schools would force us to make allies of our peers, where does and at what point does a True Friend lie? We all know of true friendship. We’ve all read Dolly magazines (I mean… Extreme Weightlifting Anonymous Magazine).  We’ve read the chain emails and the self-help books. We all know that a True Friend is the person that will help you cover up the evidence of a capital crime. But we all know that is bullshit. People would like to tell us, through idealic fantasy and platitudinal purveyance that our friends are people out of touch with reality. You don’t have any true friends, because when you’re sick, none of your drinking buddies are going to take a day off to slave over a pot of boiling chicken carcasses in order to bring you a bowl of chicken noodle soup. You don’t have any friends, because when you accidentally murder that hooker through a little harmless strangulation-play, there’s nobody who you wouldn’t feel embarrassed to call at two in the morning to help you chop them into pieces, stuff them into shopping bags, and bury them in the desert. When you get right down to it, those are the people who the “witty public” tell you to befriend. And they are exactly the wrong people.

You know who the True Friend is? It’s the person who convinces you to turn yourself in. The person who laughs at your idiotic plan to be the most geriatric person to row around the world in a canoo. The person who flat-out disagrees with you. The person who, through all that, makes a damn good point. A true friend is a friend who does not outstay their purpose. I’ve noticed that of the people who I would play with in my childhood, the ones who have remained my friends have been the ones who have stabbed me in the back during our games. The friends who I have kept from high school have been the ones who have reasoned with my arguments, and argued against them.

A true friend is a person who challenges you. If you are lazy, they will kick you into action. If you are wrong, they will make you right. They will be the night to your day, the yin to your yang, and the heavy pasta meal to your tuna nicoise salad. And they will be the person that through all of it you agree with, at least in principle. And most importantly, much like a loving couple, a True Friend will be the person random acquantances will always think you’re fighting with when you’re just having a discussion.

Secrets are not fun when you absolutely MUST keep them inside yourself. Surround yourself with your favourite trustworthy friends and taking some time to enjoy great company and tasty cocktails. Naturally, the evening will gradually become more perfect, and ever so gradually you will begin to burst with anticipation at that incredible secret piece of news. So much so, that it hurts to say anything at all, for fear that it will spill out of you before you notice your error… and the world ends.

Trust me. I know. It nearly happened to me – a lot.

Recently, I kept an unfathomably enormous fact hidden from the world for quite some time. As it got closer to revealing this surprise to my loved ones, it became more and more difficult. It was so difficult, in fact, that it reached the point where I’d ‘let it slip’ to people I was certain I’d never see again, such as my beautician, the lady at the jeweller, and the staff at the very swish cocktail bar that just opened around the corner. I found myself thriving on their reactions of sheer excitement and elation, and suddenly realised I was only days, hours away from commencing two weeks of much needed holiday leave.

I, the lady who was always too frightened to even begin planning a wedding, married my fellow blogger/fiance Dave van Aalst on the 14th of this month. I couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful, less stressful wedding. In fact, I wouldn’t have believed such a perfect day possible. The weather was to die for, and our wedding lunch was purely orgasmic… You see, we did the crazy thing and eloped, while celebrating what was originally just going to be a fun weekend away for his birthday. As exciting and magical as it was, people continually ask why we chose to do it this way; without having our family and close friends there to share the day. Oh, we have our reasons!

We have been together for a hundred years.
Well, Six and a half years, if you want to be correct about it. It feels like forever. When we discuss our history, all we can remember is that blurry time when we were young and futile, before we met, then fell instantly and insatiably in love with each other. We have since created our own fairy tale, and had several ups and downs and excitements and epiphanies… the latest one being that we are surely going to be together forever, as there is no other way. And, we have been engaged for about four years, and quite frankly; I was SO sick of people asking us when our big day was.

I am somewhat afraid of spending money.
(I am getting better, though!) I will still, however, go without buying new work shoes for months at a time until mine have holes in them, even if it means Dave forcing me, dragging me to the shops, and not letting me out until I have made my purchase. Sure, the week that we wed and celebrated cost more than an average week away would, but even with a wedding ceremony, seafood platters, hotel rooms, designer sunglasses and flights and this and that, it was still several thousand dollars cheaper than the wedding I had planned in my head. Screw budgets, compromises and all that rubbish – a womans wedding is one day to be the beautiful bride and call their very own day. Eloping, without having to worry about guests, catering, a proper dress, a DJ/MC… I still managed to make absolutely no compromises whatsoever and could not be happier with the result.

