Some of my most wonderful life experiences have, without a doubt, been in sharing time with women. So have some of my most challenging. Often, but not always, they are with the same woman.

One such woman, I'll call her Claire, I met in New Zealand while shooting a Japanese TV commercial a few decades ago. She was hired by the local producer as a production assistant, also known as runners. They help out wherever they can on set or location - doing anything from driving, to getting meals, handing out call sheets, etc.

Although I do remember the first time I was introduced to Claire, in the production office in Wellington, it wasn't until we were on set a few days later that something really pinged and I realised that there was some attraction there. She was a bit like a cat; quietly confident, graceful and sleek, and, I was soon to find out great to curl up with, fun to make purr.

We started out playing some cheeky games with ice cubes, one day on location when the main crew were out on the camera car getting some shots. She was up for any challenge and we shared a sense of humour and play. I love that moment when you both realise that eventually you are going to be together. Maybe you are not 100% sure, but it's 90% from both sides and you each use the last 10% as an ongoing oscillating tease. 

That evening, after the crew dinner in a small town pub, halfway down the south island of NZ, we snuck away to a secluded courtyard area and shared some time alone together to see if your chemistry was indeed what we perceived it to be. I remember, at my suggestion, we played a word game. A simple one but quite telling and revealing of each other's headspace, world view and nature. I would say a word and she would respond with the first word that came into her head, to which I would do the same and so on. 

It was smooth, funny and dynamic. I was surprised and delighted by her complexity, intelligence and layers. The 10% was reduced to 1%. She suggested we go for a drive. By now it was around 11pm. The call time for the next morning was six. "Let's go!" I said without hesitation and jumped in the passenger seat of her assigned mini van.  

After she had been driving for about ten, fifteen minutes, in the abandoned countryside, I asked her if she knew where she was going. "I'll know when we get there." was her response. It seemed a little strange, to be heading out so far into unknown territory (for us both), but I shrugged it off and relinquished control. We drove in silence for a while longer and then we crossed a bridge. I recall looking at here driving and suddenly getting a feeling of dread, a strange and powerful gut feeling. What was it and why? I did not know. I surpressed it, though. I was too into her. I was willing to see the outcome. It was a mild, inexplicable panic. I did not want to succumb to it, although it was noted and filed. By the time we pulled up on the side of the road, in the middle of nowhere, it had passed. We got out of the car and climbed over a fence and ran across a large open paddock. Our destination, using only the available moonlight to guide us was a giant, multi-layered stack of hay bales. Like a couple of crazy kids, we climbed up to the mid level, and laying out coats down as a blanket, we began to get intimate.

You know you are with a good match when you really just want to keep kissing. Kissing is more than enough. Your body is pumping chemicals like there is no tomorrow, your eyes are closed, all your senses are on high alert, your faces are smashed together, saliva is being exchanged, tongues whirling in playful delight. There is nowhere else in the world you would rather be. You are experiencing one of those moments on planet earth that is as close to perfection as you'll ever get. You are connecting with another person in a way that makes you feel incredibly present and incredibly transported to another dimension at the same time.

Eventually, the animal takes over and nudges even the most romantic, slow burners towards intercourse. We were just beginning, maybe five or ten minutes into it, when we noticed car lights at the gate. After a few moments of confusion - we were out in the middle of nowhere at 1am - I leapt up and pulled my pants on, headed towards the lights. What I saw gave me chills. It was a man holding a rifle. Not just holding it, but pointing it at me as he walked towards me. For a second or two I was frozen. 

"What the bloody hell are you doing on my property?"

He was angry but not psychotic. I told him we were just out on a drive and decided to do some star gazing. In the meantime, Claire had put her clothes on and gathered the rest of mine, joining me at my side. She apologised with me and I believe that the old fella worked out exactly what was going on and realising we were no threat in any way, chose to cut us some slack. He did not become friendly, but he did lower his gun as he invited us to piss off.

It was an unexpected experience, a heightened experience. When we got back to my room at the motel our intimacy was continued, perhaps improved by our shared brush with danger. We took our time and knew that our bodies were as meant for each other as our personalities and minds. There was no question that this was something special.

We only had one other opportunity to be together in private and that was on my last night in Christchurch. Claire snuck back to my hotel room quite late, after the wrap dinner. Not being sure when we would see each other again made it bitter sweet. 

