Head/Heart: February-April 2016.

Sorry for my lengthy absence on this space. If you've caught up with me recently/if you're a personal friend of mine/if you have me on Snapchat (username: camillenathania) then you'll know I've been up to a lot. On the plus side, I now have plenty to write about, so I'm just going to get straight to it. I've decided to write my Head/Heart posts quarterly this year, because I know I'll be concentrating on shooting, chasing goals and life in between.

Head/Heart: January 2016.

It's February! The speed of life is truly amazing. We only ever have the choice to go forward and go with it, come what may—which is why it's so imperative not to waste time and energy we will never get back on something that is keeping us from our true potential (sometimes, that something is ourself). I have, metaphorically speaking, emptied a lot of the contents of my heart and brain into this post already, so I'm just going to let you get right into it. Plenty of Canada photos at the bottom to reward you for getting to the end!

Head/Heart: December 2015.

Last year seems so far away, but in reality it was just a month ago we finished celebrating Christmas, and I was getting ready to fly off to Canada. Peculiar, how the structure of time can allow the concept of a year (and whatever came with that year) to disappear, shedding our old skin to make way for something new.

I didn't take many photos between Tasmania and Canada. I concentrated only on being as present as possible in those three short weeks. Taking everything one day, one me at a time. If you've been following my last few posts, you'll know I carried a lot of pain around with me in the last few months of the year, and I'm still slowly letting it go, gently waiting for more of me to come back to the fore.

That's the thing about travel—I have no expectation that I will be different (happier) when I am in a different place, however in taking everything one day at a time; in having mental space; in aimless meandering; in having a direct experience with your newfound surrounds; in being over 15,000 kilometres away from home: I am more able to let go. Not all the way—but just enough that I see glimpses of my true self again.

Head/Heart: November 2015.

I am both relieved and shocked that it's mid-December. Relieved because the new year brings fresh opportunity and many changes; shocked because I normally feel fairly prepared for December, crossing the T's and dotting the I's of the last 12 months to make way for the following year, and right now I don't feel like I'm ready to start anew. I feel as if I'm a tennis ball someone threw at the start of the year, simply hurtling to the other end of the court with no end in sight. I'm used to being busy, but this year was something else.

I've included plenty more photos than usual in this post because there are so many great ones to share from Tasmania (and these are just a tiny selection from the hundreds I took on my iPhone). I'll also be writing my usual year-in-review post which I'm hoping to have finished before Christmas, but writing meaningfully about the whole year can sometimes take a little while—I like to let the dust settle and really think about what it is I'm trying to say, and right now it's taking a little longer for everything to get clear.

Head/Heart: October 2015.

This month, more than ever, I've felt the consequences from a year of tackling everything head-on. Beyond the little frame that is our life depicted on Instagram, Facebook and even this blog space, I have felt frustrated, bitter, burnt out, sad, and at times, angry. A unique kind of exhaustion came over me—not the kind of exhaustion that can be remedied by extra sleep (although that can certainly help), but the kind that weighs on you the moment you wake up, and continues to eat away at you even when you go to bed. The heavier kind of sorrow that sometimes comes with no clear warning or reason, nothing heralding its arrival. This leads people with depression & anxiety, like me, to go a few steps backwards and I went from managing my mental state well to not at all in a very short period of time.

The unexpected arrival of these emotions have left me lost and confused. As a yogi, I have learnt to step back and observe, to be a witness to my own reactions, emotions and thoughts so that I may be mindful of my subsequent actions—but even as I did this, I found myself more and more bewildered. Still I kept trying to figure out what was wrong, why I was feeling this way—I'd had a great year after all, and yes, I may barely have anything left to give, but life is pretty good. As the feeling lingered, I began to lose hope that this, too, would pass. It's also hard to fix a problem when you're not even entirely sure what the problem is—so you bury it and internalise it and overthink it until you're so confused and exhausted from the thinking and you feel ridiculous so you don't share it with anybody else because you're not even sure they'll love you after (I sure as Hell wasn't loving myself).

