volume seventeen

a beautiful day in the neighbourhood

I shared last week the exciting news that I will be going home to Australia for Christmas. The last time I was home was September 2018. That is three years and three months between my last visit and my next. I was supposed to go home in 2020 but, you know, the world shut down.

I am so excited to spend Christmas with my grandparents. I am so excited to spend Christmas in the sun. My last Australian Christmas was 2014. Fuck. I had to go and look this up by looking at old photos and I cannot believe it has been that long. I left Australia in July of 2015 and have lived abroad since, spending Christmas in various parts of North America each year. What is even wilder, is that Christmas 2014 I hadn’t decided to leave yet, that all happened in February while I was walking along a beach at sunset on my last day on a Bali vacation — knowing I didn’t want to go back so what was next? No, this Christmas was like any other, in that I worked. So because I worked I opted to go to dinner with some work friends and their families instead of spending it with my family.

here is a photo of me around christmas that year, not knowing it was my last summer swimming in that river

A typical white Christmas in a winter wonderland is so appealing. As someone who grew up listening to every hit Christmas song and watching every Christmas movie she could get her hands on, I have finally been able to live out the fairy tale I had so long sung about. But this year will be different, I will be singing along to Tim Minchin* and enjoying the Australian sunshine with Nanny and Poppy.

*I will also sing the winter songs because I love them and my white wine will be non-alcoholic, of course.

The point is I will be sun-drenched, with more ice than beverage in my glass, the way my family does it. There will be cheese and crackers and chocolate covered peanuts and spicy peppers and mini gherkins and salt and vinegar chips and french onion dip and cold meats and king prawns. I don’t eat most of that stuff, but you know what? Gosh am I excited to see it — that’s home. It’s symbolic of being gathered around the plastic cream coloured hexagonal-shaped table on my Nan and Pop’s back verandah, with the green striped chair cushions leaving an imprint on the back of my thighs, barefoot, stubby cooler wrapped glass in hand, with the not-so-distant sound of the waves crashing and being on the lookout for golf balls flying into the yard from the very close-by course.

And if my baby girl

When you're twenty-one or thirty-one

And Christmas comes around

And you find yourself nine thousand miles from home

You'll know whatever comes

...

We'll be waiting for you in the sun

Drinking white wine in the sun

Darling, when Christmas comes

We'll be waiting for you in the sun

I have never spent Christmas day at my Nan and Pop’s home — but as children, my sisters and I would be visited by them at our home every Christmas, only to leave bright and early Boxing Day morning to head back to their house. We would then stay for the dates between then and New Year’s Eve when my parents would join us. It probably only happened that way two or three years, especially as that home was no longer my home and my parents split when I was ten. But in my mind, that was my childhood — all of it. I have frequently visited my grandparents over the years that followed. As a teenager I took myself to see them, as a young adult I did too. Before I left Australia I spent a few days with them and since moving abroad I make sure I spend a few days, at least, at their home with them every time I go back.

But never Christmas day. There is something so special about this day in particular, and knowing that creeping into my thirty-first year, I will spend what might be my first and last Christmas day with them at their home — the only constant home I have ever known. Everyone else in my life has moved around throughout the years, but Nan and Pop have had that place since I was maybe four, and before that, it was the town they vacationed in every summer. So while I never lived there, when a fresh car smell or the warm sun on the back of my neck or the talk of golf makes me think of their home, I get homesick. For me — Christmas day, Nan and Pop and Bateau Bay go hand in hand and I am nostalgic for something I have actually never technically had. I cannot wait.

My time in Australia will be spent in other places too, but for the most part there — chasing the afternoon sun from one balcony to the other as it sets, early nights and early mornings, dinners together (I might even try to convince Nan to let me cook once or twice, we will see), beach walks, good coffee and, of course, writing. 

While I am beyond excited and filled with joy to be going, I am also sad. I am sad to be leaving my apartment for five weeks, sad to be leaving my neighbourhood, my sanctuary. I know where I am going and what I will be doing will serve me and my current way of life, however, I cannot ignore how I am feeling.

