Here is a poem that is as much about missing someone and not being able to reassure them of your love, as it is about surrendering to something you cannot control, but loving them anyway.
The Tin Roof
Tin roof with a gaping hole, What luck do you have today?
The wind is blowing and a boy is sleeping, dreaming of better days.
Curled up in a corner, The wind is threatening rain, You ache to protect him and to hold him once again.
But the wind is getting stronger, Oblivious to your pain. It does not see the child, It does not see his pain.
It shouts and it threatens and it keeps love at bay. It huffs and it puffs in support of a cursed name. It blows, it brings rain, it throws stones of every shame. Blind to a full story, The flying monkey in a game.
The boy wakes from his dream as rain begins to fall. Cold, wet and alone, The wind did not bring change, No change at all.
Tin roof with a gaping hole, What luck do you have today?
No luck at all, with the wind that howls and the heavy rain that falls Only a dream that with time this boy will stand tall and will wake one morning, and hear my call.
And if the nights seem dark, He’ll look up at the old tin roof, He’ll see the stars, He will see the light, Guardians of the night, And he’ll know, from deep within, The infinite love that has always belonged to him. - By Rosie Goes
As I continue to explore the theme ‘Surrender,’ and it being 3 months since I went to Ukraine, I have finally got time to reflect and write about it. I’ve got to be honest with you. I have struggled writing about my experience in Ukraine because my experience was completely different to what I had expected it would be. It’s taken me some time to understand it; to understand what I did experience versus what I wanted to experience.
When I went to Ukraine, I was faced with some unforeseen challenges that shaped my experience into something completely different to what I had expected it would be. To appreciate it and learn from it, I’ve had to acknowledge how focusing on my expectations and not on what it was, led to some feelings of disappointment, like it was ‘less.’ My expectations were that I would meet and get to know many more Ukrainians than I did. I would spend much more time with them than I did. I would be able to interview them in the way that I normally do. When this did not happen as much as I wanted it to happen, I felt disappointed and frustrated and this blinded me to what my experience really was and the insights and lessons available to me. I had to let go of my expectations for me to see it for what it is and the value in the experience.
Since getting back to South Africa, I’ve also had to get stuck into my photography work. I have been completely focused on my day job (!) which is an agricultural and commercial photographer! Simply put, I’ve needed to replenish the bank account since going to Europe and it’s absorbed me and it’s been necessary! At the same time, I often think of the incredible Ukrainians I met and how I want to tell you about them; how what they are experiencing is real and heart breaking. How tears rolled down an old man’s eyes when I told him that people as far as the southern tip of Africa, are thinking of them, support them and care about what is happening to them.
I need to tell you about my experience in Ukraine, that was neither what I expected nor what you would expect from a photographer and writer going to a warzone. I need to let go of all those expectations and write from the heart and tell you what this time was for me in the way of the Ukrainians I met, the volunteers I met and how this experience has taught me so much about my own life and what I will do (and what I won’t do) in the future. I have come back to South Africa knowing so much more about myself and about how to go forward with Rosie Goes and of course, so much more about the Ukrainians and what they are experiencing.
When I was debating whether to go to Ukraine or not, I asked myself some hard questions. Why would I go to Ukraine? I hardly knew anything about it prior to this war.
I was invited to join a group of volunteers (who are also my incredible friends!) and who were raising funds and delivering food and essential supplies to Ukraine from Germany and the Czech Republic every two weeks on their weekends. Other than that and the news, I honestly knew very little about Ukraine – probably not enough in most people’s minds to go there and experience it during a war.
There were many possible reasons for me to do something like this. Reasons that would justify me going and reasons that would not. Was this trip aligned with Rosie Goes and the theme I am exploring, ‘To surrender.’ Or was it something else? Was it many things? Why would I do such a thing as a South African who knew very little about Ukraine?
Some people have put it down to a midlife crisis. And maybe that’s part of it, although I would not call it a crisis, but rather a massive life change that is aligned with being true to myself and choosing not to live my life in a box that I did not fit. A crisis would also suggest that once I’ve got this trip and experience out of my system, I would come to my senses. I’d remember the plot, and get back in my box! But this is the thing, this is not a once off – this is a way of life I am choosing, one that fulfils me, and gives me a purpose that sets my soul on fire!
Another reason for me going to Ukraine, is literally because I asked for it. I put it out there that I wanted an experience that was ‘out of Africa’ and that would give me insight into the theme ‘surrender/acceptance.’ My ‘out of Africa experience’ came via Facebook a couple weeks later, though at the time, I was not clear how Ukraine was linked to the topic I am exploring.
I was invited to go to Ukraine but I needed to get there within the next couple of weeks. In 2 weeks, I needed to get my finances in order, receive an invitation from the Ukraine government, drive to Joburg and apply for a Ukrainian visa, then apply for a Schengen visa which can take weeks …all in the month of April when South Africa is full up with public holidays and literally shuts down for the month! I decided to go if the ‘seemingly impossible’ happened in the time it needed to happen and if things just flowed! And it did, like magic! I took it as a sign that this is something I should do.
The ultimate decision maker came in the way of a brief interaction with a fuel pump attendant. I had just filled up my tank and was evidently surprised by the price of fuel and the amount I needed to pay. The man looked at me, then said, ‘We should be supporting Russia. If we support what they are doing in Ukraine, we would not be paying these prices.’
I did not react to his comment but it gave me absolute clarity about what I feel strongly about and that Ukraine feels so far away from us and so foreign to us South Africans. It’s easy to make a thoughtless comment that suggests it’s okay for the Russians to kill Ukrainians in a hostile land grab, because we cannot see their faces. It’s easy to make a comment without thinking about what you are really saying and supporting. It’s also easy to turn our heads away from abuse, because it serves us. To side with the bully, and they feed us their crumbs and fool us into thinking it’s loaves of bread, until it happens to you. That day when you are fighting for your life and I turn my head and walk away because it does not serve me to stand up for you.
I realised that I simply had an opportunity that not many others have had, to know more. To put a face to the Ukrainians, and when we are commenting about what to support and what not to support, we see a person.
“Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.” ― Virginia Woolf
In the next couple posts, I will continue to share with you what I did experience and how it’s taught me some more about what it is to surrender to ‘what is’ before we can move forward. How having expectations about how something should be, can stop us seeing what we need to see and not always what we want to see.
‘To surrender,’ is that moment you acknowledge what is. That moment you look around at the carnage of an accident and acknowledge it and the hard truth that you cannot put it back together again as it was.
