Category Archives: Chronic Thinker

There Will Be Bile

Every artist has a colour they don’t like, that they’d prefer to never see on the palette or indeed, in their world. If there’s an emotion that I really wish did not exist, it’s JEALOUSY. No amount of visual or verbal romanticisation can make this emotion anything but an unpleasant, repugnant one to me.

There will be bile – Ramya Pandyan | @ideasmithy

In other people it reveals humanity as petty, the world as small and inglorious – not the one that feels fit for me to live my best self in. And it’s harder still, when I find it in myself. I hate it so much, I find myself walking away from situations, people and relationships that even might bring up this emotion in me. I do not like to feel petty.

And yet… …how I wish I had a clean, inspiring way to complete that thought and this post. I don’t, so my only recourse is to face it in the hopes that moral courage removes the blemish of emotional pettiness in me. How pretentious I sound even to myself, as I struggle to move away from this emotion.

It is such a powerful feeling. It terrifies me. I have experienced firsthand, being the object of someone else’s jealousy. I’ve glimpsed the monster in their eyes, their souls as people lie and violate, when overcome by this emotion. I’ve watched compassion, kindness and affection die when jealousy takes over. Jealousy is that evil monster that eats away our best self. Perhaps this is why it is so romanticised.

I asked a wise friend for advice, expecting platitudes. So many conversations live in the realm of false positive. But she asked me to remember the fullness of life, a thought that led me back to my garden of abundance. I feel safe there from green-eyed devils and a world of pettiness. But it feels temporary, a refuge I can run to rather than a place I am.

Then I think of the roses. Roses bloom in heat and soil that’s acidic, the kind that burns in my stomach. The purest of white rosebuds happened because acid played a part. And inside me, a steady supply of bile lets what I eat become a body that does so much.

Perhaps, all living needs some acid.

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THERE WILL BE BILE Every artist has a colour they don’t like, that they’d prefer to never see on the palette or indeed, in their world. If there’s an emotion that I really wish did not exist, it’s JEALOUSY. No amount of visual or verbal romanticisation can make this emotion anything but an unpleasant, repugnant one to me. In other people it reveals humanity as petty, the world as small and inglorious – not the one that feels fit for me to live my best self in. And it’s harder still, when I find it in myself. I hate it so much, I find myself walking away from situations, people and relationships that even might bring up this emotion in me. I do not like to feel petty. And yet… …how I wish I had a clean, inspiring way to complete that thought and this post. I don’t, so my only recourse is to face it in the hopes that moral courage removes the blemish of emotional pettiness in me. How pretentious I sound even to myself, as I struggle to move away from this emotion. It is such a powerful feeling. It terrifies me. I have experienced firsthand, being the object of someone else’s jealousy. I’ve glimpsed the monster in their eyes, their souls as people lie and violate, when overcome by this emotion. I’ve watched compassion, kindness and affection die when jealousy takes over. Jealousy is that evil monster that eats away our best self. Perhaps this is why it is so romanticised. I asked a wise friend for advice, expecting platitudes. So many conversations live in the realm of false positive. But she asked me to remember the fullness of life, a thought that led me back to my garden of abundance. I feel safe there from green-eyed devils and a world of pettiness. But it feels temporary, a refuge I can run to rather than a place I am. Then I think of the roses. Roses bloom in heat and soil that’s acidic, the kind that burns in my stomach. The purest of white rosebuds happened because acid played a part. And inside me, a steady supply of bile lets what I eat become a body that does so much. Perhaps, all living needs some acid. #theideasmithy 📸: @ayushee.ghoshal 🎶: PEGGY-O: Simon & Garfunkel

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If you liked this post, you’ll want to follow the Facebook Page and the Youtube channel. I’m Ramya Pandyan (a.k.a. Ideasmith) and I’m on Twitter and Instagram.

Change Of Weather

We’re running out of things to say to each other. It seems as if you don’t like me very much anymore.

You hate my car, my home, my gadgets, my life – everything that makes me successful. You want us to go back to a simpler life, for me to work harder for lesser. But I have for centuries and millennia and time eternal. Now it’s time for pleasure. It’s called progress. You see green, it was never my favourite colour. I like steel and grey a lot better.

So you turn moody. It’s just like you to want to ruin my day. Starve me by burning it all up. You know, nobody likes someone who’s always raining on their parade. And yet I try, with I love yous and other peacekeeping tactics. Earth Hour. World Environment Day. Special days. Everyday used to be special. Do you remember?
I do.