Of course, we had to see each other again. We conversed transpacific a few times and soon arranged for Claire to come and visit me in Bondi. It was so exciting to see her again and it felt like something real and potentially long term. We were so compatible. As well as being gorgeous in an understated way, she was a very cool person who had a quiet confidence and alluring charm. It felt like I was the only one who had access to this truly amazing being. I was euphoric. After some time in Bondi, I decided to treat her with a trip to Australia's chilled, spiritual rejuvenation, coastal mecca; Byron Bay. It was on our last day there, after a week of laughing and loving, heavenly hanging, that the dream came to a sudden and shocking halt.

It came in the form of a message on my mobile phone. Mobiles were still pretty new then and basic. Texting didn't exist. Calls were often missed or would go straight to mail box. This one came from a private number and went straight to messages. I pushed one to listen. It was a voice I did not recognise. It went something like this:

"This is Ben. I'm Claire's boyfriend. I know you are with her in Byron Bay. I'm at your place in Bondi right now. I'm waiting in the stair well with a knife. I'm not afraid to go to prison. I have been there before. I'm not even afraid to do life. If I can't have Claire, there's no point in living anyway. You've taken her from me and that is unforgivable. I've got lots of nasty friends in Sydney who..."

And on it went. Increasingly desperate, unbalanced, shocking, threatening and psychotic. After another few seconds, I hit the discard button. Shut it down. I was spooked enough. The message was clear.

The place we were staying was booked out. We moved to a hotel on the Gold Coast but did not catch our scheduled flight back to Sydney. We holed up there for a few more days and nights. I arranged for a mate to scope out my place. Claire assured me that he wouldn't be there. That he was a lot of bark and only some bite. Still. Bite's are painful.

Who was this guy? And why had I not known about this?

Turns out he was a recent ex. A dangerous character. She had left him, finally, after an unhappy, tormenting and prolonged break up. But in his mind, it was not over. He had found out about me through their friend's network and somehow got my phone number and address. 

Was he really dangerous? Did he really have bikie friends? 

Yes and yes. But, she didn't think he would really actually kill me. But he could, maybe. Friends of their friends had taken out hit orders on people before.

A whole new side of her became apparent. She was someone who walked the line. Live dangerously. Under that sweetness was cold blood. She was attracted to my free spirit and comparative innocence. I've had my share of scrapes with trouble, sure, but I've never taken out a hit on someone. 

Anyway, she rang a mutual friend of theirs - the leader of a bike gang in NZ. After a few conversations to and fro, including the big dude calling and allegedly placating Ben - I was given the all clear. No assassination today.

From Sydney, she returned home. She promised to get it sorted out before the next time we would meet. I was going to go down there. Spend some time at her place, meet the family...

We continued to talk on the phone. But things were different. I could not comfortable integrate into that world. Her and me... yes. The rest of it... no, thanks. The calls became shorter and less frequent. Time, in it's giant rolling snowball way, whited out everything. As it does, as it does.

Sometimes, I would think back to that very strong feeling I got before it all started. In the van on that first night. I believe I sensed the trouble in her, around her. She showed none of it, but it was there, hidden away. I sensed it. I could not have known - and I wanted to be with her, so I let it dissipate. But it was one of a very few times in my life I have ever felt it like that. It was spot on.

It's been over twenty five years now, so I feel like I can tell it.

It's a love story, a life story, a series of experiences and interactions between a man and woman over a one year full of passion, uncertainty, love, drama, excitement and romance.

It's a true story, one that I lived. An undeniably prominent and unforgettable relationship, unlike any other.

It was never ordinary.
It was never simple.
It was never boring.

A raging fire of a love affair that spanned three continents and oscillated between emotional highs and lows with wild abandon. I feel lucky and privileged to have lived it, to have been half of the equation but I am also aware that I paid the price. It was no free ride.

It began simply enough. A chance encounter at a dinner party. It was her last night in Sydney. It was an Italian restaurant in Kings Cross, there were more than twenty people present. Although she knew my brother, we had never met. Somehow, we were seated beside each other.

Looking back now, it all seems inevitable, really. Right from the start there were sparks, chemistry. We were both very different and neither of us entered the venue with any expectation of anything out of the ordinary occurring. But it did.

What was she like? She was a Californian girl, about thirty years of age. Italian American. Brunette. Olive skin. Deep, dark eyes. Medium height. I never thought of her this way - but if I was to attempt to build a visual composite from old school beauties I would say that she was mix of Raquel Welch, Sophia Loren, and Ali McGraw. She was wounded. There was sadness and rage. She was proud and accomplished - a high achiever. A self-made success story with a little something missing in her life. And that thing was companionship, connection, love.

