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 ).