There is nothing more special to us as time away from the rest of the world, together.
We had a whirlwind holiday all planned months in advance, with stacks of quality time planned, but realised we had nothing to do while there. What’s a crazy getaway without a full agenda? Anyway, it was totally worth it to call our family and friends and embrace their reactions, and it’s already making for a highly entertaining story that I don’t believe I will tire of telling in the near future.

So, we ran away, got married, and didn’t tell a single important soul until that afternoon. You can see how it was by far the hugest secret I have ever successfully kept almost exclusively to myself. Almost. The sneaking around and private conspiratory gestures that seemed blatantly obvious to us sounds delightful in retrospect, but was anything but. It was definately 100% utterly, totally and completely worth every minute of stress, my weeks of confusion and bewilderment, and Dave’s clearly exhausted uncanny ability to keep a steady head about everything in life.

Someone has to welcome the new me into the world, so I shall take the liberty to do it myself: Hi, Mrs Sarah van Aalst! The world thinks you are incredible and we can not wait to read more of your lovely writings in the future.

This doesn’t need elaboration. But, as is my slightly left-of-centre style, I’m just going to do it anyway.

As you know, I work in retail. Which means I work in a shop, and statistically 50% of people who walk through the door are just browsing. When I approach them and ask about their best interests within my walls, quite a few will say “Oh. no. It’s okay, I’m just killing time.” I have nothing against these people – every second of our lives is time, and it may as well be spent doing something useful. But how useful is aimlessly wandering through shops whilst waiting for the hours to disappear? Everybody is guilty of wasting time what with facebook and twitter and the glorious feeling you get after a long day in the office when you slump into the couch and just sit and stare at the box. It’s okay, we all need to relax. But unfortunately for me, there just never seems to be enough time to do nothing.

Have you noticed how children count time? They calculate how far away things are by sleeps. I can’t seem to fathom the fact that it’s September already. In fact, it will be October in just a few sleeps – dry, hot and sweaty days are coming, and my birthday is only seventeen sleeps away. Dreadful. Literally, each year will pass us by slightly faster than any prior to it, which creates the impression that things are moving along quicker. They’re not. We’re just getting older and experiencing more.

Recently I have realised how much I have grown up, particularly in the last year or so. I have grown and matured and changed more than I thought I would- these days going out with friends for the soul purpose of getting completely obliterated, hence writing off entire weekends in the process and working just to pay for said weekends disgusts me. Eighteen months ago? That was me. That was who I was. A crazy little party animal that never wanted to stop. Now? Early nights, enjoying my books and my very productive weekends, and keeping most of my sanity is much more important. On the weekend I went to a friends house for drinks and a very awesome Beatles Rock Band evening. It was so much fun… until I woke the following morning feeling those feelings that only somebody with a hangover would feel. Not cool. Not cool at all.

My life plan has changed. It was something along the lines of “meh… as long as I don’t wake up one day and realise I’m old, I’ll be okay”, which is the precise path I was heading down. Life with no plan, no ambition, just carpe diem? In context it sounds like buckets of fun, and it’s honestly nothing short of that; I did it for almost five years. Was it just getting a couple of years older that transformed me from that blazè non-caring opinion to thinking seriously about children and life savings, and really truly thinking about the future? It’s so much more delicate now than “kids some day, two would be nice” to “Five years from now we will be thinking very long and hard about children. We need to look closely at our careers and our incomes. For so many legitimate reasons, Adelaide doesn’t seem suitable for us to raise a family. Let’s move somewhere a little smaller, a little friendlier, and give our babies the relaxed and easygoing youth we had in Broken Hill.”

When did my brain change gears? How did this just happen?

Benjamin Franklin was definately onto something when he informed the world of his epiphany, that lost time is never found again.

