Friday, February 3, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
Sunday, January 22, 2012
saving the day
This week I unexpectedly got some temp work in an office. The person whose job I was doing has been going through a difficult time and can’t return to work for awhile. I was working in the office on my own, toiling away at the banked up pile of things to do and organise and arrange, going from novice to go-to person about a bunch of stuff I had only learnt about on the morning of the first day.
It’s been awhile since I’ve worked in an office, having had retail jobs over the past few years and, these days, waitressing. I forgot about the subtle stress induced by one more phone call or e-mail involving a complicated demand or question that needs answering when you’re in the middle of things, and as well the feeling that you’re all alone in this space controlling some seemingly random situation, just like thousands of other people cooped up in an office controlling theirs. An invisible and unknowable solidarity of sorts. With waitressing the stress is more immediate, the demands simplified, the pace relentless, and, I realised, the constant human contact with co-workers and customers is kind of nice.
On the first day I was overwhelmed with what needed to be done, and I finished the day worried that I had barely made any progress. The following day however I realised I had achieved a lot, and finished up all the most urgent things by lunchtime. This was a great relief, and I felt happy because I was saving the day for this someone who can’t come back to work yet, who’s currently having a bad time of it. It feels nice to be the one who saves the day. And I hope that, should I end up in a similar predicament somewhere along the way, there will be someone, a stranger completely unknown to me, who will be able to do the same.
It’s been awhile since I’ve worked in an office, having had retail jobs over the past few years and, these days, waitressing. I forgot about the subtle stress induced by one more phone call or e-mail involving a complicated demand or question that needs answering when you’re in the middle of things, and as well the feeling that you’re all alone in this space controlling some seemingly random situation, just like thousands of other people cooped up in an office controlling theirs. An invisible and unknowable solidarity of sorts. With waitressing the stress is more immediate, the demands simplified, the pace relentless, and, I realised, the constant human contact with co-workers and customers is kind of nice.
On the first day I was overwhelmed with what needed to be done, and I finished the day worried that I had barely made any progress. The following day however I realised I had achieved a lot, and finished up all the most urgent things by lunchtime. This was a great relief, and I felt happy because I was saving the day for this someone who can’t come back to work yet, who’s currently having a bad time of it. It feels nice to be the one who saves the day. And I hope that, should I end up in a similar predicament somewhere along the way, there will be someone, a stranger completely unknown to me, who will be able to do the same.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Friday, January 13, 2012
romantic streams
A couple of years ago I was having coffee with a friend when I explained to him that I was only living for my future plans, leaving my present happiness entirely in the hands of things that had not yet eventuated. My plans and ambitions were the only things that made the present any good at all, and I was entirely convinced that that was enough. He looked at me as though I was incredibly peculiar, and I responded by vehemently arguing my position, that merely withstanding the present while not enjoying it at all was totally acceptable. Because of my misled, almost dangerous certainty that the future was going to be so good, the unpalatable present was of little importance. I was convinced. It wasn’t a great period of my life.
At the moment I’m in something of a limbo state of existence. I’m waiting to hear the result of an application I submitted for a job in France, all the while looking for jobs here, and changing my mind daily on what future studies I will undertake… Generally I have a few projects on the go at the one time, so along with conjecturing about my future I’m also trying to learn three languages at once (foolish, but I can’t settle on one!), to continue studying my own way, learn a bit of art history, write a long fiction piece, create scintillating lessons for my new student, and a few other things here and there. To be honest I’m not getting much accomplished because there’s too much going on, but I’m not bothered by this. My projects keep me happy as long as I spend a little bit of time focusing on one or some of them each day, and I’m excited by all of them.
