Serendipity Down Unda

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Restart.

I’m a lucky woman. I have been given the opportunity, or I supposed I created the opportunity, to restart my life several times in 27 (nearly 28, ugh) years. It’s a harrowing thought to throw out your normal routine and create a new variation. As humans we tend to enjoy what we view as ‘normal’ and we strive for stability, structure, schedules. Mine has been altered more than most others’ in the past several years - sometimes purposefully, others unexpectedly. My malleability is a trait of necessity given my history of creating (or enduring) life-altering changes. It is one of the traits I find most admirable in myself, but can also be troubling in the face of personal relationships - perhaps a topic for another musing. 

I’ve noticed I write a lot in time frames. I see my life in phases, increments of days, months or years where things ‘happen’. Three and a half years of building a real life in Australia. Four months of sun soaked days and grimy hostels and strangers who become instant friends. One month of limbo between backpacker life and jumping head first into the fast-paced, hardknock life in NYC. And now, one month of something new, with all the promise and exhilarating fear of uncharted territory.

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In between

I want to live somewhere in between the light and the dark.

In the place where the sun begins to raise its sleepless head or shut its weary eyes.

Where the world is basking in his glow, the soft in between.

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Next.

I broke up with New York in the same way that you break up with a high school boyfriend – hastily but long drawn with full commitment but waning certainty. The truth is I thought I fell out of love with New York. The same city that I always envisioned myself living in and loving, no matter what the price or pain or absolutely certain poverty. The same city that kicked the living shit out of you every day but unapologetically kept you coming back for more. More of the lights, the life on the streets, the luring smell of tasteless roasting chestnuts in December and the buzz of boozy spring fever in April. New York takes no prisoners and yet there are times that you feel helplessly imprisoned by the promise of the next job or boyfriend or apartment or cocktail. The better ones. But, I left it all because I was in love with the wish for something more. I was in love with someone else. I realize now that I never fell out of love with New York. I just lusted after the promise of something better. 

 Sydney is a temptress full of the lusty promises of warm weather, beautiful people and a better life. Sydney fulfills more than just those promises – Sydney goes above and beyond to prove that she is everything and then some. I love Sydney. I will always love Sydney. But, Sydney never had my heart the way the boy from Sydney did. Sydney was a faithful mistress for over three years and now, after careful consideration, I am reevaluating my relationship with New York. And America. And everything I once knew. 

 It took me months to decide the right time to leave Sydney. It was a decision that happened slowly but then all at once, like a summer’s thunderstorm. There were rumblings at first – the realization that life seems at a stand still and every weekend was a variation of the same thing. I relished the days when it would rain and I could stay in bed without guilt. I probably always will. But, in Sydney it seemed blasphemous. Then all at once a downpour of emotion – my friends, job, life were all next to perfect and yet it still didn’t feel ‘right’. I missed my mom and dad and brother. I felt the sting when my family was together doing silly things like going to the movies, eating Easter ham or all texting me at the same time while watching TV sprawled on leather couches in the den. And I ripped the band-aid off eventually, pulled the plug on my semi-perfect life and here I am, on a plane again, the last one after four months of travelling, meeting new people, growing in ways I didn’t know I could. And, I’m happy. 

 I’m happy knowing that I could do it. I’m happy in knowing that I did it. I’m happy in knowing I could have a life and two more after that, after heartbreak and new jobs and old jobs and new friends and old friends. I’m happy in knowing that life goes on in new directions, even when old habits die heard. I’m happy.

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#GlobalGlitters: Moments

There are moments that define you, shape who you are or who you might become. There are big ones, like the first day of school, graduating college or losing someone you love. There are small ones too, like the first time you get caught in a lie, a silly mistake or tripping over your shoelaces and breaking your first bone. There are people who touch your life in ways that you might not comprehend and, believe it or not, you might affect them too more than you’ll ever know. 

