The Australia I know is green and brown as far as the eye can see. I was mesmerised by the alternate landscapes in Europe. Huge hills of reds, golds and yellow. The majesty of Alps. We have a thing called Alps, it is but an ant hill in comparison. Don’t get me wrong, Australia is beautiful. It’s just that I grew up here, in the country, so I barely notice it anymore. I often change the tones when I edit my photography – blasphemous!
Most of us live in the brown and green bits. Less of us live in the biggest bit in the middle – desert and Outback, red dirt and sands, dingoes and giant red kangaroos, feral camels and pigs. It covers 70%-ish (nobody really knows) of this continent and contains less than 10% of our population. That’s a lot of space. Enough for a single cattle ranch that is bigger than the odd European country or two, the worlds longest fence (to keep the dingoes out), longest stretch of straight road, and straight railway line. Skies so vast and clear that you can see up to 5,500 stars (I’m not sure who counted them).
All of the life decisions I am making right now are about seeing the big bit in the middle. Hitting the road in a 4WD camper and heading in to the Never Never. It takes some planning and preparation – she is unforgiving of fools.
“That horrifying moment when you’re looking for an adult but you realise that you are an adult. So you look around for an older adult. An adultier adult. Someone better at adulting than you.”
Have you ever had one of those days when you’re looking around for someone to do the adulting and realise there’s only you? I’ve had one of those weeks. I’m usually perfectly independent and capable but some days (read:weeks) … well you just want to be taken care of.
I have searched my home, looked under the couch cushions, through the washing basket, under my bed – everywhere – for someone to do the things for me. To cook me dinner because I’ve had a bad day, tell me they’ve put the washing on, talk to the annoying (and a bit rude if you don’t mind me saying) parking ranger, balanced the alarming books, listened to the reasons I’m crying (regardless of their varying levels of rationality), put on my favourite movie and kindly told me to put my feet up.
It has, rather aptly, ended with me having given myself a mild concussion in a wayward climbing incident. And the realisation that nobody is coming, and it is a very childish thought, that you are actually an adult and should probably just get on with it. Adulting sucks.
My thoughts have been turning a great detail lately to where home is. In these musings and ponderings I have come to the conclusion that the home my heart feels is irrelevant to its bricks and mortar location.
The places I live are where my son and I move in circles with around each other within comfortable silence. The place there is no need to constantly validate the strength of our relationship through incessant speech. I am never as silent, and as peaceful in silence, as when I am with my boy. It is having a house that others use as sanctuary – a place they are drawn to when trouble strikes. It is preparing them food, hugging them, and telling them that it will be OK even when I’m not entirely sure it will be. It is the friends I visit when the same trouble strikes me, and the people who hold me, feed me and tell me it will be OK, even when they’re not sure it will be.
Home, I am beginning to understand, is the people I love who love me back so fiercely that I have moments when tears well and flow over in gratitude.
Every moment happens twice: inside and outside, and they are two different histories”~ Zadie Smith, White Teeth
I have no interest in your opinion of the weather, or traffic. Sure, tell me the outside story – but only for context. What I want to know about is the inside story.
Is your heart still broken, or is it patched back together by love? Does it have a scar that runs across its width and breadth that will never fully heal – or have you found a way to live again?
I want to know what lights you up. There is no greater joy than to watch a person ignite from the inside. What lights them is less relevant than the warmth that radiates outward as they speak. There is no greater beauty than watching a person’s laugh lines etch across the corners of their eyes as their lips turn upward in to a smile.
I want to know what leaves you under the covers unable to move for fear that a single step more will break you for good. There is no greater honour than being handed another’s grief. I am interested in your humility, not your humiliation. If you hand me your heart I will hold it with care. Tenderly, so as not to do any further damage. I want to know what is behind what I can see, the beauty that lurks.
I’ve just never been much for small talk
The lights were being tested for new years on the bridge last night and I suddenly felt very sorry to see 2016 go; despite having been the most difficult year I have lived. It is, after all, the year my sister took her last breath and there is something about that which makes me reluctant to see it come to an end.
It is through it that I have reconnected with my family, especially my darling brother who is the only other living person that truly understands my experience of this loss. It is the year that my son did such a fine job of becoming my carer – the only person who knew exactly where to place humour during that devastating week at the hospital and when a hug or silence was the better option. The year I saw what a fine young man he had become and during which my brother-in-law gave me the privilege of witnessing grace in motion.
It is the year that I fully understood that I walk among giants. The friends that carried me with such care, tenderness and humility. Remarkable people to whom I owe an immense debt of gratitude. And a year in which new friends were made who have shown such a gentle patience with the chaos of grief that I have been. I hope to add them to my collection of giants.
These are the gifts that came from this year. The bitter sweetness carves a line of immense gratitude and love across the ball of sadness that still remains firmly lodged in my heart. Á bientot sis.