I feel as though moving to Adelaide was a truly amazing had-to-happen awakening into the real world experience for me. And I did just that, I crawled out from under my rock and noticed the city lights and absorbed every last event and happening that crossed my path. But in retrospect, with my newfound view on the rest of my life, I wasted so much time. I look around me, Summer is coming, and yet another birthday I have to deal with is creeping up. I’m four years older, and while I have great memories and fantastic stories and what not, when I compare my life to that of some of my friends – like those who have completed university and are on their way into big careers, or other friends who were sensible and now own houses and have travelled the world, I feel a slight pang of jealousy. I cannot envy the majority of my dearest friends though; they’re the ones who are now however old they happen to be, are in the same life position I am in, but with no prospect or desire to change. I love them to bits… but that is not a place I wish to visit.

Actually, several of my friends have children now. By all means I am happy as hell for them. However, only one of my closest girlfriends with a child made the concious decision – it was not an “oh my goodness, now what?” calamity. I feel rather blessed that Dave and I haven’t fallen pregnant by accident, and even more blessed that I have been with the man of my dreams since I was in high school. I’d be lying if I said that about any of my friends. These amazing young people have had this non-decision thrown upon them, and taken it in their stride. Before too long it doesn’t matter – they’re blessed to be mothers and fathers and part of a family, a network. But there is something I am too shy to ask my friends. If they didn’t slip up and become pregnant in the first place, would they be as happy? It’s a rhetorical question nobody can answer. Life has panned out on such opposite end of the spectrum for us. I am still curious.

In twenty years time, these friends of mine will have adult offspring, and perhaps a teenager/child or two thrown in too. If my plan works as well as it has been for me, I will have much younger children, and I will also ideally have a house to call my own, and a husband who just happens to be my highschool sweetheart. For my above mentioned friends, if they had a plan to begin with, it was thrown in the air and jumbled up, and now they are happy and making the most of what life they have. But how angry will they be when mid life comes along and they’re old enough to just be reluctant and bitter about the world?

I could have travelled the continents, I could have a $400,000 mortgage on a Sarah-like little home somewhere in suburbia, I could have followed my high school ambition and studied media. In the words of almost every teacher I had, if I was willing to put my mind to it, I could have done anything I damn well pleased. And I chose to just activate my cruise control and let it be.

The famous year has passed of me growing into something a little more normal, a little more respectable. Now what? Well, now I’m not quite so petrified of getting older, I have quite an impressive savings account, and my sanity stays by my side 99.2% of the time. My weekends are full of social and productive happenings that very seldom result in inebriation, I have found the balance and am feeling happy and healthy, and I have finally, at the ripe age of 22, accepted the fact that I cannot just walk out of this life once it all gets too frustrating, and have learnt to just enjoy it. And, that is what I am doing. I’m loving it.

How do you feel? How is your life treating you? Plans? Options? Comment box is just inches below. :)

The following began as a sleepy rant on MySpace mobile. It has now evolved into a full blown Ok, To Begin With… blog.

MySpace blogging? I wonder if anyone does this anymore. Its all Facebook these days, something that’s already stolen many precious hours of my life. Whatever happened to REAL communication? What happened to real people?

I love the people in my life, I accept them. It’s easy to accept people when you don’t want, need or expect anything from them besides company and fun. What about when you need love? Real love. Why do we suddenly expect the world from someone, just because we start kissing and cuddling them? Or is that just me?

When did guys stop being the man of the house, or the initiator, or simply in control? Was it the same time they stopped being the provider? Women fought for equal rights, but does that also mean equal roles in a relationship? Is it old fashioned for me to feel that a man should care for his girlfriend and provide for her in emotional ways even though she can earn her own money and be independent? Shouldn’t he still be assertive and decisive, whilst giving her equal rights and including her?

I want to be equal as much as anybody else does. But where does that end? Where is the magic in falling in love, if you are also equal in love? Men were made to protect women. They are bigger, uglier and stronger. We may be able to provide for ourselves, but we love that we feel safe in their arms. Is that feeling disappearing from the world? You wonder why everyone is gay these days. Yes, it’s more acceptable than ever in the past. But if we are equal to men in love, then what difference does gender make?

The world is evolving, changing. I admit, I’m a magnet for gay friends. Is that because I’m equal to them also? They find comfort in someone who doesn’t judge. I find comfort in someone who is open. The difference between my friends, and somebody I would fall in love with, is that there will only be one person who will make me feel safe.