My life has been a series of moments just like everyone else’s, but I truly feel in this very moment that everything is beginning again and that my moments have culminated into something great. For the first time in my life, I feel as though I have done something – actually, a fair few somethings. 

Most of you already know that this new series of moments have been a ripple effect from a series of big, huge, life changing moments in the past five-ish years of my life. I can go back as far as when I moved to New York at 21 or when I quit my first job and went from the professional frying pan into the fire. But really it all began when I went into a bar on Third Avenue on a Tuesday with my best friend and met a handsome, carefree Aussie traveller. That eventually led me to leap into a new life across the world. Into three jobs in 6 months, one of which was the most instrumental in my career and personal life alike. Into a group of girls unlike any I have ever known, my forever best friends. Into a three bedroom apartment shared with a series of cheeky English boys, more best friends. It led me to my first crippling heart break. And it forced me to create lifelong friendships in unconventional place - on the dance floors of pubs, the check out lines of grocery stores, at football games, through deskside chats and professional emails. 

It was one big, huge, life changing moment that altered me forever. The hardest thing about leaving your life at time when you are still learning about who you really are is that you’ve not settled enough to understand the gravity of starting over. It’s also one of the best things because it allows you to flip to a new page with naïve eyes and an open heart, ready to fling ink on a fresh, stark white page. Don’t get me wrong, I’m well aware that my age has absolutely nothing to do with the way I feel (except following too many tequila shots on a Friday night). If there’s anything I learned from travelling so far it’s that age is just a number – you can be just as idiotic at 19 as you can at 39. But, at 27, I am different. 

I am 100% positive that none of us really knows what we’re doing and that even the ones who have a plan are still winging it. It’s comforting. I know that if I want to do something, I can, no matter what. I know that parents say and do fucked up things sometimes because they are just regular old humans – equally frightening and reassuring. I know that goodbyes make the hellos worth it and that it takes effort to maintain friendships, but that it hurts when it seems like you’re the only one willing to make it. I know that your friends can be your soulmates who will fill in for family when there is none around. In fact, they are family. I know that I still love surprises and glitter and starry skies and rainy days that don’t make me feel guilty for staying in bed. Boys can be some of your friends – but you have to remember that they’re boys, which means that 85% of the time you want to punch them but that they’ll always surprise you and cheer you up when you need it most. I know that working alongside other strong people makes you want to be stronger, not only as a professional but also as a person and surrounding yourself with amazing means some of it rubs off on you by default. I’ve found that crying in airports and on planes is probably the worst places to cry – not because of the stares of concern of passersby, but because of the instrumental reasons behind the tears. I understand now the value of female friendships and how these special women can save you from everyone, especially yourself. I’m less jealous, more respectful. I try to be thoughtful when I can and express my opinions without undermining others. I see now that you can impact the world around you by simply being yourself. 

 Sydney never seemed like an option for me. I never watched Nemo and dreamt of seeing the Great Barrier Reef or the Opera House. I watched Breakfast at Tiffany’s and longed to live in the buzz of Manhattan and stumbled down the cobblestone streets of Rome with intentions of creating a life there. Sydney seemed like a crazy idea. One of those crazy ideas that is just crazy enough to work. And it did. It worked in so many ways for me, from the lessons I’ve learnt, to the people I’ve met to the places I’ve seen. I came as one person and leave now as another. Cliché but true just the same. 

The things I will miss about Sydney are far too many to name. The laundry list of the perks of living in a sun soaked, beach side city is predictable at best. But, for me, it’s the beautiful faces and souls of the people I have met in Sydney that are the hardest for me to leave. I came to Sydney with one friend and left with an extended family. I moved to Sydney for love and left with even more love than I came there with.

