“I was told that in every relationship you teach the other person something… so maybe I’m going to teach you how to have self control with the drinking and drugs.”
Are you fucking kidding me? The most unromantic sentiment a lover could offer, was said to me at the beginning of this drama filled relationship. I hate trying to convince someone that I have an addictive personality, actually I hate trying to convince someone anything about me.
The decision to move to Australia for a year was made rather abruptly. Not as in I have not secretly thought about it for the past year or so, once my roommate last year told me the ease in Americans getting visas to NZ and AU. However, my travel dreams were geared towards another part of the world, for another, very specific reason. I quickly realized after several months back on the well paid work force that my money was not quickly multiplying in a savings acct for that magical trip, because I was misdirected. Yet in just the past 2 weeks after my visa was approved I was able to scrape up a couple hundred to cushion the barren savings account for my year and beyond down under.
6 months until I move to the polar opposite of Chicago and I’m not scared, worried or stressed. It’s more of a general confusion because I have never, ever been so calm before such a move. I also have never wanted to move for the same reasons I gave myself before accepting the $365 visa application fee. I think when I went to Europe I was looking for answers, when I went to Cape Cod I was looking for a quick fix and on my way to Australia my hope is to learn.
Australians and I don’t have the best track record, because inevitably in a crowd there will be one Australian that wants to talk about politics. It is such a hot button issue. I will go from completely calm to on the verge of committing a brutal act of violence if they rant about all the problems wrong with America. Mostly because they’ll be right: Yes, there are great injustices in America; Yes, I should be more educated; Yes, I find your accent a little distracting.
So with American politics aside I love Australians because of their general ease and love of life. They seem to be less afflicted, as a culture. And I want that. I have always wanted to live in a foreign country, granted I’ve always thought it would be a little more exotic, but this is a great place to start. Same language just different sides of the road.
The only qualm I have about leaving stateside is the distance between me and my family. I haven’t however, much to my surprise, thought about buying a new wardrobe, changing my looks, or changing anything about myself to go. Even when I went to Myrtle Beach for 3 days I bought 4 new outfits. I have no idea what the deal is with being a completely different person when you travel. I remember wanting to be super cool when I was travelling through Europe and dress the part in each country, but all I had was the same old black dress and the same old red flats.
My aunt just brought that up in an email she sent me. Now I think it’s pretty cool and RIP red flats- boy did we have a good time together! The point I guess I’m trying to make is I feel split down the middle because part of my life feels fine and complete as it is. Yet part of me is holding on to my past, and the past part of me that doesn’t trust my strength and ability. The fear of being alone is outweighing the courage to take care of me? Although I can’t even label this as fear of being alone because I certainly don’t feel ‘together’ when boy is passed out drunk, snoring on my shoulder.
I haven’t worked out, written, eaten a healthy diet or thought very many positive thoughts in the past few months, which has to do with me, not him. I can see all the answers – get up fold your clothes, eat healthfully not conveniently, go for a walk, do some at home training, sit down and fucking write. I mean seriously, it can’t be more clear because It. Is. Always. The. Same. Thing. and always the same answer – act.
SO where does that leave me? On the verge. On the verge of something spectacular. It’s the running start that just gets heaved into you out of nowhere. The bubble has been popped and my foot is sticking out, looking for hard ground to stand on. The problem is even outside of the bubble, you’re still in the air.
Adventures of the untoward 