Most of my life – up to and including my time in San Francisco – was a rollercoaster of boom and bust energy cycles, drinking, partying, good times, bad habits, incorrectly diagnosed and medicated mood swings… and people, people, people. So much socializing.
Life in our SF sharehouse was beautiful and chaotic. Some roommates were mainstays, others came and went. Jesse and I were affectionately known as Mom and Dad, due to our age and behavior, which makes it sound like we were the responsible adults.
We were. Sometimes.
Looking back, the move from SF to Canada seems to have been subconsciously motivated by the desire to pull back on social interaction. We had friends up there when we moved, and made new ones, but we mostly reveled in finally being on our own: a quiet life in nature, enjoying time together without the distractions of other people.
By the time we moved from Canada to Australia we weren’t ready to re-immerse ourselves in anything resembling our life in SF, even though the move was driven by the desire to be closer to friends and family.
Thanks to the pandemic and our newfound love of being somewhat isolated together, we made a conscious choice to situate ourselves here: 2 hours west of Melbourne. A quiet refuge, far away from the temptation of weeknight drinks and non-stop social events, but close enough to host friends and family every once in a while.
This house and property feels like ours now. I don’t fall in love with things easily but I’ve fallen desperately in love with our home; the impossibly high ceilings, the beautiful old floorboards. The wild weather and cold winter nights. The young trees that have doubled in height since we planted them.
Most of all, I’m desperately in love with the big sky. The rollicking clouds, the thunderstorms, the relentless blue of a hot day, the terrifying expanse of space on a clear night.
I love it here. We love it here. And yet.
We didn’t think of this desire for isolation as a phase until we realized it may be coming to an end. We’re not ready to scurry back to the city; on the contrary, we adore our lifestyle, but feel ready to be more accessible. We feel the pull of being around people again, but this time, armed with a newfound understanding of our limits.
We’re thinking about what comes next. Of course, if we leave this place, we’ll be heartbroken – but for the first time, it feels like we might be running towards something instead of away from something.
And that’s something to be excited about.