So, how am I feeling as I fly 38,000ft somewhere over Asia away from my life in Sydney? I’ve been thinking about it for a few hours and the only word that comes to mind is full. Full of love and sadness. Full of anticipation and excitement. Full of happiness and memories. Full of exhilarating fear. Full of so many emotions that my mind cannot compute in the magnitude of this moment, a big one. All I know is that at 27, I am different, At 27, I am loved by so many people who have touched my life, and whose lives I have moved as well. At 27, I still believe in serendipity and love and happily ever after. At 27, I look back at my moments and see no regrets, just a series of good luck and successful missteps that have led me here, to me, the girl who is different at 27. The same girl who has no idea when the next big, huge, life changing moment might happen but can’t wait to see what it brings.

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#GlobalGlitters: Friends

There are few times in my life where I have felt sure of the decisions I was making. In fact, there have been many where the decisions seemed glaringly wrong almost immediately after they were made. Learning curve. 

The decision to quit my job and go travelling is unmistakably one of the best I have made to date. I am 16 days into my four months of travel and I can’t even begin to explain the things I have seen and done and the people who I have been lucky enough to meet and befriend. Never for a moment have I doubted my decision. So many times I have all but pinched myself in disbelief that this is my life. Around every bend another beautiful scene, an image engrained in my mind for a lifetime. Every new hostel room, tour group, bus ride, pub is full of new people to meet, to touch my life even if for just a few days. 

 To date, I have visited five different locations, spent three days on a boat and three days camping on an island, snorkeled three different locations, stayed in four different hostels. I have laid on the top of a boat beneath the stars in the Whitsundays and swam in a crystal clear freshwater lake in Fraser Island. I drank on the beach underneath a bright white moon and watched a sunset from a giant sand dune. 

 While my experiences have been innumerable and their importance immeasurable, one of the best things I have enjoyed while travelling is connecting with people. No matter our age, we are one in the same – travelling, seeing, exploring. Our stories are different but we bond over where we’ve been or where we’re going. When you travel a popular route, in my case the East Coast of Australia, you meet countless people doing and seeing the same things as you. You trade stories, good and bad, about every step of your journey. You get on the bus or have a pint at the hostel bar and see familiar faces time and time again. I have loved getting to know my new friends. While some will remain in my life, most will be like shooting stars - twinkling momentary flashes, there and gone, but beautiful and special all the same.

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#GlobalGlitters takes off

If you had told me five years ago that I would move to Australia, get an amazing job and quit my amazing job to go travelling for four months, I would have told you that you were crazy. Five months ago, it all didn’t seem real. Three months ago, when I sat down with my boss (the most amazing one I have had the pleasure of learning from) and I told her, it didn’t seem real. Seven days ago when I sat packing in my best friend’s living room, it didn’t seem real. Hell, it didn’t even seem real when I stepped off the plane in Cairns and jumped into the Hostel van that took me away to my first stop on my world tour. 

Seven days, three locations and tons of new friends later, I’m clicking away in the Airlie Beach maccas before I jump onto a boat where I’ll live for the next few days sailing around the Whitsundays. Even the past seven days seem like a dream. I drank free champagne with new friends at the Woolshed, danced the night away at Gilligan’s, snorkelled the Great Barrier Reef, ate lunch on the back of Cape Tribulation, walked through Daintree, the world’s oldest living rainforest - and that was all in the first two days of my trip! 

When I decided to take this trip I was bogged down by so many emotions it seemed impossible to be excited about the adventures to come. I felt sad to leave my friends and coworkers and beautiful Sydney. I felt nervous to be without a job for months at a time. Conversely, I felt liberated by the thought of not working. I felt scared to travel alone and unsure about if I would make friends along the way. I didn’t think I had enough money to do everything I wanted and still have no idea how to maintain my budget while I’m gone. But, despite the overwhelming sense of insecurity, I leapt. It all started with a flight booked between Bangkok and London over the Christmas break and my travel plans and itineraries came together one by one until I was ready (I was never really ready) to resign. 

