The Quiet Life...NOT

Just imagine....on a picturesque weekend away, strolling down the main street of town. browsing and marvelling at the price of houses compared to the city. The crisp, clean air gives clarity and the momentary question of 'could we live here' rests in conscious thought. We could be content in this calm, serene existence for the rest of our lives, right? Mmm, not quite.

Don't get me wrong, I am really glad we moved - it has been categorically the best move we've ever made (and we've made a few). However, there is a moment where the idyllic is replaced with the reality of getting on with life in a busy family. That's the stage we've have reached now.

It's been two months or so since we moved to the country. At first, the clear air and sweet smells of pasture grasses were intoxicating. I had to keep pinching myself - all those holidays where we entertained the idea of moving out of the city and we finally did it! Every drive was another exploration of this new town we call home; every discovery exciting.

This has now been replaced with school drop-offs, emergency trips back to school to deliver forgotten items, soccer training, birthday parties and the usual errands that go along with family life. While we haven't yet discovered half of this beautiful location, children still need to get to school, groceries still need to be purchased and cleaning still needs to be done (sad, but true).

Of course, a holiday location will seem amazingly serene and perfect because life is left behind while visiting. Sometimes it involves someone else cleaning the hotel room, and eating food someone else prepared and subsequently cleaned up. The holiday weekend is just about the here and now; a few belongings and a beautiful town. Have you done it? Imagined yourself in the place of your holiday destination, living a life of simplicity and serenity? Easy to do without thinking about work, school and general demands of family life. We did it - every time we left the city!

Moving to the Southern Highlands has highlighted to me that no matter where I am, life still happens. It demands attention and won't take no for an answer. For example, I am indulging myself time to spout my musings to you all, while the washing still sits in piles (well they were in piles two days ago; regretfully, now a sea of clean, crumpled clothes masking the presence of a couch underneath). The bathrooms are silently protesting, while the floors are screaming to be relieved of yesterday's crumbs. I can bury my head in the scenery and idyllic lifestyle, but it will be at the expense of a family that is cared for and can locate their uniforms when they need to (hard enough on a good day).

However, there needs to be a balance. We can equally bury ourselves in busyness (apologies to spelling aficionados, but I think the 'y' makes more sense), but there needs to be some escape, some sort of balance, to help recharge the soul and focus on the blessings in our lives, even if for a short time.

I saw a post on social media today, which is an important reflection in the chaos of life.

 "Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes...including you" (Anne Lamott).


I am realising that moving to the country doesn't give me a magic pill for a quiet life; there are still the same amount of hours in the day and the same amount of things that need to be done. How time is spent is largely by choice so it's up to me to find the balance. I can choose to do the washing, or choose to write a blog, as long as I'm ok with living with the fallout (clearly, I am). Somehow, somewhere, there needs to be a balance between the productive and the reflective.

In the quest for finding that balance (which is a constantly moving set of scales), I feel like the overriding theme that keeps coming through is how to remain content, even when life doesn't quite turn out as first thought.

I think one of the chief elements of contentedness, is gratitude. Dwelling on the 'busy' is frustrating, (I know because I do it) and sometimes I just have to take a moment, a deep breath and remember all the things I love about being here. Not naturally a trait of mine, I'm trying on optimism for size (my husband will be rejoicing).

 (Lake Alexandra, Mittagong)

Dr Caroline Leaf, a brain scientist and campaigner for positive thought, posted this yesterday on social media:

Saying "I can't change my way of thinking" is just as much of a decision as "I can change my way of thinking". The choice is yours. (Dr Caroline Leaf)

I'm thinking social media is trying to tell me something.....

In any case, I am on my second coffee (thinking about how much I love this liquid gold) and about to tackle the housework (thinking about how great it is to have a warm house in this cold climate).

Busy? Yes. Optimistic? Trying to be. Content? Absolutely.

