Well, much to report since then. But I won’t bang it all into one story because then I’ll be screwed for content for the rest of the year.
My last post documented what I thought was my true north. I am now somewhat adrift yet strangely anchored at the same time.
Arriving in my happy place on 30 June, I wept as the plane touched down. Wept.
Without going blow by blow through the whole experience – which was wonderful by the way – on a personal note, it took me two days to realise that I had had it all wrong. For the past sixteen years. Yup – did I feel like a right dumbass.
I think that when you come home from the best year of your life and are plunged back into a reality where you’re 24 years old, feeling directionless, no boyfriend, no lifeplan and you’re carrying a few extra pounds (read: 30 or so), life can seem somewhat shit.
And what was can seem somewhat magical.
Knocking me sideways was realising that my true north all this time has been the life I have now, with my husband and my children. And the reality of how absolutely grateful I am, every second of every day to live in Sydney, Australia. Where there’s a sense of order. Where the air is clean and where I know that if I stand in a queue, I will be served when it is my time and there won’t be a stampede for the pool towels when really, there’s enough for everyone – if you’ll just stand in the queue for G-d’s sake!
And now, my safe and happy place is right here where I am today. Go figure….