I remember when I was making the decision to move to Australia all those years ago and I spoke to so many people who had done it and so many who thought it was a completely asinine idea. So many people said ‘just jump’ because what was the worst that could happen? Now, I feel like I am one of those people who can ‘just jump’ and land on two feet no matter what the situation may be. 

And now, here I sit in the Maccas in Airlie Beach where the free wifi and foreign accents are plentiful. I’ve had trouble putting my feelings about my trip into words, and couldn’t really talk about it until a few weeks before I left. It’s all too real now. I am here and I am free and easy and happy and going place to place on long bus rides full of interesting people. I have learnt that older travellers are not travelling to find themselves, but rather to see the world or escape their own. Younger travellers are in search of something but even they’re unsure of what that something is. And I am travelling, well, because I can. Because I am still young but responsible enough to have saved and planned a trip of a lifetime. Because I feel there is so much more to life than sitting at a desk for 10 hours a day and there are so many more thing to do than check emails. Because I want to see more of this beautiful country that I have called home for nearly four years. Because I know that the next chapter of my life is sure to be one of the longest and most meaningful and I need to grow more before it begins. Because I am open to new faces and places and stories. Because I want to make memories that I can cherish forever. Because I can. 

Next stop: Whistundays.

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Unextraordinary.

The other day I received a curious whatsapp message from one of my best friends. I am used to curious messages about boys or weird bodily functions or even unsavoury commuters, but this one caught me off guard. 

It was a screen shot of her conversation with another friend that simply said...”Hey, what’s Brittany’s blog again? She writes such cool stuff.”

Two sentences. Just two sets of words strung together that stopped me dead in my tracks. Someone (besides my mom and dad) give a shit about the words I string together? Well, as turns out, the girl looking for my blog is going through a trying time and somehow my words resonate with her and are helping her cope. And, I am humbled by that. Humbled and motivated.

The same friend who sent me that screenshot has begged me to write since I’ve known her. She’s encouraged me. She’s told me I have talent but still, for a while now I’ve felt like there’s been nothing to say. And, I try. I do. I sit and I stare at a blank screen or a blank page and I think and doodle and type and delete and type again ad nauseam. Lately it just feels like whatever I have to say seems inadequate or unimportant. Life is just what it is and I am just working through it. I feel incredibly unextraordinary, and I have for a while. 

I had a moment a few weeks ago where I cried so hard that there was snot running down my face and I furiously typed an overly emotional letter to someone who doesn’t matter anymore. I was bowled over by so much emotion (and snot) that I ran out of tissues and got even more upset because I had to get out of bed and get toilet paper, which only made me cry more. It was one of those girly shame spirals that was probably a result of too much alcohol over too many days combined with an off kilter sleep pattern and the realisation that I’ve actually not got it as figured out as I want it to be. Anyway, I’m laying in bed having a self pity party and I realised that it was the first time I felt compelled to write anything at all in such a long time. Deep, sometimes unfounded, emotion seems to shake the words loose from the tangles of my brain and splays them onto the screen without struggle. I guess that explains why my fingers no longer dance fluidly along the keys of my macbook - my emotion has flatlined and I am feeling unchallenged. Change is imminent. I can feel the need for it pulsing through my veins.

I’ve had this blog now for over three years and it’s gone, well, pretty much nowhere outside the confines of my friends and family and even then the updates are few and far between (and sometimes schizophrenic in nature). I guess it kind of goes to show how the highs and lows in my life both cage my mind and then make it unfettered on a dime. That said, I’m beginning to realise that my words, no matter how inconsistently compiled, mean something. They mean something to me, sometimes to others too. 

I am a writer. I love to write, even when I do it sparingly. I love that my thoughts and experiences and insecurities can make the person reading about them feel less alone or happier or just feel something. And, I guess I’m writing this right now more to remind myself that I can do it and that I should do it, and do it often. 

It’s February of my third year in Australia and something tells me that this year will be one full of my words strung together, and often.

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you.

