Inception.
At 43, I found myself living in a prison that, on paper, was called a “dream successful life.”

I remember once getting paid in cash for a big order. A lot of cash. So there I was, standing in the middle of my living room, holding this stack of euro notes, and I said to my son: “Let’s do a money shower. Like in the movies. Let’s see how it feels ;)”

I took a deep breath and threw the notes in the air…only to watch them flop onto the floor a millisecond later. I felt nothing but disappointment. Actually, I felt scammed. I think that was the first moment I realised THIS was not my idea of success. That I’d been sold a fake dream-life package.

Pivot.
At 44 I moved my family to another hemisphere. To a country where I couldn’t legally work, but where I could (and still do) live my absolute best life. In shorts and flip-flops. 365 days a year.

Bali gave me everything I could wish for: warm weather, endless choice of physical activities, daily beach walks, delicious food, friends, an international community of amazing people, breathtaking nature, travels, tears of joy. It healed my creative burnout and made me an absolutely happy human.

With all of that, however, came some losses.

Relationship.
Shortly after we relocated, my partner of 19 years and I hit the longest relationship crisis that lasted over a year and ended up in a brakeup. For the first time since I was 14 years old, I became single. And somewhere between crying to the saddest songs in my playlist while watching crashing waves become my new morning routine, I realised that I like my single life. A lot.

It didn’t last long, however.

After four months of living in different countries, we decided to give us another chance. We got back together, but because of family circumstances, we’ve spent most of this year living apart. Which leaves my brain constantly switching between: “I’m a single mom” and “I’m in the happiest relationship”.

Appearance.
Oooo, where do I begin…?

The moment I moved to the tropics, my straight silky hair transformed into a frizzy mess. No amount of oil could tame it, so I decided to grow out my natural color and get rid of the remaining highlights, hoping it would solve the problem. I hated it. I didn’t recognise myself with my original colour. Eventually, I went back to being a few shades lighter, but the truth is - I want fun hair! I want it blond, I want it pink, but I also don’t want having a sponge on my head, so I’m wearing it the most boring way, usually just braided.

I’ve also accepted that sweat-proof summer dresses are not my destiny. They looked ridiculous on me anyway, and considering I ride a bike every day, they’re wildly impractical. So yes. I fully surrendered to the wardrobe I successfully manifested - shorts and flip-flops.

I’m also peri-menopausal, and it has changed my face and my body quite a bit over the last year. If I’m completely honest, I’m having a very hard time accepting it, especially the face part. Often I wanna hide, but I keep showing up as I am, taking pictures and videos of myself without wearing makeup trying to get used to this new me.

And here is one thing I realised. As much as we love telling ourselves this bullshit “I doll up everyday for myself not for others…”, it is actually…mostly bullshit. We doll up because patriarchy taught us to, because we want to be chosen.

I was the last person you’d expect to say something like: “I love dressing up for my man…”. But it recently hit me - since I’m not on the dating market and I don’t have a man physically present in my everyday life, I’m so happy to live my low-maintenance life in shorts and flip-flops with bare face and braided hair.

Until I bump into someone I know in a supermarket while looking like I’ve survived a small natural disaster, and suddenly I feel…embarrassed.

Interests.
Having too many - is it a blessing or a curse?

I always had a lot of interests, but in Ireland my activities were pretty much limited to two things: pole-dancing and photography. Because we built the house in the middle of nowhere, apart from sheep-and-cows-watching there wasn’t much else to do. Drinking is the other option, but I really tried not to make that a hobby..

In Bali, the options are endless. I quickly realised that 24 hours in a day simply aren’t enough to do everything that I like and I have to make choices.

A month ago I quit pole dancing (temporarily, I’m sure) because I found a new passion - dancing without the pole. I also discovered calisthenics. So, after 15 years of being a badass gravity-defying ninja, I deliberately put myself back into the uncomfortable position of being a beginner.

Career.
My photography career basically came to a halt almost two years ago, when we left Ireland. After recovering from burnout and having my creative chakra dramatically reopen, I started exploring different ways to shoot. I enrolled into Fashion Arts course, and changed me in so many ways. And now, after I submitted my last homework…I feel completely lost. I don’t know which path to choose.

Fashion has been on my mind for years, but the stupid voices in my head keep whispering: “Karina, you can’t even put an outfit together properly, and you want to be a fashion photographer?”

I love creating with my community, and right now I can afford to do it for free thanks to my partner, who supports me financially. But I’ve realised this dynamic doesn’t fully work for me. I want to earn my own money again.

I thought about galleries and exhibitions, but eventually I had to admit that I still don’t fully see myself as an exhibiting artist. Yet.

The fact that I’m turning 47 this year doesn’t help either. And even though I’m living my happiest life, I still can’t shake this strange pressure to become… significant? Important? Recognised? (I’m literally questioning my own thoughts as I type this.)

Is this what the top level of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs feels like?

I’m having an identity crisis

Film study #1