The moments before surrendering are the hardest, because they are often the ‘darkest,’ focused on the ‘wrongness’ of what is not and the suffering that comes with being stuck in this pain. An overwhelming feeling of ‘this is too much.’ It’s a suffering that might be coated with a thick layer of self-protective denial or self-harming escapism, or the wild run away fire that is the ‘fear of the unknown,’ with your feverish mind jumping from one possible nightmare to another, the helplessness of being oppressed or bullied by someone you perceive as having a vindictive ‘power’ over you, the frustration of not being physically or mentally able to do what you can no longer do or maybe, you are a prisoner to the injustice of a situation and the destructive white rage that comes with it. It is these lonely moments, trapped in suffering – that will eventually snap the brittle bones that hold you up and bring you to your knees.
With your head on the floor and with the bloody aftermath all around you, you are faced with a decision: To ‘stay here’ and expect no change and for the suffering to continue. Or to look at it in the eye, and to see that what cannot be changed, must be accepted. Surrendering is not a defeat. It is first an ‘unravelling,’ or the act of ‘letting go’ of what has become too heavy to hold onto, or letting go of what is not yours. It is the moment that the ego and fear does not exist, only ‘what is.’ It is the first light after a long battle in the dark. It is a moment of calm and quiet with a deep sense of relief, the moment that you are able to avert your eyes from the mess all around you and look up. This is the moment of ‘surrendering’ to what is. It is the first step of adjusting your perspective so that you can find a way forward and empower yourself.
Jene lay there staring up at the ceiling. It was a big day for her, because it was the day that she’d be upright for the first time in 6 weeks and it would be the first time she’d be in a wheel chair. Tish sat beside her as she had done every day, feeling weak about what was still to come. The truth is that she had no idea what to expect and though she knew her daughter needed her support, sometimes she did not feel strong, sometimes she wanted to run away and be anywhere but there. She’d look at her daughter’s limp body, overwhelmed by the ‘strangeness’ of this new reality, not knowing enough about paralysis, not knowing what to expect and not knowing enough for her to comfort her daughter like she wanted to.
An X-ray of Jene’s spine after the accident
There would be days that Tish wanted to pretend that none of this had happened and she’d hide from it and immerse herself in another world. She’d go to the mall to ‘window shop,’ walking from one end to the other, over and over again until she knew every shop, every aisle and every sale of ‘everything’ she could not have. She’d look through the glass and would momentarily catch a glimpse of her own reflection. She’d see a ‘stranger’ staring back at her, someone who looked like they were going about their ‘everyday’ and doing some shopping on a Tuesday. But she knew this woman, how beneath the picture of normality, was the reality; gut wrenching heart break, loss, turmoil, helplessness, overwhelm and fear. That day she realised that beneath the surface, everyone is struggling with something and that most often we don’t get to see or know their pain. And how a simple act of kindness, might impact someone more than what you will ever know and be the reason that gets them through that day.
By now, hospital life had started to feel a bit like ‘home,’ for Jene. A place that felt familiar and safe, where she had support in the way of an excellent team of attentive and caring nurses, the best doctors and an endless stream of visitors from family, members of the community, high school friends, new friends and even strangers. Of course there was also the constant company of Donna, though subdued and quiet, and the company of other patients in the ward. Opposite Jene was an elderly lady who had been quietly observing her and her journey. One day she asked Jene, “So what are you going to do with your life?”
Jene answered with the truth, “Well I am going to get on with it.”
Tish sat there, silenced and in awe of her daughter’s strength and resilience and how beneath the little girl was a warrior woman, determined not to let this hold her back.
The doctor wheeled in the wheel chair, the new wheels that would help Jene ‘get on with it.’ One might think that sliding into a wheel chair is no big deal, but it is if you have been horizontal for the last 6 weeks. Imagine your worst case of ‘vertigo;’ of your body feeling completely disorientated, seeing the seat you are sitting on and not feeling it, floating in space, saliva building up, your head draining of blood, dizziness and nausea. Jene hung onto the wheel chair handles as if her life depended on it, with the chair being gently rocked from side to side, taking Jene on what felt like the rollercoaster ride of her life. At that point, Tish ran out. It was that moment of overwhelm, of seeing the new Jene and not wanting to accept it. Of still not understanding what was happening to her daughter and not fully comprehending exactly how different life would be from now, not only for Jene but for her too, her husband and her son. The wheel chair made that feel real, it represented a new way of life and once again, her heart broke for her daughter and for the life gone of the old Jene.
Tish flung the hospital door open and ran out, straight into the arms of an old friend Eileen. The timing was just right. Eileen had had a strong sense to go to the hospital that day to see Tish and Jene and when she did, her friend literally ran into her. Eileen took Tish in her arms and simply held her as she buckled. She held Tish up, when her knees could not and the grief and fear poured out of her like hot molten lava, with great big sobs and gasps of air. That day, Eileen was the pillar of strength that allowed Tish to let go, to feel weak while being supported and to accept what is, with the loving and strong support of a friend. That was the last time Tish would ever run away. It was the day Tish accepted the new Jene, the day she found her courage and the day she knew how she’d support her daughter from now onwards, how she’d be Jene’s pillar of strength when she did not feel it. How she accepted that she could never ‘take this away’ but how she could be right by her side as she went through it.
She walked back into the ward to be with her daughter. Jene was in the wheel chair at an angle, her knuckles white as she clutched the handles. The doctor bought her up into an upright position and then took her back down again, and up again and down again – being careful to move her slowly so that she would not faint. Tish realised that though it was hard for Jene, there was nothing ‘wrong’ and all the frightening thoughts she had had were only that, thoughts. Her thoughts and fear of the unknown had held her back from moving forward and from being the warrior ‘mom’ that Jene already felt she was, but that Tish had not.
Now the work could really begin. Jene would start her long lifetime journey of ‘adapting and moving on,’ with the unconditional love and strong support of her mother, her father, her brother and friends. This was never going to be a journey for Jene alone. Having the support Jene had would become the steady wheels that would carry her and rocket her forward on this journey. And of course, the power and necessity of surrendering to what is and the acceptance that follows is the starting point for starting again. Then focusing on what can be done and not on what can’t be done.
Rob and Tish stood in the hospital hallway. This day was done and Jene had taken huge ‘steps’ forward by getting into the wheel chair.
Rob looked at Tish and said, “We need to move the furniture around this weekend for when Jene comes back.” And Tish agreed. This was the new ‘normal.’
If you would like to follow Jene’s story, scroll down to the bottom of this page and Click Follow! Or go to the Rosie Goes Facebook page and receive updates through Facebook!