And oh the roads they twist and turn 

And at every curve there’s you 

And oh the tides that sailors ride 

They wash me back to you 

 And in the soil the worms do crawl 

Where my roots grow in you 

And in the sky as darkness falls 

I find my light in you 

And though the maps may plot our roads

I ride along with you

And through the trees and troubled seas

I navigate with you 

The clouds may come with heavy rains

But I am safe with you 

And if the sun does never come

Your warmth will get me through

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A beautiful mess

She fell for him the way you fall into your bed after an exhausting day. His words were as meaningful as the lines of your favourite book – the one you’ve read thirteen times. He smelled familiar. His eyes were piercing blue and the rough, three day old stubble on his cheeks and chin suggested shaving was a task that proved too much hassle. 

 “I don’t know why I love you,” she sighed; exasperated by the same conversation they always seemed to have. He grinned at her with his Cheshire cat grin – all white teeth and mischief. And then, all at once, his face changed, his smile disappeared. He ran his hand through his dark, wavy hair as if everything he was running from caught up with him. 

 “I feel crazy right now.” He stepped back and put his hands deep in the pockets of his blue jeans. “I don’t know…” 

Her words were caught in her throat, an unfamiliar feeling for a girl who was never short of something to say. She knew then that he was broken, his wings clipped by the past. She knew that she wanted to fix him. 

 “You’re just a beautiful mess, just like the rest of us,” she said with a meek, toothless grin. She meant what she said. He was beautiful, quite possibly the most beautiful man she had ever seen. But, he was no match for her in fervor in tenacity. He was as broken as he was beautiful. 

 He breathed in sharply and exhaled slowly. “I used to think I was a beautiful mess but now I think I’m just messy.” He squeezed his eyes closed and ran his hand through his hair again before he reached for hers. 

 She took it. It was warm and rough but not calloused. She laced her fingers through his and traced circles around his thumb with hers. And there they stood, neither saying another word.

There was nowhere to go and nothing left to say. They stood hand in hand knowing that even though they had everything, they felt nothing. And even when they felt nothing, they still had each other.

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A girl I knew

“She wasn’t doing a thing that I could see, except standing there leaning on the balcony railing, holding the universe together.” - JD Salinger

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Closed.

My eyes are closed and my heart is full. My heart is closed. 

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Questions.

I struggle to decide - is it funny or is it sad that one person can have such a crippling affect on the intricacies of your feelings? Is it shocking that a chance meeting with a stranger can resonate with you for hours, day, months, years after you encounter them? What is it? What is it that makes the mind churn, the belly ache for whatever it is you see in that other randomly composed bunch of atoms? They are just another mass occupying space in a world we’re not meant to understand. Why is it that you can look deeply into a stranger’s eyes and see more than you might see in a person you’ve known your entire life? What is it about those piercing eyes that cuts through your soul and makes you feel like you can’t breathe? 

 I am a romantic. I hear myself speak and see myself type and I know in a second I will spill over from philosophical and into longing and sad. Like I am hanging onto words said merely in haste or a touch made but not purposefully. I believe in serendipity and fate and collisions made not by coincidence but by cosmic force bringing two humans together. I wonder often who that person on the train might be to me in a year’s time or how the person in whose arms I spent the most time might affect me until the day I die. I wonder often about the wounds made by the past. Past lovers, past arguments, past words that cut deeply like knives, past disappointments, past friends, past conversations that left me feeling empty inside. I wonder if the wounds will heal and the scars will leave beautiful pockmarks on my life telling tales of the things I’ve learnt along the way. 

 I see so many things. I see the person who once meant the world and now his face seems strange. The same curves I memorized on lazy Sundays spent watching movies and now unchartered territory. I see him, but I don’t see him. I see a stranger whose every move is now foreign to me. I see a person lost in a haze grasping aimlessly at things that don’t exist. 

 But when I step back I wonder, is that me I see?

