Evacuation

I've never really been into those Hollywood apocolyptic movies. You know, the ones where the city is devastated by an out of control disaster and the ordinary person leads a small remnant of people to safety. I tend to put myself in the movie and the thought of having to deal with that kind of devastation is unthinkable and upsetting - even if it is fictional.

Until now.

It is the beginning of the year 2020. Sounds futuristic in itself, given I spent more than half my life starting the year with a 19. And we are facing a disaster unlike anything anyone currently living has ever seen before. The country of Australia is literally on fire, with the closest one to us a mere seven kilometers away. The sun glows orange. Smoke in the air is now part of the landscape. It resembles the apocolypse depicted by Hollywood with eery accuracy (or is it the other way around?). We are packed and ready to go as soon as the wind changes.

This summer has been frightening and it's only just started. Anxiety producing... and I'm currently on anti-anxiety medication! It's so horrifying to see the devastation of homes, wildlife and lives .... to not know if you will still have your house and belongings in a week's time is a scary prospect. It's so hard to see any joy in a landscape like this.

Challenge accepted ...

The most important thing, obviously, is life. So my kids and myself need to be my top prority. Then there are the animals....who's idea again was it to have two large dogs, a cat, a rat and a budgie??? As much as I felt responsible to stay and defend the house (we have been told that if we called 000 we may not get any help for an hour or more), ensuring our safety is most important. So I made the decision to leave.

I had it all sorted in my head, after a game of 'the cat can't sit next to the bird and the dog can't sit next to the cat' logic. On a day of temps into the 40s and NW winds, we began to pack the car to head to the coast.

Except the dog crate didn't fit in the boot like we thought it would. Mmmm, with three people and five animals, we needed all the seats available. So with a quick display of my tetris skills, we managed to put a seat down and still fit everyone in - the border collie in the crate in the boot, the German shepherd-cross in front on the remainder of the folded seat, son next to him with bird in a cage on his lap, cat carrier in the boot next to the dog (risky, but not as much as other pet combinations) with daughter in the front and rat on her lap. Done!

But the bags wouldn't fit. Bugger. So I grabbed the luggage pod and attached it to the car roof. An hour later, and a few bruises trying to wrestle the fixings in place, the bags were in. Time to get the animals.

Except the border collie wouldn't go into the crate. Not for love or money or any kind of treat (and he loves his treats!). So cat carrier went inside the crate and the dog in the space next to it. All good.

The shepherd-cross was content to perch himself on the folded seat, but the border collie wasn't have a bar of being stashed in the boot. He kept jumping over the seat and squishing himself between the shepherd-cross and the bird cage. So we swapped the dogs around. The border collie was used to being on the back seat anyway.

Off we went. One important detail of this retelling is the border collie doesn't like travelling in cars. At all. A five minute trip to the dog park includes psychotic pacing on the back seat, lots of barking, yelping and a healthy spray of dog saliva on anything within a metre radius - that is, the whole car. Our destination was an hour away, so ten minutes in, the border collie ups the anti on his protest (after all, his car trips are never this long) and in his meltdown, accidently headbuts the son on the nose. Tears. More yelps. A stop and swap, as son and daughter trade places and daughter tries to settle her dog by sitting next to him.

We arrived at our destination over an hour later, with headaches and pounding ears from the mournful feline wails and border collie exclamations. No wonder sheep are scared of border collies, the pitch of their barking is literally painful. It was such a relief to be out of the car and at my parents' house. I so keen to get everyone settled so I could take a moment... or a drink... or three.

But no, the border collie refused to settle. He continued panting and whining despite three half-hour walks. He was still so highly stressed so, thank you Google, I found a local vet who could see us for some emergency sedatives. Which are now anti-anxiety medications that also work as sedatives. My two children are Autistic and are medicated, as am I. Mmm, now the dog. What is the universe trying to tell me?