Something that has changed for me recently in a big way is my approach to living, to the everyday, to moments and “me-time”. Because one of my quieter, underlying projects is to enjoy the time that I spend with myself. To cook well for myself, to go wandering about the city by myself for my own amusement, to read a lot, to slowly sip at my tea and enjoy it. Simple things. Somewhere along the way I realised that the present does matter, that it should be enjoyed. Romance exists in the everyday. And the sort of happiness that arrives in a moment doesn’t always require company. I find as well that when I do meet up with people I enjoy it more, I feel like I have more to talk about, and I feel calmer. These days are a lot happier – not because the future is bright, but because the present has a lot to offer and I’m open to it. While my plans for the future continue to motivate and inspire me, my daily plan is to live well.
At the moment I’m in something of a limbo state of existence. I’m waiting to hear the result of an application I submitted for a job in France, all the while looking for jobs here, and changing my mind daily on what future studies I will undertake… Generally I have a few projects on the go at the one time, so along with conjecturing about my future I’m also trying to learn three languages at once (foolish, but I can’t settle on one!), to continue studying my own way, learn a bit of art history, write a long fiction piece, create scintillating lessons for my new student, and a few other things here and there. To be honest I’m not getting much accomplished because there’s too much going on, but I’m not bothered by this. My projects keep me happy as long as I spend a little bit of time focusing on one or some of them each day, and I’m excited by all of them.
Something that has changed for me recently in a big way is my approach to living, to the everyday, to moments and “me-time”. Because one of my quieter, underlying projects is to enjoy the time that I spend with myself. To cook well for myself, to go wandering about the city by myself for my own amusement, to read a lot, to slowly sip at my tea and enjoy it. Simple things. Somewhere along the way I realised that the present does matter, that it should be enjoyed. Romance exists in the everyday. And the sort of happiness that arrives in a moment doesn’t always require company. I find as well that when I do meet up with people I enjoy it more, I feel like I have more to talk about, and I feel calmer. These days are a lot happier – not because the future is bright, but because the present has a lot to offer and I’m open to it. While my plans for the future continue to motivate and inspire me, my daily plan is to live well.
Friday, January 6, 2012
funny friends
New Year’s Eve. The one night each year when many people behave as though it’s the last significant night of their life, that they must go to the best party on offer in order to have the best time and, perhaps, somehow magically, fulfil the leftover, unfulfilled hopes of the year that is about to dwindle and die out, falling around their shoulders uncomfortably like an ugly, borrowed scarf, at the stroke of midnight.
Emotions can run high, my own emotions proving no exception. While these days I'm no longer fussed about which NYE party to go to (if I'm going to go to a party at all), I definitely cannot avoid becoming reflective and nostalgic on this eve of eves. This NYE just gone by, I was going to go to the beach with some friends. Escaping the city for the seaside was a blissful idea. The night before leaving though I became overwhelmed by it – many people were going to be there, most of them people I don't know – and I felt the need to stay in the city. I reneged on the trip to the beach and opted for a quiet night at my good friends Sonny and Sophie’s house.
On the train, looking out at the dusky lavender hued sky, I wondered if I was foolish to have chosen the city over the beach. All I was sure of was that I needed to be on solid, familiar ground. I just had to stay put.
The hours were spent easily, with good conversation and a drop or more of wine. We watched the fireworks display put on early for children, from the upstairs window looking out onto the city. Sonny said, “Fireworks are awesome, basically.” I laughed and agreed.
Sophie and her friend Di rumbled into the place at a minute to midnight and we all watched the fireworks together. Sonny cued up FFunny FFrends, a song by Unknown Mortal Orchestra that reminds me of some of the better times of 2011, as we watched the fireworks explode, sparkle, and fade.
More wine and conversation flowed on into the night, with the talk randomly turning to hands, or rather whose hands were softest. Feeling oddly and inexplicably ashamed of my hands, because they were a little bit dry, I gingerly offered them for Di to take. She proclaimed them to be strong hands, “hands that could do anything.” This unexpected affirmation from someone I don’t know all that well was rather sweet. I’ve always thought that my hands are quite like my grandma’s, and they were definitely hands that could do anything.
So the year began, simply, with good people and good fun. And now my strong hands and I are setting about on various summertime projects.
Bonne année!