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10 Things in 2.5 years in Oz

1. Being an adult is both the best and worst thing ever. There are many cons about being a grown up but I’m finding that the pros seems to balance them out. When I was in a sorority (sigh), we used to list pros and cons about the girls who were vying for a spot in our newest pledge class. Looking back this was a terrible practice with many cons coming from our immature little mouths that were to the tune of ‘she was socially awks’ or ‘I hate her from high school’, but for life it’s kind of interesting. We listed them in ‘pro, con, con, pro’ – you know, so we could always end on a positive. Here are my quick adulthood pro, con, con, pros: 

 • Pro: I can eat ice cream for dinner, afford takeaway when I’m feeling lazy and kebabs after 2 am. 

 • Con: I gain weight at an accelerated speed unparalleled to most other 26 year olds I know. 

 • Con: I am know wholly responsible for the terrible decisions I make 

• Pro: my parents no longer feel the need (nor want) to know what said decisions are. I’m not talking about bad haircuts; I’m talking about meaningless relationships and calling out of work when I just don’t wanna or cannot even. The big fuck ups are on a strictly need to know basis. 

 I could probably list these out at ad nauseum but I think you get the picture – being an adult is big and scary but can also be a lot of fun if you make sure you’re not a complete idiot. 

 2. I love strong coffee. Good coffee. Australian coffee. Latté. Still with ice (a habit I can’t quit). Sometimes with a very small hit of vanilla syrup or cinnamon on top or both. *I won’t deny that I still catch cravings for the sugar laden mud water that is Dunkin Donuts large vanilla iced coffee. I love it. Judge me. 

 3. I’m attracted to weak men. This is a blanket statement, which is the type of statement I make often. There are two types of weak men that seem to be a pattern in my life: the weak ones and the strong ones who have one major flaw that makes them inherently weak. I’ll explain: 

 a. Weak men who have come and gone in my life are no match for me. I say this is a factual way, not gloatingly. They let me win, every time. They feared my bossy bitch attitude, which was really just me seeing how far I could push things. They mistook my honesty (sometimes brashness) for meanness. They let me walk all over them so much so that I had no idea that I was doing it. They didn’t understand that despite my brave façade of having hopes and dreams and a ‘plan’ (whatever that means), I was just as scared and lost and weird as them. Idiots. 

 b. Strong men are lovely, quirky characters and I hope to end up with one. The ones I have encountered are not the ones I hope to end up with. These ones have one major flaw, the proverbial Achilles heel. They don’t seem to be much affected by the flaw but it will likely plague their lives and they will die sad and alone. The flaw can be as small as vanity or mild insecurity or as big as not valuing a key component of life – love. I am decidedly blessed when it comes to love and I have seen such great love in my 26 years. Great love that my parents share with each other, their children and their friends. Great love that I have felt from a great person. Great love that I see in the faces of my friends and really cute puppies. I feel bad for the strong men who I have met that do not value this love nor feel the need for it in their hearts. This is not to say that they are wrong, I simply feel sorry for them that they’re missing out on something so awe inspiringly beautiful. On my death bed I won’t look back on the scientific discoveries made by my peers or the mansion I owned but I will look back at the number of seashells I plucked from sand all over the world with my parents or the first dance with my dad at my wedding (fingers crossed). 

 4. It’s ain’t so bad flying solo (says the girl quietly clicking away on her macbook alone on a beach in Malaysia). I have always relished in the company of the people I love. Boyfriends, family, friends, animals, small children, anyone who will listen to me really. I have always hated the thought of being alone and left to my own devices. The thought of going to a movie alone or eating solo at a restaurant used to give me anxiety. Now it makes me feel accomplished that I can spend 45 minutes eating my eggs benny and iced coffee in god damned peace. After 2 years spent with someone constantly at my side, I think of my 8-month recovery from…whatever the opposite of social anxiety is called…a pretty kick ass thing. 