I never aced it! For the English language I was never more than a ‘C’ student with the exception of one oral for which I cracked a record ‘A.’ It was a monologue style oral that we could be ‘anyone’ and speak about ‘anything.’ The character I chose for my monologue back in 1996 was the ‘leader’ of a deadly virus outbreak, one that targeted humanity and strived for absolute destruction. In this monologue, I plotted, I planned and I spoke openly of my demented attack on the human population and how I was determined to defeat it at whatever cost, so long as I won. Other than that fleeting moment of glory of receiving a grand ‘A,’ I was generally as average as it comes in the way of language!
And yet here I am. I choose to write. I choose language as a way to express myself and a means of sharing with you what I learn along the way on this new journey called Rosie Goes.
I am not choosing any language, I am choosing one that we all speak, understand and identify with: our humanity – the most powerful language of all languages because of its ability to connect us and help us understand each other despite our immense differences. I believe in this language and I am going to bring you stories that speak of our humanity. I am going to take you on a journey that you will meet people from all walks of life. Their stories will resonate with you and evoke empathy and compassion even though their lives are so completely different to yours and seemingly, so foreign.
Rosie Goes
A couple a months ago, I felt like I had hit a brick wall. I was struggling to focus on my agricultural photography – which is critical in the way of paying bills and the soon-to be exorbitant high school fees that start next year! (South African’s will know what I am talking about!) And yet at the same time, I have made a huge life change to do what I am absolutely passionate about doing and to do what I believe in and what I believe will be successful because of what it is and what the intention is.
For a while, I had been feeling ‘stuck’ and conflicted, as if I was in a tug of war between focusing on what feels true versus focusing on my fear of not being able to pay the bills that keep on coming! I realized that I needed to face my fears and to trust in the process. I needed to ‘commit’ to what I have started, to take a big leap of faith and dive head first into Rosie Goes, and just start swimming! It was also around that time that I put it ‘out there’ that I want the right connections, those aligned with Rosie Goes and our universal language, to cross my path and to help me kickstart this journey.
I started with Jene Frost’s story, a story about a woman who was paralyzed at the age of 15 years old and her experience of surrendering to what is so that she could move forward. Jene’s story is the perfect story for the ‘surrender theme’ I am exploring right now. I am in awe of how her positive and strong mindset, bound together with a deep sense of acceptance and endless loving support from the people in her life, has enabled her to move forward in great big strides.
I am also about to dive head first into something else, something quite unexpected and what initially felt quite terrifying! As it happened, I was checking Facebook when my friend Daniel Nove’s post popped up. Daniel is an old friend of mine who I met when I lived in Mozambique for 12 years and who now lives in Germany. The Facebook post was of a picture of Daniel standing next to a lady who was travelling with a ‘ton’ of cat boxes with cats in them. Intrigued, I read his post. I discovered that Daniel and friend Patrik, have started a Go Fund me account for Ukrainian refugees in the Western Ukraine city of Chop. Every two weeks they stock up with food supplies and essentials with the donated funds from the likes of you and I and drive to Ukraine to deliver the supplies to the city council. These supplies go towards feeding and helping the thousands of Ukrainians who have escaped the ‘terror’ happening in the East of Ukraine and in Kyiv and who are seeking safety and shelter during this unpredictable and volatile time. It was a picture of one of the many Ukrainians that Daniel and Patrik have assisted since starting this initiative. I pressed the ‘Heart’ button and casually commented on the post, something along the lines of, ‘Wow, I would love to get involved with something like this, well done!’
Daniel replied, ‘Really?’
Casually, I replied ‘Yes,’ not thinking too much about what I was actually saying ‘yes’ to.
Truthfully, Ukraine felt so foreign to me, so far away. I empathized with the Ukrainians because of the obvious terror we can see they are experiencing through the media, and because in a very small way, I understand a little bit of what they are experiencing…of being threatened and needing to leave our home very quickly because of a death threat and crossing the border into a neighboring country. I remember the fear I felt, especially for my children and I remember the support we had from friends during this frightening time. Both were equally powerful. But it still felt like just another heartbreaking news story, another attack on humanity happening on the other side of the world, so far away and something that did not feel like it really impacted my life other than the escalating fuel price!
There was a long pause – a few days that the ‘thread’ went quiet and ‘everyday’ life continued.
Then I got another message from Daniel. “Hey, how serious were you when you said you would like to get involved? We have a space for you in the minivan. Would you like to join us?”
I thought about it and all the things that scared me. The fear of the unknown, the volatility and unpredictable nature of war, the potential dangers, not knowing the language, knowing very little about Ukraine itself like its geography, its history, its economy and then of course, there is the issue of my own finances! How on earth can I afford this anyway?! I thought of a thousand reasons why I should not do this. But I also thought of the two reasons why I should do this. Firstly, I asked for it and this is what is showing up. If I am going to live by what I believe, then I should pay attention to what comes up and trust the process. If things flow, then it is meant to be. And secondly, could there be a better way than going somewhere I know little about in the way of language and culture and to meet and interview people with a very different way of life to that of mine here in Africa, by going somewhere that I will need to rely on what we have in common – our humanity – and connect with the people I meet on that level and with that approach? I think this is exactly what I will do.
I surrendered and went with the flow. I will go to Ukraine if it’s meant to be.
And this is the extraordinary thing so far, everything is flowing!!!! The most impossible things are falling into place. From getting an official invite from the Ukraine government, from visa’s, to some very unexpected and appreciated financial help, to receiving the information I needed exactly when I needed it, to finding a kick-ars independent travel agent, from having incredible support from family and friends and with no need to convince them, to meeting the Ukrainians that I have met since committing to Ukraine. How they gave me their time and their stories and how they spoke the language I know and understand, one of humanity. How I learned so much about Ukraine through these peoples honest and vulnerable account of what is happening to their ‘home’ and to the people in Ukraine. How what they are experiencing is often the brutal absence of humanity but in the absence of humanity also comes the spirit of humanity, with magnificent accounts of love, kindness, generosity, support from strangers and unity.
I am not going to go to Ukraine to give you a news report. I am going to go to Ukraine with the intention of taking you on a very honest journey. An intimate journey that you will come to know the people as individuals and not just as a distant country with a lot of people going through something traumatic. I am going to show you connection, resilience, love, support – the incredible spirit of our humanity.
Let’s begin with me sharing Daniel and Patrik’s Go fund me account details. Their next trip is in a few days time.