Emotions can run high, my own emotions proving no exception. While these days I'm no longer fussed about which NYE party to go to (if I'm going to go to a party at all), I definitely cannot avoid becoming reflective and nostalgic on this eve of eves. This NYE just gone by, I was going to go to the beach with some friends. Escaping the city for the seaside was a blissful idea. The night before leaving though I became overwhelmed by it – many people were going to be there, most of them people I don't know – and I felt the need to stay in the city. I reneged on the trip to the beach and opted for a quiet night at my good friends Sonny and Sophie’s house.
On the train, looking out at the dusky lavender hued sky, I wondered if I was foolish to have chosen the city over the beach. All I was sure of was that I needed to be on solid, familiar ground. I just had to stay put.
The hours were spent easily, with good conversation and a drop or more of wine. We watched the fireworks display put on early for children, from the upstairs window looking out onto the city. Sonny said, “Fireworks are awesome, basically.” I laughed and agreed.
Sophie and her friend Di rumbled into the place at a minute to midnight and we all watched the fireworks together. Sonny cued up FFunny FFrends, a song by Unknown Mortal Orchestra that reminds me of some of the better times of 2011, as we watched the fireworks explode, sparkle, and fade.
More wine and conversation flowed on into the night, with the talk randomly turning to hands, or rather whose hands were softest. Feeling oddly and inexplicably ashamed of my hands, because they were a little bit dry, I gingerly offered them for Di to take. She proclaimed them to be strong hands, “hands that could do anything.” This unexpected affirmation from someone I don’t know all that well was rather sweet. I’ve always thought that my hands are quite like my grandma’s, and they were definitely hands that could do anything.
So the year began, simply, with good people and good fun. And now my strong hands and I are setting about on various summertime projects.
Bonne année!
Friday, December 30, 2011
that's no way to sing hallelujah
Last week, shortly after awakening from my habitual nap after Christmas day lunch, a strong and fierce storm swept over my parents’ house, as it had done all afternoon throughout Victoria. At first my parents, my sister and I were only mildly surprised to see such big hailstones come down, but then we noticed that the wind was threatening even our largest, strongest trees, we had to yell to hear each other in the house because the commotion outside was so loud, and then finally the power went out. Through the windows we watched a blur of rain, hail, leaves, and other matter hurling by. Hoping that my dog was safe and watching the tangle and blur through the window, I began to feel queasy. It was actually a little frightening.
In the storm the roof off our bungalow was torn away and flung into one of our nearby paddocks. The topmost branches of our weeping willow snapped off and fell, shrouding the side of my car so that the windscreen and boot got cracked and dented. Our garden, so lush until this storm, was devastated by it. Trees were hugely stripped of their leaves, the hydrangea bushes completely and utterly pummelled.
That night we ate by candlelight, and I was content to sleep only when the remainder of the storm had rumbled itself into oblivion.
In the clarity of the next morning it was plain to see what was ravaged, what was misplaced from being strewn about. A light switch flung into a tree, the driveway and the lawn covered in a thick carpet of small branches and leaves.
My Dad said he wouldn’t be able to believe it had happened at all if he hadn’t seen it himself. But me I felt as though I could readily believe it, whether I was there or not.
Why?
Because this year has been like a series of shocks, of earthquakes big and small, of tremors and trips, slides, glides and eventual falls. As a result, it is getting more and more difficult for me to be truly thrown off my guard. Yes, the storm shocked and frightened me, but these days at the end of some disastrous event I tend to think, “So that’s what was next. That’s what happened. Okay.” And then I get on with things.
I feel I have been carrying the turbulence of the storm in my gut for some months now. Just before the storm really broke and got out of hand, when it was only thunder and rain, I was washing up wine glasses beside my Mum, and I told her that storms have punctuated this year for me, that it seems as though one always comes along when I feel stormiest. And they really have; storms have arrived in times of challenge, difficulty, loss and longing throughout the year. These emotions have coloured my existence over the past few months…
So what’s left? What is left after the disaster? Is the destruction beautiful?