So, that’s my own personal feelings on where relationships are headed. Although I feel now that I’ve opened a Pandora’s box on discussions of gay relationships. I have thought about blogging on this topic before, I guess now is as good a time as any.

Currently there is a lot of speculation and controversy surrounding laws on gay marriage. Don’t get me wrong here, I’m no politician and I don’t pretend to know anything about current politics in any country! But I am a gay-friendly human in this world at the moment and I feel I have some right to speak on the subject, even if I don’t actually know what I’m talking about, but should same-sex marriage be made legal? That’s the question. Should we deprive good people of the basic right of marriage to someone they love?

Dr Phil did a show on this subject (God knows when, but I watched it recently). It seems there are some extreme differences of opinion on the matter. Marriage is something that was created from religion. My own personal belief is that this is a topic of religion, more than it is a modern discussion on basic rights. What is marriage these days anyway? If we get married on a beach, write our own vowels, and don’t believe in God, does that make our marriage any less legal than a religious one?

Then why would it matter if a gay couple did the same? It’s double standards really. From my earlier comments in this blog, you get an idea of my own feelings on relationships. Like a lot of people in this world, I have the inbuilt instinct of being a woman who needs the care and safety of a man. Or is it the fairytale factor? Am I conditioned to feel like the damsel in distress, or the lonely princess, waiting for her prince?

Same-sex marriage certainly doesn’t fit into this picture.

The expression “it’s a free country” is definitely exaggerated. Although I do believe that same-sex marriage is somehow breaking the laws of nature (or religion), I also believe that every human deserves the right to choose their own path in life. But I do have more questions for you, should a thief be allowed to steal, simply because it makes him happy? Should we take Aboriginal babies from their homes because we believe their parents cannot raise them to our standards? Should we put people in jail because their actions are “wrong” in our opinion? Should gay people be treated as though they are criminal or sick? Where is the line between law, for the well being of our universe, and human rights, for our own personal well being?

Regardless of my beliefs, and the many beautiful fruity friends I have, I will still be waiting to find safety in the arms of my prince.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my life, and about family. I spent some time with some family recently and it got me thinking about life and the future. I am enjoying less and less partying all weekend with friends and am loving thinking about and planning for the future. That $200′s worth of drinks could be a new coffee table, or some really nice curtains. Is this a maturity that comes with age or is it something else?

So this brings me to the point I’d like to discuss. How much are we really in control of ourselves? And if not ourselves, who or what is controlling us?

Society is based around the notion that a woman and man meet and fall in love, they get married and they create a family. It’s a cycle that works for so many people, it gives people with no direction a direction. It’s also probably one of the primary reasons that this nuclear family just doesn’t really work anymore. If being a mum is your sole goal in life, no doubt your kids are going to feel smothered, they’re going to grow up and become independent, and you’re going to go through all of it wondering what was really all in it for you. That is if you’re lucky enough to choose when you want to have a baby.

Basic instincts come into the equation though, are we pairing off and breeding because society tells us to? Or at some age do our natural biological clock start pushing us towards the necessary outcome for any species, propagation.  An amoeba doesn’t worry about showing off in front of the other single cell organisms, it focuses all it’s energy into division. A wild elephant will eat, and migrate, and mate all so that he or she can get some elephant-nookie and raise offspring, whom they’ll sacrifice their life to protect.

These natural instincts have shaped our society for as long as we have record and no doubt further back than that.  When I was younger I used to loathe the idea that external and internal forces directed peoples lives so much, that they adhered to the standard that almost everybody does, and they didn’t do something unique and live for themselves.

I can think of a select few people who have been connected to my life who didn’t allow themselves to adhere to those standards, with some of them ended up in a situation they never meant to be in in the first place. Was this an accident? Sure. A bad thing? No. I can think of an artist I know who was never right for having a family, and though it may have appeared as though he ran away, to him, he managed to escape and live the life he wants. The norm isn’t always best for everybody.

I’m understanding more every day why so many people end up living the same lives, and not rocking the boat the way that looked so appealing when I was younger. It’s not that I’m unique and these people are all sheep, it just takes a measure of time, a dash of societal influence and a dollop of instinct.

Image by Thomas Hawk