One of the things I enjoy most about cooking is that it can be all at once both ordered and precise yet at the same time fluid and creative. Hence, if you were to follow a given recipe correctly you can be quietly confident that in no time at all you'd have recreated something entirely delicious with little to no fuss.

I've often viewed life at times like one great big cookbook, unconsciously following the simple recipes handed down to me, taking on board what resonates and throwing out all the stuff that doesn't. I follow my instinct, make decisions on the run, dodge a curve ball, fall down, get back up, but all along I continue to mix, blend, stir, fold and whisk.

With a trustworthy recipe to depend upon, you then gather your ingredients, follow the method and more often than not, you end up with a picture perfect version of what you see reflected in your trusted cookbook. Hence, there is a part of me that greatly appreciates clear instructions and precise methodology.

Unfortunately life doesn't read like a cookbook and there is no simple formula or prescription to follow. And so bad things often happen to good people, seemingly healthy people get sick and life can at once be quite harsh and unfair.

A couple of weeks ago one of the mums at school was diagnosed with a stage four brain tumour. I can't begin to express how confronting this news has been to our tight knit little community because this time it's happening to one of us. Marguerite is not another unfortunate statistic that you forget about by dinnertime. She is a friend and fellow mama who has two beautiful young children, and she is now desperately trying to figure out how to live.

Most of us are in denial about the inevitable things in life such as our obvious transience and the fragility of life. Yet in the wake of Marguerite's tragic diagnosis I'm forced to bear in mind that remembering that I'm going to die is probably the best way to live. I'm not suggesting that in a morbid, foreboding kind of way, but rather I'm talking about perspective.

All that 'stuff' you strive for, the stuff you can't take with you, is it really worth it in the end? Why is it only when your health is threatened that you begin to realise what's really important in life? Why is it only then that we begin to realise that we need to live in the moment, love the one we're with and enjoy each day, as it was our last? We should be savouring each meal, and hugging and squeezing our children so hard that we almost squish the breath out of them.

Life is not like a recipe that we can perfect by cooking it again and again and again until we get it right. We don't get to do today again. Life is unrepeatable and we should celebrate each day and appreciate each moment for what it is - an unrepeatable moment never to be had again.

So I apologise if you stopped by here today looking for a recipe. The only food I have on offer is food for thought by way of Jonathon Fields as he challenges both you and me to live life fearlessly.



Barbara you'll never understand just how timely and poignant our meeting was, nor how inspiring your choice to 'live strong' is! Meeting you has changed me - forever!