It’s certainly powerful. Stirring. I managed to realise a few things, like for instance that I’m comfortable to do something that might be difficult if I can at least stand by my actions and be proud of them…what is and is not truly important… Disasters and destruction force a new beginning. Once they have passed by and the mess is left, the best way to go on is up to you to decide.
The trees will replenish. The hydrangeas will be beautiful again next spring. The weeping willow still weeps, and will recover. That which was displaced will be put back where it ought to go, that which needs to be discarded now will be discarded. The windscreen of my car will get fixed, and the bumps and scratches left behind will provide a story. Our bungalow will have a new roof put on it.
As for me and my storms, well. I’m getting on with things. Some days I feel displaced and desolate, like one of the many leaves I raked up after the storm. The year was tough. One could even say brutal. Yet, although I still often feel stormy, I cannot say I regret anything I did, and that’s something worth holding onto.
The hiatus lasted a lot longer than the initially posited three weeks, unfortunately. But hopefully it’s clear from the above post that there’s been quite a lot going on. Sorry to return on a heavy and somewhat cryptic note. That is just what came out when I decided today would be a good day to start posting again, so there you are. Throughout the summer I will endeavour to make Eton mess life a weekly occurrence once more.
In the storm the roof off our bungalow was torn away and flung into one of our nearby paddocks. The topmost branches of our weeping willow snapped off and fell, shrouding the side of my car so that the windscreen and boot got cracked and dented. Our garden, so lush until this storm, was devastated by it. Trees were hugely stripped of their leaves, the hydrangea bushes completely and utterly pummelled.
That night we ate by candlelight, and I was content to sleep only when the remainder of the storm had rumbled itself into oblivion.
In the clarity of the next morning it was plain to see what was ravaged, what was misplaced from being strewn about. A light switch flung into a tree, the driveway and the lawn covered in a thick carpet of small branches and leaves.
My Dad said he wouldn’t be able to believe it had happened at all if he hadn’t seen it himself. But me I felt as though I could readily believe it, whether I was there or not.
Why?
Because this year has been like a series of shocks, of earthquakes big and small, of tremors and trips, slides, glides and eventual falls. As a result, it is getting more and more difficult for me to be truly thrown off my guard. Yes, the storm shocked and frightened me, but these days at the end of some disastrous event I tend to think, “So that’s what was next. That’s what happened. Okay.” And then I get on with things.
I feel I have been carrying the turbulence of the storm in my gut for some months now. Just before the storm really broke and got out of hand, when it was only thunder and rain, I was washing up wine glasses beside my Mum, and I told her that storms have punctuated this year for me, that it seems as though one always comes along when I feel stormiest. And they really have; storms have arrived in times of challenge, difficulty, loss and longing throughout the year. These emotions have coloured my existence over the past few months…
So what’s left? What is left after the disaster? Is the destruction beautiful?
It’s certainly powerful. Stirring. I managed to realise a few things, like for instance that I’m comfortable to do something that might be difficult if I can at least stand by my actions and be proud of them…what is and is not truly important… Disasters and destruction force a new beginning. Once they have passed by and the mess is left, the best way to go on is up to you to decide.
The trees will replenish. The hydrangeas will be beautiful again next spring. The weeping willow still weeps, and will recover. That which was displaced will be put back where it ought to go, that which needs to be discarded now will be discarded. The windscreen of my car will get fixed, and the bumps and scratches left behind will provide a story. Our bungalow will have a new roof put on it.
As for me and my storms, well. I’m getting on with things. Some days I feel displaced and desolate, like one of the many leaves I raked up after the storm. The year was tough. One could even say brutal. Yet, although I still often feel stormy, I cannot say I regret anything I did, and that’s something worth holding onto.
The hiatus lasted a lot longer than the initially posited three weeks, unfortunately. But hopefully it’s clear from the above post that there’s been quite a lot going on. Sorry to return on a heavy and somewhat cryptic note. That is just what came out when I decided today would be a good day to start posting again, so there you are. Throughout the summer I will endeavour to make Eton mess life a weekly occurrence once more.
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