The border collie finally quietened down a bit, so we had dinner and a chat with my parents. It was New Year's Eve but none of us were really in a partying mood, except the son who wanted to stay up till after midnight watching movies. He too, was feeling the effects of the last minute night away and sleep evades him in moments of stress. Despite his medication he was still awake at 2 am. The border collie, despite his medication, was also awake at 2 am, and 3.30 am, and 5 am.... Nah, who needs sleep anyway?

The next morning I found out our house was fine and the fires didn't come close, thank goodness. So we piled the animals and bags back in the car (thankfully a much quicker process) and dosed the border collie up so he would hopefully sleep in the car. Unfortunately the medication didn't work and we had the same behaviour on the way home, testing our already strained coping effects. Once we arrived, animals and people alike went to respective corners to recooperate....quietly. It was bliss.

There was a moment in the car as we were driving away from our home where I wondered if this trip would be more stressful than staying for a fire that might not arrive. Though I have since seen footage of fire fronts that defy description. Words can't convey the atrocity of a fire like the ones our country is currently experiencing. If I had my time over again I would have still decided to leave. Except maybe had a practise run of packing the car. And maybe a tranquiliser dart or two....

Anyway, I do get to have my time over again - the same conditions will be reappearing in two days so we will head out of our town with the kids and animals in tow. Again. There might even be another story to rival this one. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

The Sunset

My favourite time of day is late afternoon. For some reason, the waning sunlight, crisp mountain air and lengthening shadows over green rolling hills bring a sense of nostalgia. Maybe it was the regular family driving holidays, where the afternoon light was a herald to new discoveries. Or the camping trips where early evening signaled the time to light the campfire and share deep, meaningful (and mostly funny) stories with a steaming mug of tea in hand.

One default during these moments, is to look back. To remember, to reflect, to wonder 'what if'.....

Sometimes these can be good reflections. Reflections that help make today better...or more bearable. Memories that bring smiles. Though looking back is not always helpful. Some memories of what was or what might have been can have an derailing effect and cause today's blessings to be overlooked or undervalued. Some memories can breed discontent.

Another time I might be sitting facing the setting sun, light on my face and cool breeze at my back and just drinking in every delicious moment of beauty around me. For one perfect moment, the chaos of day to day life is forgotten. Or, I might be looking out with regret that current situations can't ever match the perfection of the scene before me, longing for answers to be found amongst the shadows.

Occasionally, looking around at the rolling landscape carved out by long shadows of ancient gum trees can give hope for the road ahead. A brighter tomorrow and the comfort that it will get better. Through all the storms the trees stand firm, continuing to grow, providing food and shelter and still having the ability to evoke wonder at their magnitude.

Life can be a struggle. For some, it's downright hard work with challenges that cause the positive perspective to get lost in the tousle.

A wise friend once summed it up like this: "Learn from the Past. Live in the Present. Believe in the Future".

There is a precedent to do all three, but in a way that brings the best, not focusing on what hasn't been done, or isn't achieved. Or can't be decided, or articulated, or resolved. Life will always have the propensity to be negative and it is our choice of perspective that brings mindfulness to the positive - to the things that matter.

Next time I see the sun set, I will be remembering the lessons learned, be thankful for the blessings of today and will live in hope for the road ahead (though not necessarily all at the same time!).

Most of all, I will be marveling at how the weakest moment in the sun's day can create the greatest beauty.

The art of choosing...

People often tell me I’m a chilled personality – relaxed, calm, and a roll-with-the-punches kinda gal (comes with the territory when you’re a conflict-averse introvert who doesn’t like to rock the boat). There are the natural flip sides to this part of my personality, like lacking drive and a certain motivation to getting things done, but I do prefer a less dramatic lifestyle.

Many years ago, however, I knew this girl who was a little more into the dramatic. About 18 years old at the time, she was introverted like me, though would fly off the handle at the smallest of stresses. Banging and crashing around like the exertion would somehow change the course of the day. This temper would then bring out language that would rival Eminem.

Yikes.

That person was me. Double yikes.

