Posted in Stories

So you failed did you?

 

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SO YOU FAILED DID YOU?

👎🏻

You have to ask yourself now, how badly you really want it.

Do you still want it?

If that’s a yes, it’s time to embrace discomfort.

Get real.

Things worth achieving are HARD to get.

Dig in your heals, grit your teeth and don’t look back.

You NEED to do the work.

You NEED to be prepared to get uncomfortable.

You NEED to learn to embrace failure, it is your teacher.

On the journey toward success you WILL feel discouraged

you WILL feel disappointment

you WILL question your ability

-these feelings are the rule not the exception, but suck it up and keep moving toward your goal.

The only difference between those that make it, and those that don’t, is DESIRE.

That’s it.

Those that make it use failure as fuel for growth.

Those that make it ENDURE the disappointment, the negativity in their mind, the knock to their self-esteem, but never give up.

Those that make it, fail and try again, fail and try again, fail and try again.

‘So if you really want it, ride the waves, and try again.’

Fight for it and it will come.

Those that make it, fail MORE than you…but,

THEY DO NOT TAKE THEIR EYES OFF THE GOAL.

🏆

💡HEART STORY-N.A.Martin

Posted in Inspiration, My training Diary, Stories

Bittersweet

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BITTERSWEET

💎

I can taste the bitter but not the sweet as the alarm clock shouts at me to get up.

You have to be joking.

It’s 0515 again.

The question of ‘why’ pops into the forefront of my mind.

It’s too early for questions, but my brain is determined to slam me into checkmate. The stubborn me however, fights back and refuses to relent.

I still have some moves up my sleeve.

Something inside me, I don’t know what, always has to have the last say. Sometimes I wish that ‘something’ would keep quiet, and allow me to relax, but that annoying little voice is sacrosanct.

It’s because of IT, that I get up and walk out the door, swimming kit in hand.

Eyes straining and stuck together, the drive to the pool is slow.

The stars are still awake and the crescent moon beams it’s grin, seemingly quite happy to be greeting me at this hour.

🌛✨

The chill in the air stings my bare feet, and solidifies the frown on my face. Yikes, an army of goosebumps stand to attention on the surface of my skin, proudly announcing their presence.

My reaction?

My foot deepens it’s relationship with the accelerator.

‘Why’ pops into view again, and my inner voice quickly squashes it with the tunes on the radio; an old man drowning in intellect and steadfast opinions, babbling on about the economic situation in China in monotone waves…I mean, where do you find these people?

I hobble over the cold, rocky gravel my tactile feet once cosy and relaxed from slumber, now crisped and energised as they juggle the rough, cold, earth below.

I pick up the pace in aim of expediting the whole process.

The quicker I’m in, the quicker I’m out.

The water is cool at first, a bit of a whinge, a little song and dance, a few laps, and I quickly adjust, it feels neutral on my skin now.

Familiarity strikes as I re-acquaint myself with the blue and the black.

My body is heavy.

My form of a few months ago, all but gone, but I know, discipline will regain it.

Pushing outside of comfort, cursing the darkness, resenting the alarm clock, facing the constant urge to give up, and enduring the battle between two very different states of mind- negativity, and drive, is all part of the Journey toward achievement.

This morning, it was all about finding the strength to endure the bitter, in order to taste the sweet.

💙Heart Story-N.A.Martin

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Posted in Deep, Poem, Stories, Writing 101

One Small Moment in Time


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~N.A.Martin

Oh no, it’s one o’clock
I even penciled in the time-in my head
I’m sure minutes disappear without asking me

I’m here now.
Officially, it’s 1:04
My heart is trampolining into my chest wall, sassing me for tardiness

“My sincere apologies”

She gazed at me warmly, unfussed

“Take a seat”

The black leather yielded under my weight
Ahhh, a new space, finally
The familiar scent of everyday, was gone-for now


Deep breath
A slight adjustment, and I slipped forward into the leather
The nape of my neck, cradled comfortably by its head rest

Omnipresent bottles, blue, white, yellow, silver, sat staring at me from a higher place, in relaxed silence.
Their inscription?

