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It is 5 a.m., the smell of filtered coffee permeates the house, and a group of magpies warbles on the back porch. It is not a time I have come to frequent over the years, but my jet lag has forced me up and out of bed, so I enjoy this pocket of Australian morning that is rare for me to see. Despite the early hour, the heat of the day is already building. Small pools of sweat sit on my skin, the sun already risen.
I look at the view in front of my grandparent’s house: big sweeping gum trees, families and their dogs walking up and over the hills in search of the ocean’s waves, and I ache. What does it mean to yearn for more than this, to recognise the beauty in your surroundings and decide it isn’t enough?
I think of London, a city I’ll return to shortly, and my heart rate quickens. I think of its grey skies, the scowling people, the hurried pace, and I laugh. It is the opposite of everything I thought I dreamt of, and yet it will be home soon enough. I imagine myself seated in a warm, dimly lit room, scooping overpriced pasta onto my plate, jazz music playing softly in the background of an East London wine bar, and my body visibly relaxes.
It turns out I do not want a quiet life; I want a busy one with softer edges. I want late nights at bustling restaurants surrounded by friends, days spent finding the best Japanese cafes, and cozy evenings by a pub’s fireplace. It is not the small coastal lifestyle I had once imagined but the opposite.
My grandmother comes to greet me now, a smile playing on her lips. She is happy to have me here with her. I watch as she carefully pours two coffees, one for her and one for my grandfather. Her kitchen features a sizable window that overlooks the street below. This view often features Molly, a 14-year-old golden retriever who sits on the street pavement, relishing the sunshine and frequent pats from passersby. I watch as my grandmother takes the two coffees with her to enjoy from bed, and I feel a kind of peace that is hard to describe.
I did not think I would arrive here. Not here in the physical sense, but here in the spiritual one—radiant with possibility. I watched my life for many years as if at a distance. I saw myself playing out the motions of what it meant to be a girlfriend, a daughter, a friend, as if on autopilot. I felt her gentle anguish, and I felt how she pushed it down.
I am in the process of landing into this life of mine, uncovering the ways in which it whispers to me late in the evenings. What I know now, is that I never want to give up on the discovery of who I am and what I want in each moment. To never again lay down in silence and let the months and years steal me away into listlessness. What does my heart beat for, if not for the new, the erotic, the tangible joy and pulsing aliveness of life? I am yearning for the pace of change—a quick, swift, engaging life full of twists and turns on an ever-upwards trajectory.
I am curious about what it means to start again—in a new city, in a new body, as a new woman. Mostly, I am curious about how to find your footing in a reality that is both tangible and imagined. One life gone, another yet to begin.