Summer days where you’d wrestle me to the ground and we’d make hard, mango-scented love. Winter nights kissing me lightly awake, keeping me up talking poetry. Endless evenings standing still on the beach so still, like God stopped breathing and look, that sliver of blood moon, the tip of his big toenail as he says Peace Out.

How bold we were, how brave to play these toxic games of evolution and success, pain and pleasure. We were baiting danger at leisure. We managed to keep love, quite at bay.

Let us try to believe that even when the eyes are cold, the visions behind them are not. We are, after all, the casualties of Life’s war against itself. But you are still angry, your moodswings have given me a cold. I’ve cried all I want to, for you. And you’ve exploded far more than you can afford. But we my love, have never learnt to speak. My poetry, I see, won’t touch you any more. It’s too late to salvage what we had.

So we’ll go back to talking about the weather and you can blame it all on me again. And some day perhaps, long after I’m gone, another lover, another child, standing with you under a different sun, another season, will find lined across your body, the stretch marks of our life together and wonder whether they were not your first love.

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CHANGE OF WEATHER We’re running out of things to say to each other. It seems as if you don’t like me very much anymore. You hate my car, my home, my gadgets, my life – everything that makes me successful. You want us to go back to a simpler life, for me to work harder for lesser. But I have for centuries and millennia and time eternal. Now it’s time for pleasure. It's called progress. You see green, it was never my favourite colour. I like steel and grey a lot better. So you turn moody. It’s just like you to want to ruin my day. Starve me by burning it all up. You know, nobody likes someone who’s always raining on their parade. And yet I try, with I love yous and other peacekeeping tactics. Earth Hour. World Environment Day. Special days. Everyday used to be special. Do you remember? I do. Summer days where you'd wrestle me to the ground and we'd make hard, mango-scented love. Winter nights kissing me lightly awake, keeping me up talking poetry. Endless evenings standing still on the beach so still, like God stopped breathing and look, that sliver of blood moon, the tip of his big toenail as he says Peace Out. How bold we were, how brave to play these toxic games of evolution and success, pain and pleasure. We were baiting danger at leisure. We managed to keep love, quite at bay. Let us try to believe that even when the eyes are cold, the visions behind them are not. We are, after all, the casualties of Life’s war against itself. But you are still angry, your moodswings have given me a cold. I've cried all I want to, for you. And you've exploded far more than you can afford. But we my love, have never learnt to speak. My poetry, I see, won’t touch you any more. It's too late to salvage what we had. So we’ll go back to talking about the weather and you can blame it all on me again. And some day perhaps, long after I’m gone, another lover, another child, standing with you under a different sun, another season, will find lined across your body, the stretch marks of our life together and wonder whether they were not your first love. ——————————————– I wrote this for an event about climate change, a few years ago. #theideasmithy

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If you liked this post, you’ll want to follow the Facebook Page and the Youtube channel. I’m Ramya Pandyan (a.k.a. Ideasmith) and I’m on Twitter and Instagram.

The Dark Side Of You

Is it anger? Is it pain? It is fear?

I’m going to tell you a secret. It’s none of these things. These are the gifts you bring to your hidden self and put away like unopened presents from people you wish would have given you their selves instead. You take your regrets and your heartaches and heap them in front of a door in your mind that you dare not open.

It’s not the gilded door you strut through when you’re drunk or high or orgasmic. The one you keep for treasured times.

This is the door that creaks in your most fevered dreams, in an antibiotic haze. The one that’s just beyond your peripheral vision. It’s the reason you don’t see 360 degrees. You’re too afraid of what you’ll find.

And when you find someone who’d rather look straight ahead to, you call it love and agree to be mutual custodians of each other’s blind areas. That’s why it hurts when they turn their face away and you glimpse their dark side.

The dark side of you is everything you loathe in other people. It’s all things that you wish didn’t exist in the universe but they do, because you found them in you.

Are you proud of your honesty? Well then what happened to the lies that you’ve considered, even framed? They don’t vanish because they never left your lips. They added another spot of noir to the floor of your soul.

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If you liked this post, you’ll want to follow the Facebook Page and the Youtube channel. I’m Ramya Pandyan (a.k.a. Ideasmith) and I’m on Twitter and Instagram.