 5. It is ok to not. It is ok to not go (to the show, the party, the mall). It is ok to not want to be around people. It is ok to not get out of bed until 3pm on a Saturday. It is ok to not go to the beach when it’s hot out. It is ok to not eat breakfast (sometimes, not always because brekkie is important). It is ok to not like (certain people, colours, couples, too much parsley, water without ice). It is ok to not want to drink until you black out. It is ok to not feel settled or happy or sometimes anything at all. It is ok – so stop beating yourself up about. 

 6. However, it is not ok to be mean for no reason, not say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, drink the last of something and not replace it, forget to call your parents to say hi, judge people for doing things that you wouldn’t, keep secrets from people who should know them, talk behind people’s backs, abuse commas, curse too much (ugh), pee in public, complain. 

 7. Not caring isn’t the same as being ambivalent. This is something that I have long been a fan of but wasn’t really truly clued into until I read an article titled ‘the art of not giving a fuck’. He explained it perfectly that in life, you’re not going to get very far if you care all the way about every little thing. It’s best to pick the big things to care about and skirt the rest. Less gray hairs, less anxiety, less meh. So basically, limit the things you worry about and you’re golden. Which brings me to… 

 8. Just say ‘Meh.’ Meh is my favourite thing to say to someone who is talking to me about something that a) they shouldn’t be complaining about b) they have no right to be upset about c) I don’t give a shit about d) is stupid e) I don’t know how to respond to or f) all of the above. Example: “OMG Britt this person just got in front of me in line at the grocery store” MEH. “Dude, did you see that stupid hat whatsherface is wearing” MEH. “Do you think my XX looks XX in this XX” MEH. Meh meh meh. Find something more interesting to talk about. MEH. Sorry not sorry. 

 9. Your vibes mean everything. I have noticed time and time again that there are instances when I seem to repel all of those I wish to attract (friends and boys alike). The days when I am feeling particularly ornery, fluffy or exhausted I apparently exude these feelings through my pores creating an unattractive and scentless repellent that wards off all of those in my path. It’s my vibe. When your vibe is shitty, people know it. When your vibe is chill, people love it. When your vibe is desperate, you make everyone. Basically, put out good vibes and the good vibes will come back to you. Sit in a corner with your nose to your phone screen checking your instagram and everyone will think you’re lame. Fact. 

 10. I will never stop trying to make ‘love you, mean it’ a thing. It is a thing. It’s my thing. Leslie Knope has “I love you and I like you”. The kids from A Fault in our Stars had “okay.” The Goonies has the truffle shuffle. And I have LYMI. And I really do mean it. I love you guys – you know who you are.

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I am bored.

[katespadeny]

a lyrical passage f. scott fitzgerland in our continuing series of finding poetry in unexpected places, to celebrate national poetry month

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#love #where

[cfda]

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Words for life.

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Happy Ausiversary to me..

Two years. 730 days. 17,500 + hours. That's how long I've lived in this beautiful, surprising, smaller than I'd ever thought city. As my two year Ausiversary came and went a week ago, I took a moment to reflect on the time I've spent building and then rebuilding my life here. The time I've spent surrounding myself with beautiful friends. The time I've spent working hard to continue my career in an industry I (mostly) enjoy. The time I've spent taking in all of the people and places and things I've seen here. 

When I first started this blog and packed my life to move here, I got a very beautiful Facebook message from a very beautiful person with whom I share some amazing memories of our adventures in Italy. A fellow writer, he made sure to pass along some eloquent and intuitive advice...

"I hope you're writing down names and colors and flavors and what kinds of hats people are wearing. You're going to need these details when you write a book.

Thank me in a few years."

While I haven't exactly written it all down, I've poured through the pictures and memories - painful as it might be - and I remember it all so clearly. My first apartment with its ornately moulded ceiling and hardwood floors. The smell of the fish and chips bought and eaten in Bondi on the grassy while watching the kites soar through the air. Wading in the salty ocean in Port Stephens with beer in hand. Wine soaked afternoons at the Clovelly hotel. Nights on the couch with movies and thai. I remember all of the days and nights that have made living here such an amazing adventure.