The Newbie

I don't have many aversions in life, apart from the usual impatient car drivers and eating warm pineapple. I consider myself a fairly easy going person who can let most of the irritations in life roll off my back. As the Pastor of our previous church says 'like Teflon - let the offences slide right off'. However, in moving house recently, I've noticed one important aversion that I can add to my meagre list.

I hate being the 'newbie'. And I don't use the word 'hate' very often.

Australian slang for being a new person, it's not really a bad thing to be called such. It just means exactly what it says. A new person. And I can't stand it.

Yesterday, my three children were the 'newbies' at their new school. There were a few little emotional outbursts in the morning, but not really more than any other school morning (parents of school children will be nodding in understanding right now). Their ability to just face a new situation as it comes was in stark contrast to mine. I fired questions all morning, sometimes with no pause in between. 'Are you going to be warm enough? Do you have your thermals on? You might need them today. Is that going to be enough food for you? Do you remember how to tie a tie??' I realised I was more nervous than they were.

School drop off was uneventful, even though I don't think I will ever get used to seeing them now in green instead of the old navy uniform. The children were all taken to assembly then shepherded out by willing teachers and student 'buddies' in readiness to guide them through their first day. New timetables, new teachers, new buildings. They seemed to slot right in.

All the way home from school, the excited chatter reverberated in the confines of the car. New names and building locations spurted forth like a foreign language and I desperately tried to hang on to each morsel of detail to help fill the void of information I was used to possessing.

At our last school, all three children started there in Kindergarten, so this year marked a nine year association with the school. The buildings. The teachers. The people. Added to this, being employed in the School Office for the last six of those years and there wasn't much about the school that I didn't know. I knew the teachers, the processes, where to go on a rainy day, what to do if your child is late, who to call if someone reports seeing a snake in the school grounds (a regular occurrence in Belrose) ...I loved being such an integral part of the school's day-to-day operations.

At our new school, I know one person. (God bless her socks, she took me out for coffee yesterday so I wouldn't pine about my kids being 'newbie's. Love that woman.) I don't know the teachers, the students or where the Hall is in relation to Year 2.

There are so many things that go with being to new to anything, whether it be a school, workplace, area, house....the list goes on. All come with different things that need to be understood or mastered for the person to feel like they belong. In a new house, it might be that tricky way the front door will only unlock with your key if you pull it first. In a new job, it might finding the quickest way to get there or the fact that your boss hates coffee.

That's my problem. I can't stand not knowing all the details. Maybe my ignorance is a sign of weakness in my own mind. There are big black holes of unrealised information and I am impatient to fill the gaps. Now. Yesterday, even.

As abhorrent I may be to being the new person, my question to myself needs to be 'what am I going to do about it?'. Short of performing a Harry Potter-like flick of the wrist, there is no quick fix. Time is the only cure in this situation. Time to get to know people. Time to learn teacher's names and the subjects they teach. Time to learn all the nuances with being part of another community.

I have to realise that knowing it all isn't the answer. I can't know it all. Ever. (Insert disparaging sob here!) I need to be patient with myself (practise makes perfect) and allow the time for the transformation process from 'newbies' to locals to be fulfilled. Finding the small victories instead of looking at how far from the end goal I might be. For example, I have already worked out where Year 2 is in relation to the School Office, I remembered how to spell the Receptionist's name and that some locals don't wear a jumper even though it's ten degrees Celsius.

In celebrating the positives, the focus shifts. It changes from being what isn't, to what is. It seems like a small shift but sometimes a colossal effort to take my mind from all the things I feel I need to accomplish, to the present and what I have so far. The here and now. The blessings that I can count. If  I had 10,000 hands.

In the first week of our move, I was taken by the GPS on a quiet alternate road (supposedly the quickest route to wear I needed to go).  I felt a little lost and unsure of where I was going, but then turned a corner and saw the most spectacular view from the mountain ridge I had inadvertently driven over. I have driven that road three times now, using the spectacular scenery to remind myself to step out of the grey and focus on the amazing that is right where I am.