On Carrying Shame

I found this in my Drafts folder. I don’t remember who I wrote this about. But I do remember feeling this way. And today, it feels like a message from another one of my selves, telling me what I need to hear.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~

I did something I feel terrible about. I hurt somebody and I did so in a cold, incisive manner that would impress me with its finesse, if hurting someone wasn’t a horrible thing to do. I’m horrified by how well, how easily and how unplannedly I did it.

Years ago, a friend gave me the thought that sarcasm was the recourse of the weak and it’s an idea I’ve tried to keep in mind. I was an awfully sarcastic person before that and I’ve tried my damndest to keep away from that.

This comes from the same place. An insidious, highly intelligent attack strategy aimed at maiming a person’s emotional well-being. That is for someone who is a master of words. It does not give me pride to know that. Using words that I love so much for such damage is a terrible thing to do.

I think I’m most upset because I thought I had put away and then disconnected that side of me years ago. I lived through the time before that not realising this side of me and then acting as if it were a normal, natural way to be. It’s a terrible flaw to feel entitled to your flaws. With this last action, it’s like Ms.Hyde surfaced, leering.

“So you thought I was gone? That’s cute.”

I wish I could say I was drunk or one of those things to excuse myself but I wasn’t. I was wounded by someone and I have spent days teaching myself to take deep breaths, not give in to my flinch response and to stay true to my better self. Yesterday, I didn’t just lash out, I attacked. I do not like seeing this petty, petulant side of myself. In striving hard not to succumb to it, it has been easier to imagine I do not have such a side at all. It’s horrible uncovering self-hatred even to a long unseen side of yourself.

One of the things I read just now, amidst wallowing in this guilt was,

“You must be as kind to yourself as you would be to another in a similar situation.”

I guess I needed to let myself suffer a bit. There’s great drama in feeling like a fallen angel. Deep breath. In, out. Tomorrow is another day. Ms.Hyde will be waiting but I guess strength is not about wearing blinkers or editing yourself. It’s about carrying the worst parts of you along with the best.

 

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

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If you liked this post, you’ll want to follow the Facebook Page and the Youtube channel. I’m Ramya Pandyan (a.k.a. Ideasmith) and I’m on Twitter and Instagram.

Interesting Things

I read a sentence in a book that went, “She tried to be the kind of person that interesting things happened to.” And I thought that was such a pretty line. But what did it mean? And because I was enjoying the book, I immediately applied it to myself wondering if I’d ever done that. 

I don’t know if interesting things just ‘happen’ to people. You have to go looking for things that will grab you by the neck and demand that you expend breaths, thoughts and emotions on them. That doesn’t sound pleasant, does it? Interesting things rarely are. There’s a reason ‘May you live in interesting times’ is a curse and not a blessing. 

It is true that I grew up in Mumbai with multiethnic influences so perhaps I didn’t have to look very far for the next adventure. Just finding an identity and holding on to it continues to be the biggest challenge. But spiritual soliloquy aside, what are the things of interest that can happen?

Romance. Friendship. God. The next BIG idea. A flash mob proposal. A near-death experience. A chance to rescue someone. A celebrity spotting. A spiritual epiphany. A lottery. How does one become the kind of person these things happen to? It’s simple. You open your eyes and you breathe. In, out. 

In seeking these experiences (finding some, discovering other things and still seeking a few), I realised that I became that interesting thing that happened to somebody else. Inspiration to a student dropping by an open mic. Book recommendations that changed someone’s college major. Crazy makeup for a person seeing people beyond their masks for the first time. The first claps that started the round of applause for an uncertain performer. The uncomfortable thought that made someone who wanted to think of themselves as kind…think differently. A broken rule to demonstrate it could be done. 

So what interesting thing are you going to be today and whose life are you changing?