If you are interested in Ukraine and want to know more than just what is happening there, but meet some of the people experiencing this and follow their stories, Please follow Rosie Goes. I have no idea how this will unfold, but I do know how I will approach it. You can also follow Rosie Goes on Facebook and Instagram as well as through email and be notified when a post is published. Most importantly, please help and Daniel and Patrik fill up the mini van for the next trip which is scheduled for the 22 – 24 of April and make a donation you can afford. I look forward to showing you exactly to who these donations are going to and the incredible human spirit of the Ukrainians.
It was early 2020 and I was hoping that somehow, the start of a new year would mean the end of a challenging 2019. 2019 had been a tragic and difficult year in many ways and also the continuation of a mounting feeling that life was so busy and full up of things that did not really matter to me or resonate with me and empty of what burns inside. For a long time I had felt like I was living a life that I did not fit. I was conforming to what I felt was expected of me and I gave it my all. I tried to do what everyone here seems to do, like a well-oiled machine, serving a community and doing what seems to bring so many people a sense of unity, purpose, belonging, identity and friendship. If felt a bit like a compulsory duty that I needed not only to take part in, but to shine! Of course this was my interpretation of life here, an unconscious decision I made for myself of how I should be here to fit it in, to be respected and to be accepted and ultimately avoid being the ‘misfit.’ This was the work of my fear and my ego – and it required me to ignore my authentic self and what really matters to me, what feels meaningful to me and what gives me a sense of purpose that is aligned with who I am. The truth is that the stuff that really makes me tick might seem like ‘bat-shit’ crazy stuff to many and not what they’d necessarily want for themselves or ever consider doing. But someone has to do it and I am putting my hand up!
In the last couple years, I have learned that life works in mysterious ways. One day I would like to write about this, about what has happened for me to get to where I am now and where I am going to go. This is just the beginning but it’ s unfolding in spectacular ways and in a way that feels like life is ‘flowing,’ and as if I am being taken on a journey. To go on this journey, the only requirement of me is to stay aligned, to trust the process and to pay attention to what I am being presented with. To be brave, even when I am not feeling it. To write my heart out, to be vulnerable and to be honest with you about what I am experiencing and feeling, regardless of how I may be judged or viewed.
Early 2020
I sat at the desk feeling overwhelmed by the amount of photo editing I had to complete that weekend in time for a Monday deadline. It had been an extraordinarily busy few months and I had fallen behind on my editing. That Monday I needed to present a year’s work of interior design photos for a book that was due to be published for a well-known South African interior designer. She had taken me on as someone with little experience in the way of interior design photography. The deal was that she would teach me interior design and I would need to photograph it! Though I have done a lot of travel and hospitality photography, I specialise in agricultural photography. Interior design photography was something completely foreign to me at the time. Being outdoors and in the dirt is where I am most comfortable but this was something I wanted to explore. If I enjoyed it, it would be an incredible opportunity to learn from the ‘best,’ in the way of interior design and a way ‘in’ to a whole new photography genre and market. On top of that, I got on really well with this person and though I still needed to learn so much, I thoroughly enjoyed working with her.
It was 2am on a Saturday, and I was still editing. I had one more day left and a huge number of photos that I still needed to edit by Monday. The thing about interior design photography is that you are ultimately selling an idea, a style of design, or an item that fits a theme. It involves a lot of straight lines, ‘photoshopping’ out things like plug points and cables, removing a stain from a table cloth or a stray thread from a designer cushion. Every photo has to be picture perfect and that takes time. I had so much editing still to do that I literally excused myself from the world that weekend and edited solidly for 72 hours! I rewarded myself with ‘a break’ after editing an album – a break that involved going to the kitchen sink and washing some dishes! It was that kind of weekend! But while I removed the threads from a cushion, the creases from a crisp white bed sheet, dimmed the lights to a moody atmosphere and intensified the colour of the flames of an indoor winter fire, I listened to a lot of podcasts while doing this. And all the podcasts were of photo journalists and humanitarian photographers talking about everything I care for. That weekend was a paradox for me. While I edited interiors and made everything look picture perfect, the podcasts I was listening to had me nodding, smiling and resonating. They were speaking a language that I understood and importantly, doing something that I would love to do. That weekend, while I sat at the desk editing interiors, I felt alive because of what I was hearing.
I finished editing minutes before I had to leave to drive to my destination and present my final album. It was a huge relief to have finished what felt impossible a couple days before. But I did it and while doing it, I learned what really feels meaningful to me. At that meeting I was offered an incredible opportunity. Since I was the ‘outdoors’ type and rather ‘countrified,’ this designer was offering me the opportunity to photograph and publish an interior design book of ‘country homes’ in South Africa. If I wanted it, it would be the ultimate photography opportunity. It felt like I had unexpectedly learnt something about myself through the paradox of that weekend and on Monday, my ‘realization’ was directly confronted in the way of being offered a potentially great career opportunity. It felt like I was being put to test and I graciously declined the offer.
That weekend I realized what I want to do with my life and my time. What had been a shade of grey was now unmistakably black and white. It was one of many things that happened that pointed me in a new direction. This idea, this way of life, this realization – It felt wild and crazy and impossible but it felt like ‘home!’
The Candid Frame is one of my favourite photography podcasts. Every week Ibarionex Perello interviews a photographer of his choice. This is my source of documentary photographers, a podcast that inspires me and keeps me motivated to stay on this path I am walking. The podcast that inspired me most that weekend is that of Colin Finlay’s. His experience of photography deeply resonated with me and inspired me. I took it one step further and connected with Colin on Instagram. It’s these seemingly small occurrences and connections that all add up to a big shift in direction. What was a particularly stressful weekend of editing, turned out to be a weekend of absolute clarity.
When you are stuck, or experiencing an internal struggle or you feel like you are going around and around in circles and not forward, find the courage to look at ‘what is’ straight in the eye. Quieten your fears or your belief of what you feel is ‘right’ or what you believe you are ‘deserving of.’ Step back and look at ‘what is.’ If you see that you cannot change ‘what you are seeing,’ then you must accept it and change your perspective in a way that empowers you and enables you to go forward and to continue growing. Identify and focus on what you can do and not on what you can’t do. Then take steps to do what you can do. – Rosie Goes, Surrender
Jene lay flat on her back staring up at the ceiling. Every day she had a session of physio to keep her muscles active. It was strange to ‘know’ that she was lying on a mattress and her limbs were being stretched and her joints were being rotated. She knew and remembered what that should feel like, but she felt nothing. The days ahead felt like she was a part of some optical illusion experiment, that she could see when ‘contact’ is being made but not feel it. As though the wires in her brain had been severed, then rewired in a way that she could not yet process the information she was receiving.