I find it hard to believe that that was the person who I really was back then. The total antithesis of me now, in some respects. In my very first job in a pizza takeaway establishment, my end of the year award was ‘the employee who was most likely to lose her cool’, or something like that.

This was a defining moment for me. As much as I thought this kind of behaviour matched who I was at the time, I hated the label. I realised I didn’t want to be that person.

Roll on three years. I had been in my second clerical role and on the cusp of my third. It was my last day. The parting word from one of my superiors was, as he shook my hand, ‘Grace under pressure. That’s how I will remember you’. I hadn’t even realised I’d done it, but I had changed the course of people’s perception just by changing my attitude.

Some might say my new husband mellowed me, though if you knew his dynamic, extroverted personality you might think otherwise! Some might say it was the faith in God that I found during that time, and I can’t deny the impact of my belief in a loving Creator who gave his life for me. All these factors contributed to my change, but what was the biggest factor of all?

Choice.

I made a choice, all those years ago, NOT to be ‘that’ girl. I made a choice to take a deep breath when I was stressed and to look at what I could do, not panic over what was out of my control. Oh, I still get stressed out (just ask my children) but I choose the kind of person I want to be in that stress. Sometimes it works and sometimes I fall into a screaming heap (just ask my children) but as Anne Shirley from LM Montgomery’s book Anne of Green Gables used to say, ‘tomorrow is fresh, with no mistakes in it’. Sometimes ‘tomorrow’ is next week, sometimes it’s several, but I still try to choose to focus on my reaction, rather than the circumstances.

These days (and here’s where I start sounding like my grandmother) are troubling times. Being a victim is the flavour of the era. Kids are obese because of food advertising. Politicians are ruining the country. Intolerance is the flavour of the decade. What happens to us is often attributed to someone else’s responsibility.

But society seems to forget that we have a choice. A choice to say NO. A choice to turn off the TV. A choice to make a stand for what we believe in or who we want to be. A choice to respect the opposition in a disagreement and a choice to value people for who they are, as opposed to who they could or should be. Your choice may not be the thing that changes the world initially, but who knows, maybe collectively it could be. Maybe we CAN have a positive impact, reaching wider than we could ever imagine, if we stop blaming and start choosing.



So, who are you going to choose?

The 'F' Word

The 'F' word

There are few words that illicit a bigger gasp on its utterance.

However, before you send the censorship board to have me banned, hear me out.

I'm not talking about the Gordon Ramsay style of expletives, just an ordinary word that people find hard to say. And hear.

Failure.

It strikes everyone at some stage of life, and most likely more than once. And yet, so many anxieties are caused over the fear of facing failure. Myself included.

I'm not sure if it makes me a people-pleaser, or that my twenty years of administration experience just can't allow for the inefficiency of not getting it right the first time. Whatever the psychological reason, I have an aversion to failing.

So on a particular day when I was dwelling in my own inadequacies, I turned to social media for a welcome distraction only to be faced with a link to a motivational video from Oprah Winfrey. On, you guessed it, failure.

Rolling my eyes as I tried to scroll past the video, the subtitles grabbed my attention. 'There are no mistakes.'
Seriously? I just made several colossal ones. I know you are a multi-billionaire, but I am evidence of a challenge to your theory. But I kept watching.

'Failure is just that thing moving you in another direction. You get as much from your losses as you do from your victories. Your losses are there to wake you up. Your life is bigger than one experience.'

That's ok for her; she's uber successful and one of, if not the, richest women in the world.

Except I remembered that she was fired from her very first TV journalist anchor position. In that moment of her demise she was demoted to, you guessed it, a talk show host. This perceived 'failure' catapulted her into one of the most successful media personalities in the world.

The mind boggles (well, mine does) as to the course of history if Oprah hadn't experienced that 'failure'. That difficult, demoralising, humiliating time in her life was the very thing that pointed her toward her destiny.

Excuse me, people - there will be no more lamenting tonight. I have a destiny to chase.