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INTERESTING THINGS I read a sentence in a book that went, "She tried to be the kind of person that interesting things happened to." And I thought that was such a pretty line. But what did it mean? And because I was enjoying the book, I immediately applied it to myself wondering if I'd ever done that. I don't know if interesting things just 'happen' to people. You have to go looking for things that will grab you by the neck and demand that you expend breaths, thoughts and emotions on them. That doesn't sound pleasant, does it? Interesting things rarely are. There's a reason 'May you live in interesting times' is a curse and not a blessing. It is true that I grew up in Mumbai with multiethnic influences so perhaps I didn't have to look very far for the next adventure. Just finding an identity and holding on to it continues to be the biggest challenge. But spiritual soliloquy aside, what are the things of interest that can happen? Romance. Friendship. God. The next BIG idea. A flash mob proposal. A near-death experience. A chance to rescue someone. A celebrity spotting. A spiritual epiphany. A lottery. How does one become the kind of person these things happen to? It's simple. You open your eyes and you breathe. In, out. In seeking these experiences (finding some, discovering other things and still seeking a few), I realised that I became that interesting thing that happened to somebody else. Inspiration to a student dropping by an open mic. Book recommendations that changed someone's college major. Crazy makeup for a person seeing people beyond their masks for the first time. The first claps that started the round of applause for an uncertain performer. The uncomfortable thought that made someone who wanted to think of themselves as kind…think differently. A broken rule to demonstrate it could be done. So what interesting thing are you going to be today and whose life are you changing? #theideasmithy 🎶: DEVIL IN DISGUISE – Elvis Presley

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If you liked this post, you’ll want to follow the Facebook Page and the Youtube channel. I’m Ramya Pandyan (a.k.a. Ideasmith) and I’m on Twitter and Instagram.

Holding Hands

You’re uncomfortable in silences
In sighs
In whispers
In conversations
In wide open spaces and people
So you find your solace in moving

And you tell me,
Make it quick, this love thing
Or you-and-I just might stick
Hug me like it doesn’t matter 
that it’s not a kiss instead
And I do

Together, we learn
to use charm as our tools
Insight as currency
Armed with both,
we storm the marketplace
Sellers looking for love, peace and wisdom

We craft airbrushed relationships
And plastic sentiments
Indestructible and neon ranged
Our love and laughter chip and flake
On each other
And we bleed byte-sized poetry.

Bartering words
Duelling with sentiments
We are warrior poets
Traders of such dramas
With love however,
We will have no dealings

Packing trophy experiences
Boarding passes in hand, we wait
Hoping that the call that comes for me
Will be yours too
No strings attached
No expectations, no commitments
No messes, no fusses

But there’s nothing in our contracts
that says we can’t hold hands.

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If you liked this post, you’ll want to follow the Facebook Page and the Youtube channel. I’m Ramya Pandyan (a.k.a. Ideasmith) and I’m on Twitter and Instagram.

A DIY Relationship

We don’t think enough about friendship. What this word means, what we need from it, what version of it we offer. Maybe that’s part of its charm, the way friendship is a DIY kind of relationship that you can tailor to your needs, your personality and the other’s.

I’ve called a wide variety of people, Friend. My friendship life (we have love lives so why not friendship lives?) has spanned a diverse range of personality types and interaction. I see other people as exciting adventures, ones that may involve treasure chests or spectacular views or life-altering events. So I’m usually open to going wherever the ride takes me. Like many, I like having common interests with other people but I find this doesn’t have to have anything to do with friendship. I also want to think I prize loyalty & honesty but the truth is, I’ve been equally enchanted by people who possess not an iota of these qualities.

If you were to ask my friends what kind of a friend I am, I doubt you’d get a consensus. I play confidant to one. I’m partner in crime with another. I’m a drinking buddy here, a writing partner there. I’m an ego massage, a safe space, a commiserator, a compatriot in a cause. I’m a fellow water sign, a steady date to awkward events, a fun companion for mundane errands, an available voice on the phone, a knowledgeable advisor. I want to believe everybody who calls me friend feels that I add value to their lives. In how this happens though, I can’t discern a pattern.

So what does friendship mean to me? I think the world is a very large and exciting and sometimes frightening place. Companionship makes it easier, more fun. I love having the freedom to design the companionship I want to participate in, for various areas & times in my life.

I’m also a big one for blind spots. We all have them and we miss our own. It takes another person, someone invested in you but not biased. A friend. Sometimes all you can offer is perspective. And maybe that is enough.