-Relax, it is what it is

“Hello”

She was here
It was my turn now
Eagerly I entered her room

Keys, wallet, phone, goodbye-you have no place in here
Strappy shoes fell loosely to the floor
Thump-did you hear that?-wooden floor boards barked their presence

Tip toes toward her, ohhh it’s cool underneath
My breath was a megaphone, my mind a glass ocean with infinite horizons
This moment, was my moment-please stay for a while

Warmth, tranquility, peace, gratitude, welcomed me to the table
My gaze, originally upward was soon diverted inward, I have no memory of the ceiling
Could I hear music? La di da? Or a breezy tune?
The oblivion that was, quickly dissipated, as my senses were resuscitated.

Hello spine, I forgot you were there
It fell to the underneath side of me, as my muscles let go of yesterday

Her deft fingers defined her; she was my liberator, my Zen, my warrior
Her tactility inspired deeper breath, saggier bones, and heavier eyelids

The stillness in me grew

-and then it happened.

“wham”

She pulled off the first strip

“Wham”

And again with the second.

Then warmth and relief.

It was one thirty already
What?
But I’m still inside myself;
I am still window shopping inside the soft tunes, and the warm towel, and the soft bed
I’m not ready;
I’m not ready to re-acquaint with the keys and the wallet and the phone;
They belong to ‘everyday’;
-and I am still floating on my glassy ocean with infinite horizons

Gone was the moment-already archived in my library categorised as ‘past’

Oh look! ‘Everyday’ is smiling at me again,

Inspired by Kelly-Thank you

Posted in Writing 101

My Four Walls

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Photography by Lorenzo Andrioll https://www.flickr.com/photos/flatpix/

MY FOUR WALLS

Author-N.A.Martin

My four walls. My palace. My private sanctuary. This is where I am who I am. Where the mask is peeled off, where the walls that surround me, see me uncensored, in my most natural state.

It’s behind these walls that my soul is anchored.

A shiny silver spider web glistens in the sunlight and dances with the breeze outside. I can see it, right there, within an arms reach, gripping for dear life to my lounge room window. I really should clean it away-perhaps I’ll leave it there a little longer-for what is a window, without a web? A lifeless piece of glass.

The worn shutters hang faded and broken, but all I see are a decade of sweet seasons, bursting into life as they penetrate my windows, and shed their light.

The walls, splashed with scuff marks could do with a paint, but all I see are two little boys, full of the joys of life, crashing into them with sheer delight. Smudging their dirty shoes, school bags, and food filled fingers obliviously across their cream coloured surface, with a beautiful sense of childlike freedom.

All I see, is my much loved furry companion collapsing against these walls, his tongue falling out of his mouth, gasping for air after he’s run with the wind, and sniffed and played and chased tennis balls, all afternoon with his family. The wall, serving as a support for his well exercised bones.

The tiles are dated-but they’ve had my children’s footprints growing on them for days and weeks and years. They’ve carried the weight of their childhood, as they’ve metamorphosed from babies to young lads, one fast growing step after another. An invisible canvas, warmly holding in its possession, the history of a zillion footsteps.

The washing machine is tired and rusty, but I am thankful for its hard work. Tirelessly, it throws around our laundry, that bares the evidence. The evidence of our existence. Our clothes are clad with experiences. Spillage of a blissful coffee had with friends, sweat from a wicked workout, dirt, spare coinage, pens forgotten in pockets, buttons that have escaped, grass on white shirts, mouldy towels, wet shoes from camp. It labors, to wash the memories clean, so that we may make more.

Six million pairs of well worn shoes lay strewn at my front door. Each one telling its own unique story. A long stroll on the beach? A gruelling training session? A trip to the park? A holiday miles from home? They belong there, exactly as they fell, in perfect disorder.