Enter me. At that time I was around the same age, a true free spirit, a poet, a painter. Living a bohemian lifestyle; I had been unshackled since my divorce two years ealier - staying with family and friends, in motels, hostels, couch surfing, travelling up and down the coast from Bondi to Byron, even sleeping in my car when I had to (a Cortina, ornately hand painted like a true hippy mobile). My possessions were few, my commitments fewer. 

Was there something missing in my life, too? That same thing, perhaps? Did I realise it at the time? Probably not, I was too busy being free. Did I realise it after we spent that first night together in her Sebel Townhouse hotel room and she left the next morning? Maybe, some. And in the subsequent days, did I notice her absence? Indeed. Had a fire been lit? Was something grand created and then suddenly taken away? Yes, yes and yes. But, she was gone far away - back to the States. I thought of it as a dream night. Perfect, sumptuous, unrepeatable. 

When she rang me, from LA, a week or two later, I was surprised and delighted to hear her mellifluous, whispering, slightly raspy voice. She was someone who made things happen. A very successful TV commercial producer. She was not willing to let it go. File it under the most wonderful one night stand ever. She had a proposal...

Paris. She was headed there to shoot an ad the following week. She wanted me to join her. Would I? 

I can't afford it, I told her. I had less than a hundred dollars to my name. I'll pay, she said. For everything.

I was taken aback. I didn't expect that. I needed to think about it.

Don't think about it, she said. You have to tell me right now or it's off. Wow.

I've got to admit, on the plane going over, I was about as excited as I've ever been. I wrote poems, did sketches in my journal. I listened to CDs on my Walkman. It was a three leg, twenty four hour flight.... Singapore, Alaska, Paris. We disembarked at Anchorage. There was a massive bear in a glass case in the airport and a huge duty free shop. I couldn't afford to buy anything. But I didn't need anything. I was running on adrenaline and anticipation.

I got a taxi from Charles de Gaulle airport. As arranged, the concierge paid the driver. I went straight up to the room. There was a note. I'm working till seven. Go out, have some fun. When I get back we can go somewhere for dinner.

She loved good food and good restaurants. She smoked Marlboro Reds and drank Margaritas. Each night for the next ten days we would dine out somewhere exotic and special, drink and smoke, cab back to the hotel and make love. It was always tender and heartfelt. Never a showy or sporty or fancy kind of union. It was sex as a manifestation of emotion. Sex as a display of desire, yearning, opening up and tumbling into each other. After, we would fall asleep easily and quickly. In the mornings, she would be up early, ready for a challenging day shooting on location. Sometimes she would leave my some francs. One time, as a joke, she threw them on the bed as she was walking out. As though I was a whore. We laughed. I pulled her back onto the bed. She left late and her hair was messed.

In the days, I would roam the streets, go to art galleries and sit in cafes writing poems. I was the happiest poet in the world. Can you imagine one happier? No. I wrote a lot. She had a weekend off and I took her to my favourite spots - the Pompidou, a corner cafe in St Germaine, for a ride in the subways. 

It was perfect. Perfect. And then, it was over. We woke up after our most beautiful night together and suddenly it was time to go. She left early - meeting the crew downstairs, I left a few hours later. No one on her team even knew I was there. On the bus back to the airport I listened to Marvin Gaye, tears streaming down my face. It was immense. I was happy, sad, and everything in between. I was at the end of a dream. I didn't know if, or when, we would meet again. There were no promises made. But it was clear that what we had between us was precious and substantial.

We spoke on the phone when we could after that. This was the pre-mobile age. It was frustrating to be apart. We both missed each other. We came up with a solution. My parents were living in London at the time. She had a job coming up. A week in London and a week in Madrid. I didn't want her shouting me a second time, so I used what money I had saved and got across to London to visit my folks. When she arrived, I moved into the hotel with her. It was the same ritual - she would work during the days, we would go out to dinner at a high end restaurant, drink margaritas and wine, taxi back to the hotel and savour the rest of the night together. She introduced me to The Water Boys; her favourite band. 'The Whole of the Moon' was the theme song of not only that trip but our entire affair. It's poignant, emotional, a cry from deep within. 