Just the other day I realised: I was beating myself up for it all, and it was making me feel worse. Rather than accepting it, I was resisting it, hanging onto some notion of how things “should” be. I've always had high expectations of myself, and although I have become more of a friend to myself than I ever have before, I've been punishing myself for not having figured it all out. I kept thinking that because I had been managing myself so well over the last couple of years, that I wouldn't fall into bad, lengthy slumps like this any more—I was wrong, but I was also unforgiving of myself.

Recently I've been presented with so many different opportunities and paths I could take in the future. I am being pulled in all sorts of directions, wishing I could fit everything I ever want to do on this planet in this lifetime; biding my time and waiting, waiting, holding on with faith that I'll figure it out and letting myself be guided by the forever-present (perhaps not always obvious) signs of the things I am supposed to do. I have known myself deeply and for long enough now to know what my soul needs; what it yearns for—but as the new year looms ahead, I am struck by an unfamiliar sense of vagueness and indecision. There are three lessons in one here: I am still being schooled in going with the flow even when the flow may be stuck behind a rock or when I don't know where it's taking me; I am being taught not to try and do everything for everyone, the world and myself all in one day; and that the answer, as always, will be revealed to me when I am not looking for it, when I least expect it, only when I am truly listening, and only when I am ready for it.

As I was writing this post, fellow yogi & photographer Tahl Rinsky just happened to post this on Instagram: “The only thing we are bound to is change. If you're feeling stuck and can't seem to find the way out look again, it might actually be you blocking the exit.” How apt, and how true.

Head/Heart: September 2015.

I had every intention of slowing down in September. No more teacher training weekends and you'd think my weeks would have been freer, but really that freedom just led to me saying yes to more shoots (oops). It's not such a bad thing, and certainly a great way to save more before two big trips, but life has certainly been full.

In between the fullness, however, I create space. Space to spend afternoons meandering beautiful botanical gardens in full spring bloom; space to laugh with friends over good food; space to lie down on the grass with Martin, our eyes closed, mumbling to each other about life as we soak it all up, savouring the minutes without obligation, simply resting in the comfort and gratitude of each other's company. Short moments of relaxation many times is plenty enough to remind you how accessible your own happiness is—it isn't something that exists only in the future, or in some distant place far away from everything and everyone you know. It's something all of us can reach for right now, if we really want to.

Head/Heart: August 2015.

I came out of a full and fast July into an even fuller August. I spent most of it alone, with Martin being in Sydney for two weeks: the longest I've ever been at home by myself. I knew there was a lesson there, in my being completely alone in one of the busiest fortnights of my year: I balanced my final month of yoga teacher training (with 2 exams and an assignment), 7 unexpected shoots, and my day job all at once. It was a pretty unique fortnight, one I handled surprisingly well.

Years ago being alone with my own thoughts for any period of time would be pretty anxiety-inducing. This time, I cherished it, and in a fortnight so full it was probably just what I needed. I savoured the silence and the stillness, but more than that, I was able to remind myself how truly capable I was; how truly strong and calm I could be. I was given an opportunity to meet any and all adversity from the position of a witness: simply observing what came without getting caught up in the mental drama of the thing. Besides—I was probably too busy to even be stressed.

Head/Heart: July 2015.

The last half of the year kicked off with our yoga teacher training retreat, which I briefly touched on in my last post. The next time I write, I'll most likely have graduated and the next chapter of my yoga journey will begin. I feel like I've packed a lot into this year—everything has been go, go, go and I'm tumbling through every week with the momentum of the last. At times it seems out of control, but that's why I make conscious efforts to introduce little pauses, little breaths in my day, week and month. Even if it's just an hour to myself at lunch, 15 minutes to stare at the clouds, spending the hour I drive to work in complete silence, and even writing this blog—there's always little opportunities to step on the brakes before hurtling into the rest of life, carrying us away day by day.

Head/Heart: June 2015.

June was finally my chance to slow down, to take it all in, and to integrate everything I had experienced from the first few months of the year. I didn't spend every single spare day doing nothing, but rather, I used it for all that I needed it for: the warmth of human connections, a lot of yoga, meditation and self-healing.

Head/Heart: May 2015.