Thinking about leaving for over a month, I am really going to miss it. My sadness however soon turns to joy at the fact that I have something to miss. I spent the most part of the last two years angry, sad, desperate to leave, annoyed, bitter, longing to be anywhere but here…

Now I am home. I love my neighbourhood, I love my life, I love my apartment. So I write this to remind myself not to be sad, but instead to be glad, thankful and relieved that I now have somewhere I am excited to return to.

I will be excited to return to the painted sidewalks in the street that display colourful flowers, bees and hummingbirds at my feet as I walk. I will be excited to return to the fire station just near my building with its big glass roller doors allowing me to peer in each time I pass — admiring the two huge trucks that are always sparkling in the sun that seeps in, the firemen enjoying a laugh and downtime while not being called away. Growing up in Australia this is like a scene from a film each time I pass. I am excited to get back to passing by the little dive bar across the street, whose lights spin onto the sidewalk every night, the regulars outside smoking, the karaoke sign flapping in the wind — I have never been in and it is exactly the kind of place past Lauren would have frequented. I appreciate the longing feeling I get when I pass, as a reminder of how far I have come in my sobriety and as a reminder to keep going. I will be excited to return to the (almost) guarantee of meeting a neighbour and their cute dog each time I board the elevator in my building. I will be excited to return to epic sunset views from my living room, surrounded by all of my things that I love. I will be excited to return to my books and my journals, my boxes of letters and photos, my luxurious thrift store coat collection and my incense sticks that burn all day. I will be excited to return to the bulk store, the nail salon, the grocery store, the produce store, the park across the street, the meeting hall down the road I go to every Sunday evening, the hanging fairy lights that swing from side to side across the strip year-round creating a tunnel of lights as soon as the sun sets…

What a beautiful thought, that on two parts of the planet, so far away from each other and so different, that I am lucky enough to feel at home.

I love you,

Lauren

xoxo

Three things I struggled with this week:

• When I’m home I don’t want to leave and when I’m out I don’t want to go home.

• I was never late in the before times. If I was late there was a very good reason for it. Now, since the world has begun to open, I am late so often — for a dinner date or a hangout or appointment. Getting myself out the door gives me a bit of anxiety these days and those last two minutes often turn to ten as I triple check all appliances are off and everything is secured, that I have enough tampons in my bag for a week even though I don’t even have my period today, while I decide if my choice of jacket be warm enough or will it be too warm? Oh also, I better pee again just in case…

• Can one survive on an all bread diet?

Three blessings from this week:

• Sometimes, in the last two years, especially at this time of year with seasonal allergies and cold weather runny noses, I get scared I’ve lost my sense of smell — frantically diving my nose into an (unlit) scented candle or a container of garlic powder. Then I go for a walk and a young teen passes me, with a terribly overwhelming high school classic body spray, that I sadly get a whiff of even through my mask and I realise I am okay.

• I got a really lovely parcel in the mail from my Dad — some delightful comforts from home.

• Patience. There were a few things that happened this week that I got through with ease due to the patience of others with me, and my patience with myself.

Three goals for the coming week:

• Find a new dentist - I cannot get into mine until May 2022! WHAT?!

• Switch to more nutritious breakfasts. Not for any reason other than I think eating a bagel every morning might not have the same benefits as maybe something that involves some fruits, nuts and seeds. What do you think? Overnight oats with fresh fruits, nut garnish and chia seeds here I come. As long as I add a peanut butter dollop.

• Is it too soon to start watching Christmas films? I think not.

What I am enjoying this week: My dear pal Kathryn, who I met through London Writers’ Salon, has a FREE 28 Days of Joyful Death Writing happening right now. It began on Monday and in beginning each day with the exercises, I already have found more clarity, joy, perspective contemplation and thoughtfulness on a whole other level in my day to day writing and living. It sounds like it might be a negative practice — death — but as Kathryn so perfectly puts it “if we get our thoughts right about death, it's not sad at all. The ancient Stoic philosophers practised brief contemplations of death and this had a profound impact on their experience of life”. You can sign up now and enjoy the rest of the 28 days with a group of wonderful, like-minded people.

If you feel inclined to say thanks for this post, please like or comment (it’s free and means so much!), forward it to a friend or you can buy me a slice 🍕