One night towards the end of the London trip, one of the waitresses in one of the restaurants took a liking to me and could not conceal it. The atmosphere got quickly tense and jealousy reared it's ugly head. In the cab home, we had our first argument. I professed my devotion and honestly told her that there was nothing to be upset about. I was 100% committed. But, she fumed for a while. She was threatened that the slightest amount of my attention went elsewhere, even just for a moment. I saw a side of her previously undisclosed. Back in the room, she calmed down and our lovemaking was more intense than before.

Arriving in Madrid was exciting as well. I got there during the day. My job was to seek out some great places to dine. Again, it was pre-internet, so I used guide books. I found some hot spots and the food was amazing. As is the tradition in Spain, we ate later that elsewhere. This allowed us a few hours playtime before dinner as well. 

On the second or third night we were dining in a delightful Spanish restaurant, sitting in the courtyard. We were overlooked by stylish balconies of local residents. It was a community atmosphere. When we arrived a young girl, maybe fourteen or fifteen, saw us and waved. She must have sensed how in love we were from our affectionate behaviour and she seemed somewhat captivated. She stayed in her place and gazed down at us from a distance. When we glanced up at her a few times, she returned a beaming smile, full of warmth and appreciation. 

Towards the end of the meal, while we were waiting for dessert an older woman came around with some roses. On impulse, I bought two. I ceremoniously gave the first one to my lover. The other one, I announced, I wanted to give to our devoted fan, still watching our every move. I stood up, walked a few steps towards the balcony and threw it up to her. She caught it and beamed with happiness and appreciation to have been acknowledged. When I turned around the table was empty. Thinking she had gone to the bathroom, I sat down and waited. She was not coming back. The maitre'd informed me that she had left, stormed off.

My heart sank. I felt that feeling when all the air is sucked out of the atmosphere. Oh, no. This is not good. Really not good. 

And it was bad on many levels. Just paying the bill used up more than half the money in my possession. Then there was one other thing. I did not take proper note of the name of the hotel we were staying at. I had no idea what to tell the taxi driver, one who spoke no English. Somehow, after driving around for close to an hour, using my internal GPS and a mix of luck, we found the place. The cab fare cleaned me out. I was pretty stressed and kind of angry. I was never a fan of drama and this was drama.

To make things worse, I had to key to the room and she refused to let me in. After arguing, negotiating through the closed door, she finally relented when I told her to just throw my bag out, that I was leaving. She let me in. She cried as I reassured her of my love, our love. She apologised for being insecure. It was the drink, she was tired, it was confusing... Of course, I forgave her and all was good for the rest of the stay in Spain. Leaving again was difficult and I returned to Sydney.

Three months later, she told me on the phone that she had booked me a ticket to New York City. She had a job there and wanted us to meet. I was leaving in three days. 

I decided that our love affair, our connection, was real, truly special. It demanded that I honour it, and her, with a proactive decision and action. I used my entire savings and bought her an engagement ring. It was just one diamond, but I spent a long time finding the best looking ring I could find within my means. I was going to ask her to marry me.

What I remember of New York in that trip is mostly the plush Park Avenue hotel room. We spent a lot of time there. I also remember studying that wine coloured Zagat guide, doing my job selecting and booking the evening's restaurant. It was a culinary indulgence, a luxurious treat. Money was never an issue. Not only did she pay for all our meals in every city, but she was a generous tipper. 

Is it OK to do what I am doing, I sometimes wondered. She is paying to have me around. Am I keeping within the boundries of my personal integrity, I would ask myself. 

But I felt I wasn't. It was just the way it was. I was extremely lucky to be where I was. It was fate. 

I never did anything that compromised my own morality. I was never fake, I never lied or acted any way other than was true. I was extremely grateful and always thanked her and let her know how much my sharing was appreciated. 

We talked about it. What else am I going to spend my money on? she would say. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. You make me happy, you make me feel free. Being able to see you and be with you after a hard day's shoot means so much to me. It is as much a dream come true for you as it is for me. I believed her. Whatever the financial dynamics were, our emotional bond was undeniably based on equality, honesty, passion and deep, heartfelt desire. We had to be together.

The ring was burning a hole in my pocket. I wanted the timing to be right. I waited until our last night in New York. The restaurant I chose was the landmark, opulent Cafe Des Artistes on the upper West Side. We had finished our meal and were drinking champagne. I reached into my coat pocket and pulled it out. I can't recall my exact presentation procedure, but I am sure I attempted to make it as romantic as possible without being corny. She was surprised and delighted. She said yes. 