School Reunion

There’s freedom in being over 40. (Well, maybe in spirit rather than in body.)

Finally, you know stuff. Stuff they could never teach you in high school. Maybe you have kids or maybe you don’t. Maybe you’re married, or not, or was. Whatever the situation, people over 40 have had to learn through different experiences and have (we hope!) more wisdom about issues than when we were teens. No matter what your teen status, adult life has delivered a level playing field.

I left my teen years behind, quicker than Speedy Gonzales (now, THAT’S showing my age). Painfully shy and a bit of a nerd, school for me was a place of fear, uncertainty and longing. Fear of doing the wrong thing, uncertainty of who I really was and a longing to be appreciated and accepted for me, even if I didn’t think very highly of myself at the time. As soon as that final exam was over, I was planning a new life, a new destiny in a new city, in the hope of leaving all the angst behind.

But insecurities have this annoying little habit of following.

Twenty years on and married with three children (thankfully nothing like the TV series of the same name), I now appear to be a confident woman with some wisdom about life. I have spoken to a crowd, sung in front of a congregation and given a eulogy or three in my time. But it has been a twenty year process. Little by little, one decision before another, I am winning the war, though the insecurities have been a constant battle ever since the school days.

Which is why a random Facebook invitation to ‘catch up’ with a school crowd I haven’t seen in ten years, or in some cases twenty, left me a little unravelled.

Do I go? Do they want me to go? But I wasn’t in the ‘cool’ crowd. But I was invited so maybe I should go? Who else is going? What if I have no one to talk to…? Yada, yada, yada. I couldn’t believe the schoolyard emotions could still be there after all these years.

These questions were followed by my own rebuke: “What are you, 16? Pull yourself together, woman!” – said out loud, because we old ladies do that sometimes.

And then I got to thinking…why? Why did those emotions resurface? Why did it bother me?

After some soul searching, I think it’s this – in the teenage years, when adulthood is emerging, classmates are there. Whether you liked them or not, they were the first friends, the first foes, the first crushes (and there were plenty of those), and maybe the first kiss. They are the first people to see your new adult self and for some reason, whether I admitted it or not, I cared what they thought.

Against my fears (which involved me saying yes, then no, then yes, then maybe) I met up with the school crowd...and it was the best thing I ever did. In some ways, it was like time hadn’t passed and we had the familiarity of a bunch of kids who grew up together. Even though, we spent very little time associating at school and many years have passed since. All of us now have the wisdom to see the person behind that unfortunate label we gave each other back in the day. This time, there were no cliques, no ‘cool’ groups, no nerds (yee-ha!) – just a group of people catching up on the last two decades.

If only I knew then what I know now….

I can’t go back and change time (wouldn’t we all, if we could?), but it did get me thinking about what this middle-aged lady (gasp, did I really just use that term to describe myself???) would tell her teenage self. Or more so, her teenage children…. 

• Acknowledge your strengths and be proud of who you are: a work in progress. And that’s okay.
• Learn how to laugh – but make sure it’s with others and at yourself, not the other way around.
• Everyone has a story, just some choose not to show it. Don't judge just on what you see.
• In twenty years, you are going to be having a beer with people you don’t speak to now…and it'll be fun. 
• In twenty years, you'll all be laughing about who was actually in the 'cool' group - we all thought everyone else was!
• Most of all, believe that childhood friends are unique and indescribable. Treasure these friendships and they will last a lifetime. 

Twenty Fifteen

Even though it has been six months since my last post, arriving at the end of the school year has brought many reflections. Twenty fifteen. What. A. Year.

If you have had told my 2014 self the events of this year, I would have thought you were making it all up. I mean, that stuff can’t happen to one family, can it? Rather than bore you with details, I will say that our year involved a phantom sleepover, a few kids birthday parties, a Sydney party (times 4...in a row!), non-existent soccer match, three NRMA calls in as many weeks, unexpectedly great end of year results, approximately 113 nights without my man, lots of lurgys, no traffic, fresh air, loneliness, a visit to the Principal’s office, depression, anxieties, lots of family time, but also lots of tears.