The front door key, it sticks. We should probably fix that- but one click to the left, one small lean to the right, push the glass just a tiny little bit, and it opens. Like clockwork. The answer lies within the secret code and that’s all we need.

The passageway is adorned with old wedding photos. Moments of the past boxed in a frame, to remind us that we have lived. I haven’t looked at them for so long, I’d almost forgotten they were there. Oh look, there’s granny, and mum and dad in their younger years, all spruced up, smiling at me, as they hang up there. They are leaning, the wire that carries them is a little off centre. A tiny adjustment, and they are perfect, once again.

My favourite couch, is sinking into its boots, but it is still warm from where the dog took up position a few minutes ago. He sleeps blissfully unconscious on many an occasion, in that very spot. It’s a place to rest our weary heads after a long day, a sick bed for the unwell, a front row seat at the movies, a meeting place for family discussions, a stand-in trampoline, a secret hiding spot, and centre stage for the wrestling match of a lifetime, that echoes the laughter and giggles of ages.

The aged dining room table has mismatched chairs, but all I see is the heart. The heart that beats to the drum of time. It has hosted many a nail biting card game, precious stories told only once, celebrations, dinners and banter, it’s where secrets and grievances have been revealed and dealt with, timetables learnt, it’s seen Christmas dinners, Easter egg feasts, and fairy bread and chocolate crackles for umpteen sequential years.

I look around me, and quietly observe the imperfections inside my four walls. However it occurs to me that it’s the imperfections that contain the most character. It’s the imperfections that make my four walls uniquely mine, that represent a life lived, that represent the growth and uniqueness of my nearest and dearest.

Imperfect? I say perfect.

For the real value, at the end of the day, is not in the four walls themselves…but in the life lived behind them.

Posted in Writing 101

Day 2 Writing 101- Things I like

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Things I like…

Everyday Gems

Freshly Brewed Coffee

The mere thought is heaven to the senses; it’s all too familiar scent opens the flood gates of my Salivary glands, cascading it’s juices into my begging mouth. My nares flicker in aim of absorbing every last airborne coffee-soaked molecule that floats in steam, wafting from the brim of the pot; The ears instantly form a direct connection with the stomach when the Kettle sings its early morning  sonnet, and the taste buds stand to attention, military style, the second the warm liquid blankets my tongue.

Hot baths

After a day that never ends, my muscles scream at me and force the frown line between my brow to once again crack in resentment. The headache that could kill a baby elephant, the sighs that could inflate a balloon and the feet with nails embedded in their undersides remain tortured as the chores continue to role out before me.

Then, solace, as the warmth of the water envelopes my crying body and moves it closer toward a restfull state. All the perplexities of the day dissolve into the water that surrounds me; The frown line tapers, and the lips slope upward ever so slightly into their corners.

Listening to Music

A wicked beat, an addictive sound or a tear your heart out lyric  catapults me into the stratosphere. From there I grow fairy wings donning a pretty silver lining on their perfect edges and glitter grows on my face and falls like snow down to earth. It transforms me into an Olympic athlete, with muscles of steel and an impenetrable determination.  A romantic poet from the 1700’s is born from within the depths of me, and I am a successful novelist who inspires for a living.

Posted in Writing 101

I write because…

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My apologies Writing 101 participants, for the tardy response!

In response to Day 1’s task:

I write because..

I am a listener. In the presence of company, I prefer to observe and question. Writing however, is my opportunity for self expression.

For me, it’s a compulsion.

I find it cathartic.

My writing is the stained glass bottle in Bangladesh green, washing up on the shore after years drifting aimlessly at sea, the message inside harbouring the secrets of my soul, patiently waiting to be revealed.

Like my dreams, it allows for clarity of my inner thoughts.

It’s an act of self validation.

I hope to  provide hope and inspiration to those experiencing periods of grace or adversity through connection.

~N.A.Martin