I can't recall the exact way things happened after that but when she was coming back from the bathroom I was chatting to a waitress. We might have been sharing a laugh or a brief moment. Whatever it was, my new 'fiancee' didn't like it one bit. She went into a rage, like a sudden cyclone. She took off the ring and threw it in her champagne glass. I was speechless. For a moment I considered leaving it there. But I picked it out. I went  outside. She was attempting to hail down a taxi. When one pulled up, I jumped in beside her. She started crying. I said nothing. We got to the hotel and went to the room in silence. It was tense and uncomfortable. And in my opinion, completely out of order and unnecessary. It was become clear that this was a pattern. A emotional anomaly. Something was out of whack. I realised that each time these things happened, we had consumed quite a few drinks. That was surely part of it. But the reactions were so extreme. The anger so fierce. The response inappropriate. It felt disrespectful, damaging. 

We went to bed together, after separate showers. Eventually we made up. In the morning, when I woke she was in tears. 

I left my ring behind. I can't believe what I have done...

I hugged her. I've got it. If you still want it.

Of course I do. I am so sorry.

Things were back in place. We were OK again. Another storm weathered. My flight out of NY was after hers. She got back to LA before me. My flight back to Sydney was through LA and I had an 8 hour lay over. She picked me up from the airport and we went to her house. It was interesting and kind of strange to actually be in her home. It seemed to me, from my observations, that it was somewhere she spent little time. It needed more attention, warmth. I got an idea.

Why don't I stay here? I suggested. In LA. We can live together. I have nothing that demands I immediately return to Australia. Why don't we try actually being with each other on a day to day basis, in a more grounded way. 

It felt like an opportunity in a way. It came to me in the moment and I shared it. 

She thought about it but I think it was too fast. My plane was supposed to be leaving in a few hours. It was a big decision either way. She went with maintaining the status quo.

Once again, I was up in the air. Heading back to Oz.

Six months passed. It was excruciating. A little heartbreaking. Talking on the phone was like a cruel tease. She was busy working on more shoots within the US. Arizona, NY again. I suggested she come visit, even stay. Or I could fly back over. But she wouldn't commit.

Long distance relationships are so, so hard. Two months is the limit, I believe. My limit anyway.

I could not put my life on hold. I just carried on as I would. Did my thing. Went to art gallery openings, plays, parties. Along the way I met some lovely women. None captivated me like she did, but a few times there was intense and immediate attraction. I didn't know what was going to happen, so I went with the flow. I went with what reality was presenting to me in the moment. That's the way I live.

Our communications had dwindled to just a trickle. I took it in stride. Glad for what we had had. But I knew she was a tied to her job and was afraid of letting it all go for love. I couldn't blame her, she had more to loose than me. 

When she rang, though, and told me she was coming back to Australia for a shoot, I was pretty happy. Mostly. Actually, a little conflicted. The suffering involved in a long distance relationship did not suit me. I wasn't sure if I wanted to re-ignite the flame, only to have it extinguished again. But she still had my ring, as well, it was far too special a relationship to give it every chance.

Her shoot was to be up in Cairns but her first night was in Sydney. She was staying at the same hotel, The Sebel Townhouse. Back where it all began. We met for dinner in a restaurant on Kellet Street, just nearby. Seeing each other again was electric. It was all still there. Dinner was wonderful.

I made the choice to be completely honest and up front with her. I told her that in the interim, during our time apart, although I had not gone out with any other women, that I did hook up briefly with three women. 

She seemed to take it well and said that she appreciated me being open and honest with her. She said that she had not been with anyone. We went back to the hotel and our night together was as though we had never been apart.

It was a long week, while she was in Cairns, waiting for her to return so that we could discuss a future. 

When she did come back we went for dinner and then went back to the hotel. Everything was beautiful. 

We made love. It was passionate.

Then, right in the final moments, right after the crescendo, in the space between hitting the highest high and floating back to earth, she looked me straight in the eyes, her hands around the back of my neck and said...

While I was away in Cairns on the shoot, I fucked a guy in the crew.

Bang.

I got off her. I got up and got dressed. I felt physically sick. My head was spinning. I will never forget the feeling of that moment.

I walked out. It was over.