In the coming months, Jene would need to learn and adapt to a new way of life and of doing things. She needed to ‘unlearn’ the way she ‘remembered’ how her body works and learn how to use it in a completely new way, by using different muscles and being aware of body senses that she had never noticed before. It would take time, work and help to adapt. Though the process was slow and often frustrating, Jene instinctively knew that she could not waste her time by focusing on what was lost and on what no longer exists. Instead she chose to focus on what she can still do with her body and her life.
She wished she could say the same for her friend Donna who lay motionless in the hospital bed opposite her. It had been 10 days already and her friend had shown no sign of waking. Donna’s silence worried Jene. Though she knew her bubbly, lively, caring and infectious friend was still there and would always be there, she also knew that the longer she remained locked away, the worse Donna’s prognosis would be.
Tish sat beside her daughter. It had been an emotional couple weeks. Sometimes she was overcome by fear, fear of the unknown. Her mind would imagine the worse scenario and she’d imagine her daughter falling out of the wheel chair; limp, helpless and flopping around. She knew that Jene’s life, Rob’s, hers and her son’s life was about to change dramatically and she wished she could be the reassurance they all needed. She wished she could tell Jene that everything was going to be okay, and believe it. She wished she knew what to expect but she knew nothing, only how big it was and she buckled at the weight of it. She looked across the room at Donna. Tish initially felt such mixed emotions around Donna; of anger followed by guilt, followed by tenderness, followed by sadness, followed by a deep concern that she would not wake up. And worst of all, as a mother, she knew that this time she could not fix her daughter, she could not make her better, she could not give Jene her legs back. That life was gone and it broke her heart.
Get well wishes from some of Jene’s school friends
Jene worried too. She saw her friend and understood that they were in a similar situation: they were completely dependent on ‘others’ right now. She saw how the nurses could not be there all the time to care for them, that there were other patients too who also needed their help and their time. Sometimes, the care had to come from others.
Though Jene could see her own mother’s struggle with acceptance and the enormity of her grief, having Tish by her side with her tender acts of ‘caring,’ like brushing her hair, filing her nails, passing something that she could not reach – gave Jene strength, more strength than her mother could ever know. Tish was fortunate enough to have a good business manager in Bulwer and this allowed her to stay in Pietermaritzburg throughout Jene’s long recovery and for her to be with Jene all day, every day. Though Tish may have felt that she was not enough at the time, or that she could not fix her daughter in the way that she wanted to, she was exactly what Jene needed – somebody next to her.
Adapt and Move On
Everyday Jene would watch her friend and she wished Donna would wake up and experience the love and care that she was experiencing. She wished that Donna knew how many people cared, how many people streamed into the ward, breaking the hospital rules with the number of visitors allowed in a ward at one time, to see them, to love them and to support them. She wished Donna would wake up, and see what she sees. If she could have, she would have got up herself, walked over to Donna and done exactly what her mother was doing for her. But she couldn’t, and so she asked her mother to do it instead.
Tish sat with Donna and took her limp hand. For a few long moments, she simply held it and remembered the young girl Donna is, trapped in her own broken body but still there. On inspection, she saw that Donna bites her nails and one by one, Tish filed her bitten nails into curved, smooth edges – just as she had done for Jene. “You know Donna, you really should stop biting your nails,” said Tish in a firm motherly voice. As she said that, Donna flinched and pulled her hand away. It was the first time they knew for sure that she was still there, that she was gaining consciousness and importantly, that she understood that she was being cared for, even if it was not what Donna wanted to hear!
Over the next few weeks, Jene, Donna and Tish adapted to ‘hospital life’ and its routine and would get to know the nurses as if they were all in one big family living under the same roof, caring for each other, eating together and going through the ups and downs of recovery. Jene was given the option to move into a private ward, knowing what was still to come in the way of her recovery and how long she would still need to stay in hospital for. But she chose not to. She wanted to stay with Donna in the general ward; for her, her mother and Donna to stay together until Donna left and did not need them anymore.
Donna had finally regained consciousness but worryingly, she still did not speak. She was awake but silent and her body had been affected in a way that was similar to that of a severe stroke. For the time being, she was unable to walk on her own, talk or care for herself in the way of feeding and bathing. She was heavily dependent on being cared for by the nurses, Tish and her parents. By now, everyone was very worried. Weeks passed and the silence became the elephant in the room. Tish continued to care for Donna in the way that she cared for Jene, brushing and washing her hair, helping her bathe, doing her nails and talking to her despite never being answered.
Donna was locked away in her own world, responding to very little except when she was shown love and care. In those tender moments, Donna’s face would beam with light and her smile would open up like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. ‘Love’ was Donna’s language.
One evening Donna’s dad had come into Pietermaritzburg from the farm and was there with Donna during meal time. Meal times in the ward had become quite social, like a group of family and friends sitting around a dining room table only they were in hospital beds in the general hospital ward. Graham, Donna’s dad, was feeding Donna her supper. While he was spooning Donna her food, he was also talking to Tish and Jene and was not fully focused on what he was doing or on what Donna needed. She’d already swallowed the spoonful of food and was ready for another spoonful, but her dad was slow on the mark that day and hadn’t realised that his daughter was very hungry and was becoming increasingly impatient with him. At that moment, she silenced the chatter all at once, and told him exactly what she needs in one word, “More.”
Tears of joy rolled down Graham’s face and in that moment, there was only love. And only love mattered.
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It didn’t matter that she was 15 years old, some things never changed. Every Friday Jene would come back home from boarding school and she would sit on her mother’s lap and tell her about her week. It was probably one of the few times that Jene was still. Then afterwards, she’d hop in the bakkie with her father and they’d head off to their favourite dam to fish as they had done since Jene was little.
Rob Frost
She was an active child from the word go and her parents were her biggest supporters. At seven years old, Jene was running races against twelve year old’s and beating them. She was the 800m champion and she was the right wing on the hockey field, sprinting down the side line and scoring goals. Always close by, was her father Rob. Rob was the type of father who would be pacing up and down the side line too, cheering Jene on and getting as much joy supporting her with her sport as she felt when doing it.
Jene was a ball of fire and having grown up with mostly boys as her friends and with an older brother to tussle with, she learned from a young age ‘to give it as good as she got!’ ‘But she had a precious little heart,’ says mother Tish. ‘Jene was my little girl and in one night, I witnessed my little girl become an adult.’