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A DIY RELATIONSHIP We don't think enough about friendship. What this word means, what we need from it, what version of it we offer. Maybe that's part of its charm, the way friendship is a DIY kind of relationship that you can tailor to your needs, your personality and the other's. I've called a wide variety of people, Friend. My friendship life (we have love lives so why not friendship lives?) has spanned a diverse range of personality types and interaction. I see other people as exciting adventures, ones that may involve treasure chests or spectacular views or life-altering events. So I'm usually open to going wherever the ride takes me. Like many, I like having common interests with other people but I find this doesn't have to have anything to do with friendship. I also want to think I prize loyalty & honesty but the truth is, I've been equally enchanted by people who possess not an iota of these qualities. If you were to ask my friends what kind of a friend I am, I doubt you'd get a consensus. I play confidant to one. I'm partner in crime with another. I'm a drinking buddy here, a writing partner there. I'm an ego massage, a safe space, a commiserator, a compatriot in a cause. I'm a fellow water sign, a steady date to awkward events, a fun companion for mundane errands, an available voice on the phone, a knowledgeable advisor. I want to believe everybody who calls me friend feels that I add value to their lives. In how this happens though, I can't discern a pattern. So what does friendship mean to me? I think the world is a very large and exciting and sometimes frightening place. Companionship makes it easier, more fun. I love having the freedom to design the companionship I want to participate in, for various areas & times in my life. I'm also a big one for blind spots. We all have them and we miss our own. It takes another person, someone invested in you but not biased. A friend. Sometimes all you can offer is perspective. And maybe that is enough. Hands: @shaunwilliamsi 🎶: STAND BY ME – Ben E.King #theideasmithy #friend #friendship #friends #friendships #friendshipgoals #bff #friendly #relationshipgoals #relationshipquotes #relationships

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If you liked this post, you’ll want to follow the Facebook Page and the Youtube channel. I’m Ramya Pandyan (a.k.a. Ideasmith) and I’m on Twitter and Instagram.

Meeting My Feminism

I grew up feeling like my life would follow the same path as other people – work and you shall achieve, be and you shall receive. It baffled me when I was attacked or called entitled for this, when the boys I knew, weren’t.

I wrote about this often. I created a comic about a little girl in a green dress, throwing barbs and smiles at a world trying to put her in a gender box (The Idea-toons). Humour became an easy way to deflect the always present horror about the idea that people have tried to impose on me all my life – that I don’t deserve what I am/do/have.

I resisted the label of feminist for too long because I didn’t think I deserved to be categorised with people who ensured that I had a vote, an education, the right to a job, to not be an object of ownership. I didn’t feel that important. It would be years before I realised living that belief is far more important than a label.

I wrote this piece on a whim, sitting in a coffeeshop waiting for a friend. It had easy witticisms and sharp edges because it was only for fun, not craft like my other pieces (Paper Plane, Goddess, Flamingos). I would perform it on my first time at a stage that would go on to be my favourite. The creators of that space would notice me and friendships would be born, bringing me support for my work. I would also get marked as a target, by other people’s misogyny hidden under camaraderie. I didn’t know it then.

In 2017, Simar Singh would tell me about his idea to promote poets and poetry and ask if I’d open his first event for Women’s Day, with this piece. Sure, I’d say, without much thought. Later, they’d find technical glitches in the footage, teething problems for a first-time team and decide not to use it. I’d shrug. There were other battles I was fighting.

In August 2019, UnErase Poetry put up the first ever video they shot at their launch show – mine. It crossed 75k views in a week. 😄 I still don’t know – which battles I can win without even realising I’m in a fight and which ones I’m doomed to perish in. But I am a feminist.

Watch the video on YouTube or Facebook on the UnErase Poetry channels. Have you met my feminism? 

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MEETING MY FEMINISM I grew up feeling like my life would follow the same path as other people – work and you shall achieve, be and you shall receive. It baffled me when I was attacked or called entitled for this, when the boys I knew, weren't. I wrote about this often. I created a comic about a little girl in a green dress, throwing barbs and smiles at a world trying to put her in a gender box (The Idea-toons). Humour became an easy way to deflect the always present horror about the idea that people have tried to impose on me all my life – that I don't deserve what I am/do/have. I resisted the label of feminist for too long because I didn't think I deserved to be categorised with people who ensured that I had a vote, an education, the right to a job, to not be an object of ownership. I didn't feel that important. It would be years before I realised living that belief is far more important than a label. I wrote this piece on a whim, sitting in a coffeeshop waiting for a friend. It had easy witticisms and sharp edges because it was only for fun, not craft like my other pieces (Paper Plane, Goddess, Flamingos). I would perform it on my first time at a stage that would go on to be my favourite. The creators of that space would notice me and friendships would be born, bringing me support for my work. I would also get marked as a target, by other people's misogyny hidden under camaraderie. I didn't know it then. In 2017, @simarsinghtrolled would tell me about his idea to promote poets and poetry and ask if I'd open his first event for Women's Day, with this piece. Sure, I'd say, without much thought. Later, they'd find technical glitches in the footage, teething problems for a first-time team and decide not to use it. I'd shrug. There were other battles I was fighting. 10 days ago, @unerasepoetry put up the first ever video they shot at their launch show – mine. It crossed 75k views in a week. 😄 I still don't know – which battles I can win without even realising I'm in a fight and which ones I'm doomed to perish in. But I am a feminist. Watch the video on YouTube or Facebook on the UnErase Poetry channels. Have you met my feminism? #theideasmithy

