Do things really happen for a reason?

Do they though?

I'm a big believer in the old age saying, "Everything happens for a reason" and my wee Granny's favourite, "What and who's for you, won't go by you". 

I also believe that every single person we meet or encounter, serves us a purpose of some kind.
Whether it's to teach us something, to remind us of something or to make us see things with a clearer perspective.

I can't tell you how many times I've felt lost in life with nowhere to go or anyone to turn to for advice or to be uplifted and in some way, the Universe seems to provide me with the right person or situation at the right time.

So, yes I think "everything happens for a reason", and sometimes, I never know what that reason is and I frustrate myself trying to find the reason but it's taught me to be open to whoever or whatever comes into my life from that moment on.

More recently, I broke my ankle.
Exactly one week before the busiest working schedule of my career and yes, it sucked. Proper sucked. 
I constantly tried to find ways of getting into work but as it so happens, with health and safety and insurance, etc, I wasn't able to carry out my duties as I would have done with the ability to walk on two legs. 
It really affected my mood and mental health. I'm fiercely independent so when it came to doing the smallest of things around the house, like making myself a cuppa, or doing the dishes; I just couldn't.
Yes, I could make a cuppa, but carrying it from the kitchen to the living room proved a challenge balancing on one leg and managing to lean on two crutches at the same time. 
I was so frustrated and impatient. I hated feeling so helpless and useless. 

Everyday I questioned why this had happened at such a shitty time to, (who I believe) to be a decent person like myself. Was karma punishing me? Had I done something awful to deserve this?
Maybe. 
Maybe not.
Maybe those weren't the right questions to be asking...?

Maybe it was the Universe telling me to take a break from something, or maybe I wasn't meant to be at my work at that time. Which made me seriously think about whether I was in the right career. Which then led on to my Dad asking me the same questions.
I recently came to the conclusion that maybe the reason was to take a step back from my 100mph life and evaluate what is important to me. What drives me? What am I passionate about? What do I want to do with my life?
All very serious questions that I realise I need to take the time to think about. 

Sometimes it's the person who gives you a little push in the right direction, even if you don't see it at the time. 
Having travelled across the World and back has taught me this too. I don't believe there are such things as "chance meetings". Life is a magical mystery and the people we encounter on this journey are made to teach, uplift our help us rediscover things about ourselves we have unintentionally hidden. 

I'll never forget each and every person I have met on my various adventures who have each taught me something different or provided the most wonderful memories I have in each place. 
I met my Scottish best friend at Camp America in Philadelphia only 5 years ago, and ever since we've travelled different parts of the World together and (as much as she'll make fun of me for saying this), I can't imagine my life without her. 

However, not all of these encounters are meant to last forever. Such meetings were perhaps just a moment in time; to delay us from something bad or keep us there long enough so we could bump into somebody else. Someone more worthwhile that could potentially blossom into something more permanent. Somewhere you least expect it... like a tropical island just off Bali, but that's another story...

Sometimes there is a sense of familiarity or recognition that this person is meant to be in your life from the minute you meet. Not quite "where have you been all my life?", but more, "Oh. It's you". 

When I was younger, (much like everyone else), I had a vague idea of what I wanted and where my life was going to go. 
Lets all laugh, shall we?
Someone I met in Laos (one of those short encounters but such a lovely human being) told me "No plan is the best plan", and I think I really needed to hear it then, and I replay it to myself every so often now, because it's true. 

Life is what happens when you're busy making plans, and yes, even though it's nice to have some rough sort-of plan but allow for some wiggle room, just-in-case!

Stace x

How not to break an ankle

It started off like any other night out...


Edinburgh-bound for our friend, Kirsty's hen weekend, Siobhan and I cracked open a bottle of £1.62 cider from Aldi on the train, full of hopes and dreams for the night ahead. 
We were last minute additions due to previous work commitments, but super excited non-the-less to give our pal a decent send off into married life!
As you can probably already tell to the story, I'd been working non-stop quite a bit and this was my first night out in God knows how long, so I was determined to make the most of it with my best gals. 

Siobhan and I booked a hostel in the City Centre, halfway up Fleshmarket Close, which if you haven't been to the 'Burgh before, is like a "fuck-off" big hill wi stairs.
But for £20 for the night booked last minute, it was an absolute steal. Besides, we were hardly going to be in the room anyway..
The rest of the squad had an apartment booked further out of town from the previous year, during the time which Siobhan and I weren't sure we could make it. 

During the day was chilled. Perfect, even.
Cocktails were sipped, light shopping was purchased, conversation flowed and a nice dinner was consumed. 

