I keep dipping in and out of this space. I want to be here but I’m not quite sure how. It seemed much easier before. Life seemed much easier, in general. Before Melbourne. Before Canberra. Before I decided to uproot up our little family halfway around the world and demand that we call it ‘home’.
Life is a bit messy at the moment. It’s messy and I’m a little reluctant to write about it for fear of sounding a little self-absorbed and pitiful. Perhaps the hardest thing about writing about ‘the now’ is the admission that 18 months into our Australian adventure it still doesn’t feel like home. There are so many reasons why - some of them have to do with us - but many of them are about Australia. I love this country. I dragged M and E here because I thought we could love it. Perhaps not immediately but I really, honestly thought that we could grow to love this place and that Australia would love us back. But it hasn’t. And we don’t. I feel guilty for that, and somehow responsible too, even though conceptually I realise that there is nothing I can do.
There’s other stuff too. An unfulfilling job, the anger of time spent away from E in an unfulfilling job, the push and pull of motherhood, of career, of tending to friendships and relationship, of finding time for ‘me’ only to realise it means less time for them. It’s normal stuff mostly but there seems to be a lot of it at the moment and it’s messy and a bit ugly and when you’re not feeling entirely peachy about your own life you don’t exactly feel like writing about it. You definitely can’t imagine anyone else wanting to read about it.
But today a friend posted this on her facebook page. And then I read this. And then this. I also listened to all of Patti Smith's interview here. She's cool. Actually all of these ladies are cool. They made me realise that maybe I might have something to say after all. I'm particularly smitten with Dear Olive, she might just be a new blog crush of mine.