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If you liked this post, you’ll want to follow the Facebook Page and the Youtube channel. I’m Ramya Pandyan (a.k.a. Ideasmith) and I’m on Twitter and Instagram.

A Work Of Art

I’m forty this year. I’m told I don’t look that age (though I know other people who look similarly so). But I’ll take the compliment because I understand that’s what is meant, under the assumed ageism.

Because 40 is when I’m liking the way my world looks. It hasn’t been entirely chance (though I’ve had my fair share of them along with the challenges). It has also been hard work, compromises, disappointments, bruises, scars covered with tattoos, messes & crumbs. But when I look around my world – my body, my appearance, the spaces I inhabit, the relationships I nurture, the things I own, the ideas I carry, I see a well curated life. 

This is not to say that my life is a glitzy Instagram (or Facebook or wherever-you-see-this) feed. I know ‘curated’ sounds like filters and fakeness. But it can also mean a carefully thought out, meticulously chosen selection.

And for the first time, I’m acknowledging that I live my life that way – one that I work hard at choosing, every minute, to be right for me. Sometimes a choice is about being brave enough to pursue a path less trodden. But choices are also the patience to stay with what’s available without resentment. Some choices are joyful selections of novelty. Some are eyes wide open acceptance of consequences. Every one is a choice and I’ve done my best to make the right one, every time.

I’m midway through my most likely life. And this is still a work in progress because with every choice I make, I learn better how to live my life better. A more beautiful life, a more loving life (and loved life), a more fun and healthy and passionate and abundant life. Living is an art and the canvas I am is looking pretty good, the brush still in my hands, my pallette full of colour.

I want my life to be an ode to beauty and power and fun and learning and magic and love. These are the things that I value and want to represent. Think of these and think of me when you think 40. I love being a new kind of poster child because this poster is looking damn fine.

Forty is the new hottie. YEAH!

Is your life a work of art? It’s never too early or too late to pick up that brush.

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A WORK OF ART I'm forty this year. I'm told I don't look that age (though I know other people who look similarly so). But I'll take the compliment because I understand that's what is meant, under the assumed ageism. Because 40 is when I'm liking the way my world looks. It hasn't been entirely chance (though I've had my fair share of them along with the challenges). It has also been hard work, compromises, disappointments, bruises, scars covered with tattoos, messes & crumbs. But when I look around my world – my body, my appearance, the spaces I inhabit, the relationships I nurture, the things I own, the ideas I carry, I see a well curated life. This is not to say that my life is a glitzy Instagram (or Facebook or wherever-you-see-this) feed. I know 'curated' sounds like filters and fakeness. But it can also mean a carefully thought out, meticulously chosen selection. And for the first time, I'm acknowledging that I live my life that way – one that I work hard at choosing, every minute, to be right for me. Sometimes a choice is about being brave enough to pursue a path less trodden. But choices are also the patience to stay with what's available without resentment. Some choices are joyful selections of novelty. Some are eyes wide open acceptance of consequences. Every one is a choice and I've done my best to make the right one, every time. I'm midway through my most likely life. And this is still a work in progress because with every choice I make, I learn better how to live my life better. A more beautiful life, a more loving life (and loved life), a more fun and healthy and passionate and abundant life. Living is an art and the canvas I am is looking pretty good, the brush still in my hands, my pallette full of colour. I want my life to be an ode to beauty and power and fun and learning and magic and love. These are the things that I value and want to represent. Think of these and think of me when you think 40. I love being a new kind of poster child because this poster is looking damn fine. Forty is the new hottie. YEAH! Is your life a work of art? It's never too early or too late to pick up that brush. #theideasmithy 🎶: VOGUE – Madonna

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If you liked this post, you’ll want to follow the Facebook Page and the Youtube channel. I’m Ramya Pandyan (a.k.a. Ideasmith) and I’m on Twitter and Instagram.

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