A few weeks later, I get a call from LA. It's her. She is crying. She tells me how sorry she is. How wrong it was, what she did. She tells me she has to see me. We have to talk. In person. I tell her it's too late. She says, no, I am coming. I have to see you. I have already booked my ticket. I arrive tomorrow. Please, please, if even a skerrick of anything good remains, please come to The Sebel tomorrow night. Just to talk. Just so we can talk.

I tell her, don't come. I don't want to see you.

She says, I'm coming. I will be there.

I admired her conviction and gumption. There were some burnt embers still there but not much. Mostly it was a damp, smoldering, unpleasant heap of ash and wet coal.

But I went. I went to her room. She was lying on the bed. She tried to seduce me. I could not do it. I could not let it happen. What she had done was unforgivable. Once again, I walked away. This time, though, there was no anger. Just sadness.

A week later, I got an padded envelope in the mail. Inside was  a small dried rose and some barbed wire wrapped around it. Attached to the barbed wire was the ring.

Nice touch. I had to smile. 

I sold it at a hock shop the next day.

End of chapter. End of story.

I created my art website three or four years ago and have slowly built it up. There is no one-button-sale process integrated into it, so it's been more of a viewing space than a sales producing site. 

Two years ago now I realised that I could write a blog and have it attached; so I began. Tentative and sporadic at first, after a few months I started to get into the swing of things. Now it has become an important part of my artistic life. Once or twice a week I check in and spill the beans - or plant the beans. Whatever is going on in my life, in my mind, in my world gets a summation and commentary. I am pretty casual about it but focused when I get a post started. My aim is to be free flowing, honest and playful. For me there would be no point in recording anything other than something that is 100% authentic. I want to represent who I am and where I am at when I decide to express it. Later, I can look back and it will be an accurate road map of my headspace journey.

I like the way each short narrative is a building block. I am not sure what the structure will look like when it nears completion. I just keep going, focusing on the quality and placement of each new brick.

Which reminds me...

In the mid eighties, some creative friends were part of a casual group called 'The Spiritual Bricks Society'. We had a gold (yellow) painted brick and placed it in a visible spot at each of our regular gatherings. There was no real agenda or rituals involved - it was pretty much just a group of like minded, arty individuals and their friends convening to enjoy conversation, drugs and alcohol. We also took part in a group art show called 'God's Favourite Artists' held at the Bondi Pavillion Gallery. The main core of the group are still my friends today. I don't see them very often but the connection is strong and positive. 

Some things I have done for a long time:

Written poetry
Stayed up late
Slept in late
Gone to the beach
Felt deeply
Tried to sublimate 
Loved laughing
Loved good writing
Loved movies
Loved women
(this is not in order of ranking, ladies)

I was going to write more on that list but now I have been distracted. Just by mentioning women. Ah. How they delight and confound. 

In some ways, being older, and having extracted myself - or have I been exiled? - from the romance game(s), I have opened up a lot of space and time for other pursuits. 

Namely; being free. And I must say, it's pretty good, actually. As Larry David would say, "pretty, pretty good." I sleep in till I wake naturally, I go for long walks on the beach, I play cards most nights with the lads, I rarely tidy up, I go where I want, leave when I'm ready...

The list goes on. Am I trying to justify how much better it is? Am I convincing myself? Hmmm.... not sure.

Anyway, like Stalin always said, "You work with what you've got." ("Until we take it from you," was the second part.)

Gotta say: LOL

1. You can go lower than you thought.
2. You can come back from lower than you thought.
3. Not all friendships endure.
4. People influence other people. Not always in a good way.
5. It doesn't matter how good you think you are - it's a delusion.
6. Time can be both a friend and an enemy.
7.
8. Getting older (50 and beyond) can be fascinating and enlightening - but you need to let go of some stuff and pay attention to what you've got.
9. Kids are pretty much the best things in the world.
10. Romance is mutual delusion. Sometimes it will carry you through to something of substance. Sometimes it will dump you on your arse.
11. If you can be good friends with yourself; it helps.
12. As time ahead diminishes; focus sharpens, energy is reserved for what is essential.
13. Laughter is still, and always will be, the best drug.
14. Laughter shared is even better.
15. Any kind of judgement of others is probably wrong. At best it is a waste of time.
16. The smallest things are often the greatest.
17. Some dreams - those no longer attainable - are to be released into the night sky. This makes way for new ones.
18. Consider yourself lucky.
19. When you can (or must) - step up to the plate and give it your best swing. Don't let too many pitches fly past. 
20. Magic can happen at any time. Don't be prepared.