Life has been a bit up and down lately. Long story and nothing much I can really talk about. Last week was a bit of a challenge with some work stuff but also my mum had (minor) surgery and I travelled away to take her and moved out of my comfort zone multiple times over just a few days. It’s something that’s happened over the last few weeks in fact.
You know that feeling when you drop (and shatter) your work phone and think ‘NOTHING MORE CAN GO WRONG’ and as the youngsters say, ‘nek minute…’
In returning to a more challenging role in government late last year it felt like I was finally find my feet again. Regaining some momentum.
I actually thought everything else – that frustrated me about the life I’d been living – would fall into place… akin to the domino effect. I’d be based in an office (with others) most of the time so would spend less time grazing on snacks all day. I’d be forced to move a little – walking from my car to the office at a minimum and even during a quick break at lunch. I thought eating healthier and moving more might then motivate me to start exercising again.
This past year has seen me settling into new full-time work and finding my financial feet again. My job with a not-for-profit was fairly low-key and I was able to work from home – on someone else’s dime rather than as a contractor working for myself. There was a lot I enjoyed about my job and some stuff I didn’t. I’ve mentioned before it wasn’t necessarily as challenging as I’d hoped so, just after my one-year anniversary I successfully applied for something that would take me back into the type of work I did pre-seachange.
Sometimes I think my mother and I cannot be more different. Perhaps it’s because I’m not a mother. Or perhaps it’s just our personalities.
One of the questions my mother often asks me – now and historically… when we’re chatting is, ‘What’s for dinner?’
Of course she means, what are you cooking or having for dinner. Not asking what I’m preparing for her. We’ll be on the phone usually when she asks the question and seems actually interested.
* The title of this post is meant to be a play on The Emperor’s New Clothes but I realised in retrospect it may be a bit obscure. Or just not make sense. Whatevs.
I started a new job a couple of weeks ago. And despite declaring a number of times I wasn’t going to go back into a full-on type government job again, I have indeed done so.
I am however, working in regional Queensland so don’t have the public transport / busy commute to deal with. Nor do I have to worry quite as much about what I wear.
A couple of weeks ago I wrote about grieving the loss of a life you’d imagined. The death of a story. My musings were the result of an interview I’d seen with musician / songwriter Missy Higgins who also talked about rewriting that story. She said however, that she realised that it wasn’t really something you had control over.
I pondered then also on the amount of control we have over our lives.
Monday was not only the 11th anniversary of my father’s passing but it was also ten years since I made my seachange. Ten years!!!
I feel as if most of my life has been spent in my state’s capital city, Brisbane, with some time in FNQ, Canberra and overseas. But in reality, I’d moved back to Brisbane from overseas in early 2002 so I’d only been there ten years. That time around anyway.*
I horrified many people by chopping my hair off the other night. I’ve been growing [it] for 3-4 years and only had a few trims over that time. It was getting unmanageable though. Initially I’d planned to book in for an appointment to get a few inches cut off… but then I saw a photo of myself (taken while I was in Melbourne a few weeks ago) and my hair looked terrible. Lank and lifeless.
I tried to make an appointment with my hairdresser but couldn’t get in for about three weeks. Of course rather than book that I left it and pondered. I’d feel too guilty to cheat on my hairdresser but IF I did it myself then… that’s hardly cheating is it?
I was scrolling away on Instagram this past week (as you do) and came across a snippet of an interview with Australian singer/songwriter Missy Higgins on ABCTV. Now – I HATE (hate hate) watching / listening to reels or videos or similar but can kinda bear something short if I can read the dialogue instead of having to listen.
And the title ABC had given the piece really hit home.
Grieving the loss of a life you imagined.