It’s been hard. Harder than I had thought when we made that idyllic decision 12 months ago to move to the country. It’s not just moving away from friends, it’s losing the security. The unspoken understandings that years of time together have allowed. The blissful freedom from small-talk. Being able to share a moment without explaining why it needs to be shared. Dinners, picnics and pool swims. Knowing who’s who and who they are related to. In essence, we miss being part of a community. Hard enough for me, but treble for my teenagers for whom security and friendships comprise 50% of their existence (for the other 50% is hormones).

A wise person told me once that you need to give a big move six months before reassessing. And here I write, eight and half months of birthing this new venture and I can categorically say they are 100% right. On one particular dark day a few months back, I asked my daughter if we should move back to the city. I didn’t know if we had made the right decision to yank them away from their secure life and on that day, it just seemed like too much of a fight, for them and for me. Her reply was astoundingly mature – ‘Mum, they’ve changed and I’ve changed. It won’t be the same as what it was. It will be, in a sense, like starting again.’ Wow.

I realised at that moment that time doesn’t stand still. We make decisions and no matter what decision we make, each one has fall-out. Sometimes we barely notice it and sometimes it takes a hard slog to get through. Sometimes the decision is made for us and we have no choice but to cope with the journey that is thrust into our laps. We can never go back because we can’t erase the lessons we learned through our new set of circumstances. Events like ours change who we are. The only choice is to keep going and not run away from the tough times. And only look back with fondness, never regret because the ability to change the past is out of our hands. We need to embrace the new, knowing that the lessons learned through the events that led us there are sometimes the most valuable.

I still get the mother-guilt attacks when my kids are having a sad day. After all, it wasn’t their choice to move, even if they thought it was a good idea at the time. Though, my daughter is right. Going back would not be as it was. The life lessons they have learned are privileged to those on a journey and my great hope is that this road will make them more resilient and able to cope with the future circumstances that await them in adult life. Of which, I know you all agree with me, there are many.

We are so privileged to call the Southern Highlands home. We have space to move and fresh air to breathe. Driving to work and school is a country drive every single day – no traffic, even no traffic lights! We have had more family time in the last six months than we used to get in a whole year. I park where I want, when I want (although even I have learned that weekends are not good times to find parking in Bowral). Our day to day lives are so much simpler and less stressful. And even though we are yet to develop those deep friendships similar to what we’ve left behind, we’re on the journey, looking forward.

The glass is half full (well, it is now J ).

To write or not to write?

The act of writing is a delicate balance. There needs to be the time to think and process - time to formulate a story around a funny moment or an event that has happened. Although, sometimes the busier I get, the more I feel compelled to write. Not sure why, but perhaps there are more stories to be told when there's more chance for chaos. Though being too busy can result in not enough time to write and so the cycle continues.

I'm not sure I've found the balance yet. The chaos of moving house gave me many inspirations for blog posts, though when life settled down a bit and I had time to write, I found it hard to find things to write about.

Now, after living the life of a kept woman for two and half months (I can hear the chortle...no such thing as a 'kept woman' when there are children to get to school!), I have been catapulted back into the land of the working mum. A financial necessity at this stage of our family's journey, I found a part time job as a medical receptionist with a lovely team in a medical diagnostic clinic. Having not worked in this industry before, there is a steep learning curve. Gargantuan. I know nothing, but having fun learning.

So will I keep up with blogging? Who knows? The eight hour days are a hard slog, and enjoyable as this job is so far, I'm sure the time away from home will take its toll in some way or another. The flip side is, the ensuing chaos might give me more fodder for funny stories and I may need the occasional break from using numbers and acronyms as a form of communication.

I have adored writing so far - thank you for being a patient audience! It has been such a great place to process the events taking place in our family's journey this year.

And you never know, life might get chaotic enough again that I just have to write about it.