There was something extraordinarily satisfying about filling our prehistoric, beaten up 96 Magna with everything we owned, and venturing off on the one-way road trip to Melbourne last April. My partner and I had been living in Sydney for just over a year, but never seemed to find that feeling of contentment. I can speak only for myself when I say that Sydney has (had?) this way of swallowing me up. But Melbourne always had (has?) a way of allowing me to expand. Perhaps it's just an energetic thing. So when the opportunity arose to return to the city of soul, to live in a share house that was nothing sort of awesome, we jumped on it. It may have just been the adrenaline of not actually knowing if our car would make it, with it's four balding tyres, lack of service history, no insurance and the delightful way it leaked from every orifice, but as we hit the Hume, I knew we were at the start of something new. And something big. Little did I know what it was.
I tend not to stay in the same place for long. I think I've moved 18 times in ten years, last count. But as we unpacked our boxes, designated cupboard space and blu-tacked pictures on the walls to make the room ours, something shifted. As the glorious Melbourne afternoon sun streamed in through the window, we lay on the bed, agreeing that we could see ourselves in this haven for sometime. This made me smile.
I remain somewhat flummoxed, as to how so much can change, in such a short amount of time.
To the person who made the ever-wise observation that 'breaking up is hard to do', I say NO SHIT SHERLOCK!!!!!!!! May I also inform you, ever-wise sage, that along with being 'hard', it is heart-wrenching, sickening, disappointing, draining, confusing, bitter, painful, agonising (ok..so now I'm being totally melodramatic, but allow me the indulgence, it's the first time I've got half of this off of my chest).
Flip-side is, it's a great way to shed a few kilo's. Bonus!!
So yes, my beloved boy of three and a bit years decided to part ways, only a few months after feeling like things had never been better. How the fuck this happens to people, I don't know. Well I know, but I'm not sure if the words exist to explain it. You just have to feel it. It was no ones fault, there was no dumper or dumpee (ok, so there was an instigator and it may not have been me), but ultimately, it was mutual. The details are not important, and certainly needn't be shared here. But what is important is that we both knew, and both trusted, that it was time to part ways. What was MORE important, was what we did with the time and space that followed. It's not about the curve-ball. It's about what you DO with it. And it's only that I'm now writing 6 months after the fact, that I have some clarity and a shitload of perspective. Time does heal. Slowly.
One thing I will disclose, is that the question that lead to our breakup was, "Do you want go to New York in December?" Funny how that seemingly simple sentence eventually lead to the sound of a sob that I didn't even know I was capable of producing. You know the type, that ugly, animal-giving-birth type of sound. Oh shit, there I go again, indulging in the melodrama. Anyhow by the end of the day, we'd gone from flipping Sunday morning pancakes to figuring out how the fuck to say goodbye to the person you thought you would/ could be with for some version of eternity.
So back to the New York question. At the time, I couldn't possibly conceive how I could go to NYC, a place that I'd dreamt of for years, and not have him by my side. But when you no longer have a choice in the matter, something internal prevails. So the next day, in what can only be described as a state of puffy-eyed delirium, I dragged myself into Flight Centre. The conversation that transpired went something like this:
Me: (looking like I'd punched 10 cones) "I'd like to go to New York. In December. That is all"
Travel Agent: "We can arrange that"
Me: (sudden wave of inspiration) "Actually, is it possible to go from New York to London?"
Travel Agent: "Umm, yeah". (Looking at me like I had ten heads, which I may as well have) "People do that quite regularly".
Me: "I've always thought about living in London. Pfft, may as well, now that I have nothing here to hold me back....blah blah...."(fade out to a mumble)
Travel Agent: (clearly wishing she could handball me onto someone else) "Well, with that type of ticket, you actually get a stopover in Asia on the way back"
Me: "Are you serious?" (cue tears), "This is like, my dream holiday, oh my God. I can't believe I'm doing it on my own...." (more tears)
Travel Agent: "Can you please pay the deposit and leave?"
So that may be a slightly dramatized version of the conversation (it's how I roll), but I left with my 6 week itinerary in hand and ticket deposit paid. I had 48 hours to come up with the remaining 4G (side note, if you wish to travel in a cheaper fashion, avoid the Xmas/ NYE period), but in the most timely of ways, the very next day, a payment for a colossal job I'd done several months earlier appeared in my account. That covered the cost and a little extra for insurance. Boom. A gentle reminder from the universe that I was in alignment and on track. But from that moment on, it was my track. Just me. And in the midst of the emptiness was an overwhelming feeling of empowerment.
What began to dawn on me then, and what has slowly but surely evolved since, is that despite suddenly being on my own, I was/am not going 'WITHOUT'. I was/am going 'WITHIN'. I knew that there was something greater at play, and that despite the pain of parting ways with the person I loved, I had an inner faith that it was, in the strangest way, meant to be. Like I said in my recent post, last year was indeed one of the best yet. But that came at a mighty price. And there in lies the pendulum effect- the lower you swing, the higher you swing.
I'm going to stop there for now as my thoughts are turning into a thesis and I have shit to do. And no doubt you do to. I'll pick up where I left off, but for now, may I leave you with this thought:
Ax