Tish sat on the floor of the ambulance next to her daughter who was on the trauma board and begged her not to fall asleep. Donna was unconscious and Jene was in shock. She was freezing cold so the heaters of the ambulance were turned right up. Tears and sweat streamed down Tish’s face as she attempted to console her daughter on the slow and agonizing three hour trip to Pietermaritzburg. “Mommy, I’m sore, Mommy, I’m sore,” cried Jene, but there was nothing Tish could do. For the first time Tish did not know how to fix her daughter. With every twist and turn of the Umkomaas Valley, and the cries of pain that came with it, Tish was overwhelmed with the feeling of helplessness and the terror of a parent at seeing their child in such a state.
Jene and her mother Tish
They eventually arrived at Greys hospital and the girls were wheeled in through the emergency doors, taking priority over patients with broken bones and bloody wounds. They were taken straight to the x-ray room. Donna was x-rayed first and then Jene. It was just a fleeting moment, but as Donna was wheeled out of the x-ray room, Jene caught the first glimpse of her friend’s face and in that moment, she immediately understood the seriousness of their accident. Donna’s entire face was purple and swollen and she was still unconscious. It was also at that moment that Jene knew she could never blame Donna, or hold on to any anger, that there was nothing to forgive.
Jene endured another agonizing stint of being tugged and turned from side to side, increasing her pain with every new x-ray position. As well as having back injuries, Jene had also broken her collar bone and ribs and by this time she was exhausted and fed up with being fussed over. She just wanted to sleep but this day seemed to go on and on and the pain was excruciating.
The last memory she had of that day was of her clothes being cut from her body and the gumboots being pulled from her feet, followed by the relief from a pain killer and falling into a deep sleep. The 28th of April had finally come to its end and nothing would ever be the same again for Jene, or Donna.
29th April 1996
It was 3am when Jene woke. She was in a hospital ward and it was dark. Though she could hear the deep breathing of slumbering patients around her, Jene felt completely alone. She was scared and she was confused and bit by bit the memories from the day before returned, like puzzle pieces being put together to make a picture that she did not want to see. Then the door slowly opened, and the passage light poured in and in walked Jene’s first of a thousand visitors. Jenny Guy was a maternity nurse at Greys Hospital and who originally was from Ixopo. She had heard about the accident and she’d come to see Jene and to sit with her. Though Jene did not know Jenny at the time, she knew her son well who was also in her class at Ixopo High School. It was a huge relief for Jene to know that someone who knew her and who was familiar had come to be with her during those first very dark and lonely hours. In the weeks and years to come, Jene would come to know what it is to be supported. How support comes in many forms and how it has carried her and accompanied her forward on this life-altering journey. On that first night of being in hospital, Jene had been heavily sedated and she was struggling to talk and to breathe. Jenny told Jene that she needn’t talk, that she would sit with her and that she should rest, instantly dissipating the overwhelming fear Jene had felt a few moments before. That night, they moved through time in silence, with Jenny doing nothing and saying nothing other than simply being there, being present.
A few days later, the neurosurgeon had a meeting with Rob and Tish about Jene. He was a kind and compassionate man and though he had done this many times before, he knew that this would be the first and only time that they would be told this kind of news about their daughter, how their little girl would never walk again.
Panic stricken, Tish could not believe what she was hearing. These words this man was speaking made no sense. Not Jene, not her little girl, not the girl who loved to run and who spent every waking hour outdoors and on the move. Not the little girl who had such a big life ahead of her. Not Jene. This could not be.
Anger, fear, disbelief knocked her like a wrecking ball and she got up and ran. She kicked the door open and ran, ran to nowhere, ran to anywhere but there. She wanted to vomit these words out and to scream at the world, ‘why Jene, why my baby girl?’ but nothing came.
The next day Tish and Rob sat with Jene, knowing what they knew but not knowing how to tell her. Then Jene asked Tish, “Mommy, what is happening to me? Why can’t I feel my legs?” And Tish told Jene the truth, that she is paralyzed. For a moment their eyes locked as the news sunk in and became a reality. Jene’s eyes turned red then a brilliant blue. It was a shock to hear what she believes she already knew, a confirmation of a conversation that she had been having in her own head. It was a shock to hear that she would ‘never ever’ walk again. But at that point, Jene had not yet understood, or processed what ‘never ever’ meant, but she accepted it.
Tish ran out. She couldn’t bare to see the pain on her daughters face, to be watching the curtain close on the life she knew and loved, a life that they all loved. And to be replaced with what? How would she ever recover from this and would they ever see that radiant smile that was their child?
Rob never cried, but that day while sitting beside Jene and holding her hand, he cried. And he said to her ‘Cooks, it’s going to be okay, we are going to get through this.’ And Jene believed him.
If you would like to follow Jene’s story, scroll down to the bottom of this page and Click Follow! Or go to the Rosie Goes Facebook page and receive updates through Facebook!This is just the beginning of a big human adventure in pursuit of humanKIND!
This week has been a whirlwind of emotions for me with ongoing challenges of ‘acceptance.’ And I have many unanswered questions in the way of ‘surrendering to what is before we can move forward.’ This is a journey that often involves taking one step at a time and that comes with many layers, different circumstances, a lot of self-awareness and the willingness to look at something from a different perspective when you cannot change a situation.
A few weeks ago, because of my own experience, it became clear to me that ‘acceptance’ is not about ‘wanting’ something but rather ‘letting go’ of something or of a desired outcome for there to be flow and to go forward. By holding onto it and not ‘letting go’ keeps you in a state of disharmony and you get stuck. You are perpetually angry, frustrated depressed and/or anxious and it feels like you are head bashing the same brick wall over and over again in hope of breaking it down. But the wall never breaks. It still stands and the only outcome is you – black, blue and broken. Acceptance is not about the ‘other’ but rather, it’s about honouring and loving yourself enough not to fight to the death. (Of yourself) If you are unhappy about your situation, be brave and change it. But if you absolutely cannot change it and your intentions are true and from a place of love, then you must accept it and instead change your perspective in a way that empowers you and allows you to go forward and walk through the story so that there is a different ending. One of the biggest lessons I have learned through Jene Frost’s story is that acceptance of a situation is not ‘giving up’ but rather focusing on what you ‘can do’ and not what you ‘can’t do.’
But this is where I get stuck. Sometimes it does not always feel that simple. I think of the Ukrainians and how many of them have been forced to flee, not because they want to but because they fear death if they don’t. They accept the situation and do what they must do to keep safe. But how does one handle the unfairness of a situation like this, the anger and grief that comes with the process of letting go to move forward? Of losing everything you care about, of a way of life, of your rights, of what or who you love most? How does one accept a situation that is so unfair and so abusive? And worse, when your voice does not matter or there is no-one willing to listen, how do you accept not being heard to move forward? I would like to know, because I don’t.