The month of May was, suffice to say, rough. We had teacher training 3 out of the 5 weekends there were in May and we had our first exam; on the remaining weekends in between I flew off to Sydney, and on the other I was celebrating Martin's birthday. I felt overwhelmed and I crumbled; it didn't seem to matter what I said to myself—the truth that this too shall pass was buried and ignored under everything else and I slowly sunk so deep it became hard to enjoy anything. Depression & anxiety have a tendency to make tough days tougher, and even though somewhere down there you know you'll get through this, a louder voice often questions that.

To make things harder, Martin has been trying to find a new job for about a year. A year prior to that, we spent most of our time with him recovering from two consecutive leg operations. Over the last couple of years it just feels as if all we've been doing is “pushing through”, so I was hoping this year would be one where we could finally pause, go on a big trip and do something just for us—but without a second income, we no longer have the freedom to do so, and there's that little fear that things will get harder, especially financially. The hardest part, really, is not knowing when things will change—perhaps 3 months from now we'll still be here.

So just last week when I was at my worst, one of my new friends from teacher training shared this TEDx talk by Tao Porchon-Lynch with us, and I was reminded that there is truly nothing any of us can't do (after all, I wouldn't do all that I do if I didn't really believe that); that everything has its own time and that sometimes, it's enough to simply show up. Every day I do my best, and I know this is all worth it. A big part of me that trusts in whatever this experience is meant to be, and wherever it will lead, and honestly, it's exciting to know something really good is probably lying just around the corner.

Head/Heart: April 2015.

The beginning of 2015 feels like aeons away, yet it's only May. I really hit the ground running this year, and four months into full throttle has been challenging and confronting—but I'm riding this flow, this frenetic time, just accepting it for what it is without getting too bogged down in negativity or frustration. If there's anything I've learnt from years of being a busy person with a Type A personality, it's that being stressed about being stressed gets me nowhere.

Head/Heart: March 2015.

Here we are, at the end of March. Life is so full, and I juggle it all: work, freelance work, my yoga practice, birthdays, social engagements, making time for friends, family, my partner. I try to be a great employee, an organised businesswoman, a dedicated yogi, a loving, patient partner, a doting daughter, and a loyal friend, but it's usually at a cost, and that cost is often my own wellbeing. In saying all this, I want to be clear: I am more fulfilled, more content now than I have ever been. I am calmer, more accepting; still driven, but free from the fear and expectations that I created for myself by being extraordinarily goal-oriented; never knowing what it was like to enjoy everything as it is, for what it is, in this very moment.

Head/Heart: February 2015.

In case you missed it, last month I began a new series called Month-By-Month in an effort to give myself more opportunities to share personal reflections here. As it turns out, this is very similar to a series called Head & Heart that my Twitter & Instagram friend Helen runs on her blog, and so from now on I'll be following her format and writing under that series name.

Head/Heart: January 2015.

Life: blink and you'll miss it. By now, you've probably already had a conversation about how crazy it is that it's already February, and soon it will be March, and on it goes.

Do you remember all those things you told yourself you'd do by this year, or this age? I do; I've achieved a lot and pursued many of my dreams, but what's even better is that there are so many things I never thought I would do that I am now doing. Sometimes you get so caught up in the cycle of dreaming, planning, and doing, you don't get many chances to appreciate what you truly love to do, what you've already accomplished, and all the little things that make your life what it is.

This year, one of my aims is to be more active on this blog. I've always enjoyed writing from a deeper point of view, but I don't often get to share as much as I'd like here between everything else I do outside of the blog, and so I usually only post when I have work to share.

Starting now, I'll be sharing little snaps (from my iPhone, my best friend when it comes to shooting the everyday) in a series called Month-By-Month: a visual way to reconnect with the weeks just passed. Regular reflection is a big part of who I am, but to purposefully document it here will mean that I am forced to take the time to be brought back to the present, to appreciate the past, instead of constantly, hurriedly gunning for the future.

The magic of photos is that they remind you of lots of little things you may have otherwise forgotten, like that really wonderful day you may have had even though there was nothing particularly extraordinary about it. That's life: a brilliant, beautiful summary of all these little things. It's worth remembering, it's worth documenting, and it's worth reflecting on.

If you have a blog, or even an Instagram, I'd love for you to join in and share your monthly memories—please feel free to send me the link to the post or to the photos when you're done so I can see!

Here are some little moments from my January, 2015.