The group parted ways to commence the ever important "getting-ready" stages of the girly night out. 
Siobhan and I put the "out out" playlist on and started beautifying ourselves. It was a small x2 bed dorm with bunkbeds which we managed to litter with our expandable cases containing everything we needed from buffing brushes, and hair wands to heel and outfit choices. 

                  


After a few insta shots and boomerangs, we were ready to hit the town.
We started off in Candy Bar for more cocktails before meeting the girls in the Opal Lounge for the dancin'. 
Here, I feel is where it all went downhill...

Free drinks packages and being on a hen night in general assists in the encouragement to just get completely and utterly (as we Scots say), aff yer face // oot yer tree // mwi. 
Especially being one of the remaining single ones, where no matter how hard you try to hide it, it does get emotional in the riptide between being happy for your friend getting married and knowing that you're not even close to getting married. 

It did not help that the hottie Canadian boys at the next booth supplied us with their bottle of Ciroq when tearfully telling them that ours was finished. 
Their generosity was beautiful and I believe in making international relations, as did Siobhan, but the remainder of the hen party had decided they'd had enough and left around 1am.
We (stupidly) decided against leaving and as an act of valour, we also decided to (stupidly) play the dangerous game of minesweeper and consume the remainder of everyone's drinks. In a way, I guess we thought we were saving ourselves money by doing this. 

Unsure if this is Canadian Boy, but if so, cheers for sharin' yer bevvy!

Fast forward to the end of the night where for some reason, drunk Stacey and Siobhan decided to have a romantic meal in an Italian Restaurant at 4am (thanks to the subtle facebook check-in reminder), instead of doing as normal Scots do, and taking the pizza and chips home and forgetting about them till the next day. 

I remember the uber back. 
I remember the careful walk down the steep steps of the lane and making it to the front door, pizza box still in hand. 
I remember falling down the little ramp INTO the front porch, arse over tit. The ramp the lady warned us about during  check-in. 
I remember a sharp pain in my ankle, as if I'd whacked it off of something solid. 
I remember Siobhan laughing hysterically at me and snapchatting me in all my drunken hilarious glory. 

Shaking it off, I hobbled up the stairs to our room, trying to shrug and laugh off the pain. I somehow managed to make it into the top bunk, and crashed out, forgetting about my pizza until that 6am roll over and it was like MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS TO ME!!! 

Never has a photo truly represented me as a person

The next day my foot was in agony. 
It had swollen into a Granny kankle it deserved it's own Granny name, which we had dubbed Bertha 2.0 (in memory of my opposite ankle being bitten and swollen in Asia last year).
As we walked into town to meet up with the girls, I had to develop a weird quick-step-push system with my foot in order for me to even move anywhere. I was going at a snails pace, which really annoyed me as my 6'2 strides seemed like days of the past. 

One of the girls was a nurse, and she recommended I go to A&E either asap or as soon as we got back home. I (stupidly) waved her off. I'm one of these (stupid) people who avoid going to the Doctor if they can help it. 
But alas, after the swelling continued and taking about an hour to walk a path that would have usually taken me about 15 mins, I decided she was right and took her up on the offer to take me to the Hospital where she worked when we got back. 

A&E is a rather unsettling place, but it wasn't long before I was seen and x-rayed by the Nurse.
As soon as he said the words, "It's broken", my face fell. 
My mind went blank. I couldn't process what he had said until he left the room. Thank God I had my Nurse friend with me to repeat what he had just said, but in English or words I could understand. 

I was taken to a room where my leg was to be placed in a temporary cast until the Fracture Specialist could see me on Tuesday (today). 
"I'll need to cut your jeans, Miss", the Doctor said.
ABSOLUTELY-FUCKING-NOT, my face said.
I'm over 6 foot. It's a rare miracle I find jeans that actually fit me, so you're not cutting my favourite acid wash pair, sunshine! Hell to the NOPE!
Thankfully, Chelsi (Nurse friend) ran to the car to retrieve my case where I had my PJ shorts in there from the previous night. What an Angel. I couldn't even speak to say thank you, my mind was still in shock.

 

The Nurse made the cast up to my knee (which I thought was a bit drastic- it's my ankle I broke, you know? All the way at the bottom). 
He also gave me a short lesson in "How-to-use-crutches", where it all hit me and I got tearful. I silently mouthed to Chelsi, "I can't do this", which she replied "YES YOU CAN".
And I'm grateful for that. 
It's a mantra which has slowly helped me get through the past few days in realising I won't be able to go to work for the next 4 weeks, I won't be able to walk, or get out much or do anything physical around the house. 

The fracture specialist put me in a harder cast today, which is bright neon pink.
Hey, if I'm gonna be in this thing for a month, I'm damn well gonna go for a bold-ass colour and at least try to look good when I'm healing. 

I can do this.

x4 weeks and counting...

Stace x