I've never felt more appreciative of having a craving for pancakes and actually taking the time to walk to the store to get them. That's where I met who would become one of my best friends - who would introduce me to more best friends. Thank you Penn State shirt (which I bought in the days leading up tom my big move) and thank you Coogee Woolies. I owe you one.

While moving here has been one of the greatest decisions I've ever made, it's also been one of the most trying. The tears shed pre-move over long conversations and sometimes arguments with my parents were the hardest to endure. The confusion and apprehension about my decision were sometimes crippling. The  pangs of guilt that were and still are often times thrust upon me, whether intentionally or not, still make things difficult. My family, our little nuclear unit of four and all of the extended family and friends (who are really family too), are the most important people in the world to me but I deep down I knew that no amount of distance could ever take that away. Make it hard, yes. But lessen it, never.

My last post on this blog resonated with a lot of you - because I guess at 25 everyone usually feels the same. Lost. Scared. Confused. Really, at any age we can feel that way. I know that my parents still do, which is a terrifying reality - to realise that those two pillars of stability, morality and love in my life are still human. They are mortal, they make mistakes, they say the wrong thing, they can be irrational. As my parents navigate unchartered territory together (if you want to know more, read mom's blog - http://vicguyver.tumblr.com/ - she's amazing), I am navigating it alone. A symptom of my choice to move across the world. And despite my reluctance to really digest what's happening, I'm feeling it. I'm feeling the distance and I'm feeling the reality of the situation.  While I am trying my damnedest to be there for it all - and support them however I can - it's difficult to communicate your emotion and care in a text or a hurried skype call. But I'm trying and I will continue to, because that's what you do when your pillars need support - no matter how far away you are. 

That said, my advice to anyone who is deciding to make a giant leap but comes from the same type of tight knit family that I do is simple - Do it. Just do it.

I'm the first to admit I'm impetuous, impatient and have a habit of stepping in it (thanks, daddy, for pointing that out) - not always great qualities to have. But I did it and I'm doing it and though the distance is painful and hard to handle sometimes, the experience and life lessons I'll have gained from living here, however long that might be, makes it all worth it. While it's hardest sometimes for them to understand, in the end, I will go back to my family happier, wiser and better. And I'll love them having known they supported me (sometimes begrudgingly) throughout my journey. 

Ultimately, moving here for the love of love was worth it - albeit devastating. Moving here has allowed me to become someone who I love and am proud of and hopefully someone who my family is proud of too. Someone who's a little crazy, fun-loving and always up for anything. Someone who is more open and willing and able to do things - the right things. Someone who has made a life for herself, burnt that life to the ground and rebuilt it, bigger and better. 

It's been two weird, difficult, roller coaster years but when I sat in the pub on my Ausiversary, I looked around at my people. A motley crew of American girls, English lads, a Canadian, a token Aussie - lovely, smart, genuine people who I have the pleasure of calling my friends. mates. family. People who also made the leap and have a lot to show for it.

If you haven't noticed by now I'm realising a lot of things lately. So what if I'm impetuous, impatient, crazy - I'm also proud (mostly). and happy (usually). and strong (often). I'm learning and growing and doing the whole 'fuck I'm in my twenties' thing they way I need to do it. And I'm lucky that even though sometimes I feel like I'm going it alone here, I'm not alone at all. I have my people who are sat in the pub with me when I need a beer or on the couch force feeding me takeout when I'm on a heartbreak hunger strike or just there on gchat to wish me a HAPPY FRIDAY. 

So here's to you, Sydney, you wonderful, weirdly small city. Thanks for these two years of memories - good, bad and otherwise. For the positives (beach, sun, hot boys) and negatives (high price tags, humidity, cockroaches). For everything you've given me and all you've left to give.

Thank you...you bloody legend.