This week my heart goes out to a father. A good father and a good man. A man so big and full of love that children gravitate towards him. They bask in his love and in his gentle and accepting presence. They get to be who they are and loved for who they are without there being any consequence. This week, my heart goes out to a father who has called his children every single week for over a year and who has spoken to them no more than a small handful of times. This week, my heart goes out to a father who loves unconditionally. This week my heart goes out to all the parents who have been alienated from their children and who are standing on the edge wondering how they can possibly go on without their children and the human beings they love most in this world. This week, my heart goes out to the children who are being intentionally starved of this love. This week I am struggling with acceptance. Because I don’t know how one could possibly accept not being part of your children’s life. I don’t know how I would do this if I was in his shoes.
“It is not important what is said, what is important is what is heard.” ― Jeffrey Fry
When I initially contacted Jene to ask her if she would be willing to share her story with me, I knew it would be a story of ‘acceptance.’ I knew that her story involved ‘surrendering to what is before she could go forward.’ I knew that she had done this because of how far she has come since that life changing day. But I had thought it would be a different story to what it is. I imagined myself in her shoes and what it must have been like to lose the life she knew. I imagined that the drastic change of life and how it’s far-reaching implications would have been difficult to accept – that there would have been a long internal struggle of acceptance before she could start moving forward with her new ‘normal.’ But I was wrong. This is the phenomenal story of Jene Frost, of a young woman who saw no choice but to accept her new circumstances, adapt and move on.
Sunday, 28th April 1996
It was a special occasion. ‘Oupa’ and his sister had come to visit the family. It didn’t happen often because he lived in Pretoria – a full day’s drive from the lush green forestry estate in KwaZulu-Natal. On this special occasion there was only one obvious way to celebrate: To braai.
To Braai is a South African food and social culture of cooking meat on a fire, usually in the company of good friends and family, doused with a few cold beers and spiced up with some braai banter. While the occasion is usually casual, cooking the actual meat is a very serious business and a responsibility not to be taken lightly. The meat you cook is your preference, but whatever meat it is you choose, there must be passion! There must be a lot of love and care and the goal must be ‘perfection.’
For Rob Frost, father of Jene and chief braai master, there was absolutely no question about what to braai, it had to be his famous Mozambican Piri Piri chicken.
The thing about preparing and cooking a good Mozambican Piri Piri chicken on the fire is that it takes time. There is simply no way to rush the chicken, lunch will almost always be served late.
First, one must marinade the chicken in all its spices, lemon and garlic overnight so that the entire bird is infused with flavour. Once the chicken has been marinated, it’s time to start the fire. The fire must be just right, not too hot and not too cold. At no point can the chicken be left unattended. The cook must be there from beginning to end, basting the chicken over and over again and applying the marinade until there is nothing left. Then finally, you crisp it up and your result is the most succulent, tender piri piri chicken that is bursting with flavour inside and out and the best you will ever taste. This is a chicken that you will have to wait for.
But Jene was not one to wait around. At the age of fifteen, Jene could think of far more exciting ways to pass time than to sit around a fire watching a chicken cook. Besides, her friend Donna from the next door farm was here too with her father and his partner Ann. The two girls had had about as much adult talk as their teenager selves could handle and the piri piri marinade packet was still half fill! Lunch would not be ready for at least another hour. They needed some fun, some speed and some adventure to pass the time. “Let’s go to the dam Donna,” said Jene, and Donna agreed. Rob overheard the conversation between the two girls and reminded them of the rule. “Girls, No helmet, no ride.”
Jene Frost, 15 years old
‘Zane,’ Jene’s older brother, had a motorbike and had just got a brand new helmet. He was quite happy to share his bike and helmets with his younger sister and her friend, they were good like that. Since Jene had already done a few laps around the garden earlier on, it was Donna’s turn to drive. Though she had not ridden this bike before, riding motorbikes was nothing new for these two farm girls and ‘today’ was just another one of those typical farm days.
15 minutes later, the girls were already at the dam. ‘Now what,’ said Jene? They knew the piri piri chicken still had a while to go and there was no reason for them to rush back. This was the beauty of being a teenager living on a farm at that time. There were no tablets or screen gadgets, no cell phones and no hours and hours of Netflix. It was just good old farm fun and a freedom that most teenagers can only dream of experiencing. As with all other days, it was not so much about where to go, but rather the doing of it. It was not so much about the dam, but rather the feeling of independence and freedom that ‘going to’ the dam gave them. But now that they were at the dam, they needed to go somewhere else and though it was not about the ‘where,’ the ‘where’ still needed to have some sort of significance or purpose. A new gravel road was being built on the other side of the dam. Jene and her brother had investigated it the day before and had had a small accident when they hit a patch of loose gravel and the wheel had ‘washed out.’ But Donna had not been there, and exploring ‘a new road’ ticked the box of where to go next for them both to continue feeling the pure joy and exhilaration of going somewhere on a motorbike, on their own.
Dam on Colbeck Estate
The last memory that Jene has of being on the motorbike was her shouting above the noise of the engine, ‘watch out for the loose gravel on the corner.’ Seconds later, they were both unconscious. Neither girl remembers what happened. The only certainty is that on that day many things happened for them to get to where they were, to a place that they took a turn down a new road.
Jene woke up flat on her stomach with her head to the side and with the motorbike on her legs. She noticed that Donna was next to her, unconscious or simply not moving and that there were trees all around them. It was confusing; it felt like she was having a bad dream and was drifting in and out of sleep.
In the meanwhile, the piri piri chicken was crisped up and ready to eat. By then everyone had been seduced by the aromas of roasting meat for a few hours and were hungry but the girls were not back yet. It was unusual. Especially since ‘Mozambican piri piri chicken’ was a family favourite. There was no chance that Jene would have missed out on her portion of ‘crispy chicken wing,’ not for anyone!
For the most part, disappearing on the farm for a few hours was nothing unusual for Jene. She was an outdoor kid and was happiest fishing with her dad at the dam or being on the bike or doing something on the move. Her weeks and her weekends were always action-packed. During the week, Jene’s love of sport filled up her days. She’d start her day with a 10 kilometre run and she’d finish on the hockey field. At the age of fifteen sport, action and adventure had become her identity. Whatever day of the week it was, it was the joy of movement that made Jene feel most alive.
