…and, like, time goes so fast that I wonder how much faster it goes for people with kids? (I often hear from parents that “the days are long, but the years are short.”) It’s a scary thought, to have life fly by any faster than it already does.
Thankfully, life is beautiful right now, regardless of the fact that it’s screaming past me at breakneck speed. I’m in my mid-30s, which is insane, but awesome. I’m getting this strange feeling of “settling” into my own body. After CFS, it’s been a two steps forward, one step back kind of progress, but suddenly it’s just… easier to be healthy. I don’t have a commute. I have very few social engagements. Jesse is cooking all the time. We’re eating incredibly well. I have almost total control over my non-work time, and it’s delicious, with a dark side: being more isolated is making me miss my parents, my people, my home.
Eucalypts and birdsong, brutal UV rays, violent surf beaches, raw Australian accents, horrible allergies, Melbourne food, rooftop bars, healthcare… knowing my way around. All the things.
I miss California, too, almost desperately, but in a different way. I’ll probably never live there again, and I’m okay with that, but I hope to visit a lot for the rest of my life. British Columbia is a different story, though. I’ll be back here one day, and it’ll be for good.
We just got back from a weekend in Vancouver, spent with family. I woke this morning a little melancholy. Spending time with family fills that lovely space in my heart—every time—but it also makes the space I have for my parents yawn wider, deeper.
2019 has been so wonderful and weird so far. With space from city life and people, we’ve had an opportunity to work out what’s most important to us. We’ve shuffled priorities and tried different things and we’re trying to find that balance between constant adventure and relaxed routine, as well as the financial (and environmental) implications of each.
We’ve taken delight in having each other all to ourselves. It turns out that, left to our own devices, we create a home full of love, laughter, light, and absurdity. We surprise each other, and when we frustrate each other, we communicate openly. We’ve been together since 2012, but this is the first time we’ve lived together without roommates. And every day it’s a damn pleasure.
But we’re taking notes, working things out. What do we want when we go back to Australia? Distance from the city, and from people, or closer to those things? Is a large property more important than proximity to friends, family, and all the cool-ass shit Melbourne has to offer? We’ve done it one way (San Francisco) and now we’re trying the other way, and the next step will likely look like something somewhere between the two.
Our time up here has been an utter blessing. We’re learning what we want and what we don’t want, through trial and error. We’re outdoors more than I could have imagined, healthier than either of us have been since before we met, and we’re ticking boxes and making big plans. Shit’s good, and when shit’s good, I want to record it. That’s why this post exists.
This year’s vernal equinox occurred just before 6pm on Wednesday, March 20. Jesse made dinner, I threw on one of my Mexican ponchos, and we sat on the back deck until the sun started to set.
At 5am the following morning, I woke up needing to pee. On the way to the bathroom, I saw an unusual amount of light streaming into the hallway, so I walked towards the room that I thought contained the offending light to turn it off. It was no man-made light. It was the super moon, reflecting a shocking amount of sunlight into our house through a window. I waited for my eyes to adjust, and then stared in awe for a moment.
“Hi, moon”, I whispered quietly before resuming my trip to the bathroom.