Teenager memories
The chicken was cold by now and with every passing minute and the gnawing feeling that something was not right, prompted the men to head out and to start looking for the girls. One hour passed, two hours passed and there was still no sign of them. In this time, the farming community had been alerted on the radio that Jene and Donna were missing and within a few minutes, the community was activated and a search party was in full force. The possibilities were endless, like trying to find a needle in a hay stack. Which road had they taken? Had they gone to visit another friend? Had they run out of fuel? Had they broken down? Had they ventured onto the tar road and had an accident? Had they been hijacked? Had they been taken? Were they safe? Were they alive?
Jene opened her eyes once again and the pine trees in the distance came back into focus. She could smell them and she could hear a trickle of water. She wondered how she was still having the same bad dream. Then she became aware of how her head and body ached and that she couldn’t move. She noticed how Donna was still there too, motionless. In between dipping in and out of consciousness, Jene started to realise that this was no dream and that they were in trouble. She did what any child would do when they are hurt and she cried for her mother before losing consciousness once again. Jene disappeared back into the depths of nothingness, hovering somewhere in no-man’s land, with neither a past, nor a future, as if her soul was taking a long and deep breath before it continued on with the next leg of its journey.
At the same moment that Jene called for her mother, an elderly African man was returning from Sunday church and was walking home on the remote farm road close to where the girls were lying. It was a desperate cry, one that did not fit the peaceful setting. It was a cry that pierced the gentle breeze and silenced the birds, a cry for help. He found the girls lying in a dry river bed, unconscious and in a very bad shape. Jene had landed on a concrete pipe and Donna had collided with a tree.
Jene and Donna’s accident site at Colbeck Estate in KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa
When Jene’s mother Tish and Ann (Donna’s father’s partner) saw the man running up the farm road, they knew it was about the girls. Breathless from running, he told them that he’d found the Mngani’s (children) and that they were in trouble. Together the three of them jumped in the vehicle and raced off to the accident site. Ann was a nurse and when she laid eyes on the girls, she immediately knew that it was very serious and potentially life threatening. She firmly instructed Tish not to move Jene and to return to the house and to call Dr Gardener (the local community doctor) and to call an ambulance too.
When someone in a farming community is in some type of distress or danger and the community is alerted, it’s quite extraordinary what happens next. They arrive in their dozens within minutes. Within minutes a signal is sent via telephone or radio and a community that is made up of individuals and personalities of all types, merges into one well-oiled co-operative machine with only one thing in mind. To do what is necessary to help, protect, support and fix. Dr Gardener was called and told that the girls had been in an accident. Within a couple of minutes of receiving the call, especially since it was on a weekend, he knew it was serious and was on his way. There were no questions asked other than the location.
Dr Gardener arrived and assessed the girls. He then crouched down to Jene’s level and pinched her hard. He continued to pinch her again and again all the way up her left side. Then he pinched her under her arm and she yelped in pain and shouted at him, “What the hell are you doing?” Dr Gardener apologised and told her that he won’t do it again. Then he pinched her on the right side, all the way up from the waist and finally under the arm. When he pinched her under the right arm, she got really cross with him, because he had done it again. Nothing more was said and there were no more pinches after that.
The girls were carefully put on trauma boards and loaded onto the ambulance. Tish and Ann would accompany them on the slow and agonising three hour journey to Pietermaritzburg. While Donna remained unconscious, Jene was physically and emotionally exhausted and all she wanted to do was sleep. It had felt like the longest day of her life and she was fed up with everyone fussing over her. She just wanted to be left alone and to be allowed to sleep and to have this hellish day over and done with.
“You can’t” said Ann in her most authoritative voice. “You cannot go to sleep Jene, I wont allow you to.” Despite everything that had happened that day, Jene still had enough strength and fire in her to be extremely annoyed at being told what she can and can’t do, especially after a day like this. But Ann was adamant. The risk of missing a brain injury such as a seizure or a weakness on one side of the body after experiencing a head injury was too great and not a risk anyone was prepared to take.
Ann threatened Jene with a ‘smack on the bum,’ if she fell asleep. And without much thought, Jene replied, “I don’t care, I won’t feel it.”
“Well then, I will pinch you on your ear,” said Ann
I went for a long walk today. I know the route well. I know every metre of it, I know how the water flows over the road and how every day I wet my shoes in order to get to the other side, how fish dart in all directions with every step I take. I know the long stretch of road across the dam wall, where the wind picks up and blows in the memories, with our river to my right and a silver expanse of water to my left. I hear the fish eagle in the distance and I see my loyal friend, the long crested eagle perched on the telephone pole, always there, always watching. I follow the road that follows the contour of the dam, around the corner and into a secluded valley, a valley bursting with Red hot Pokers and birdlife. Here I am alone but I am not. Here I am immersed in my deepest thoughts and here is where magic happens.
On this walk, sometimes I feel as if I could explode with hope and purpose, sometimes I get clarity, sometimes I feel fierce determination, sometimes I cry, sometimes I laugh, sometimes my heart breaks. But today as I walked this road, I felt acceptance.
Where magic happens…
Red Hot Poker
Right from the beginning, before I had even thought of starting Rosie Goes, I knew I’d be going on some sort of a journey, a journey of many roads with many twists and turns, stories and people from all walks of life and from whom I hope to learn from. There will be no free ride. I will walk this walk myself, I will ‘understand’ what I am exploring and I will feel every stone under my shoe, every bump along the road and I will write about it.
Today I felt what it means to accept something or to surrender to it. How before we can hope to start again, we must accept or surrender to where we are at or what is.
Today I learned how accepting something is not about ‘wanting’ something. I learned how acceptance can be letting go of what I’d like to happen for there to be something positive to happen, though not wanting it less or loving it less. To know that to continue as I am, at the expense of myself, of feeling that I am not being true to myself for the sake of a desired outcome, I lose who I am and what is important to me. And I get stuck. I have learned that with acceptance, there is no anger because it is no longer about something else or someone else or about something that happened or about what you don’t have anymore, but simply a deep knowing that you cannot continue as you are for you to feel at peace with yourself and to walk forward in harmony. I have learned that when I am aligned, I become unstuck.
Wild Dagga
Ironically the very first story that I will be writing about with the theme ‘to surrendering to what is before we can hope to move forward,’ is about someone who cannot walk. I will be writing about Jene Frost who was paralysed from the chest downwards at the age of 15 years old. Jene not only walked before her accident, she ran. She ran every day before school. It was her identity, it was her passion, it was her happy place, and it’s how she started her day. But in a matter of minutes, on a lazy social Sunday afternoon, Jene walked her last walk and the life she knew and the future she expected, was changed forever. This is a story about the power of ‘acceptance,’ when it comes to change and starting again, how a young women never let being paralysed stop her from moving forward.
Rosie Goes 
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