Our street is alive with Jacaranda flowers. It is an impossible purple that flowered from leafless branches in trees that have been naked for most of our time in Erskineville. The southern hemisphere spring has come upon us hastily – advancing and retreating as if hesitant it wants to stay. The winter made me want to write but the days have stretched and there are things to do and I’ve reclaimed my love for socialising and novel events that are Just So Inner West.
Tuesday nights we get together to sing songs that sailors and workmen would sing in a small bar in a suburb full of empty warehouses, vietnamese food and desperately hipster gatherings. Wednesday nights are life drawings and live music that remind me that underneath my adult self is a child who likes to create and hasn’t done so in many years. October has moved me, as did April, to make a transition with the season. Out of the nest and into the world.
There’s been a calm about October that has seemed so uncharacteristic. It feels like for the first time in many months I am living the way I float in the sea. The Why of that is many things and for all of those I’m grateful. After what has been a year of pushing and pulling and testing and growing in my work and home life – stories for another time – it feels as if things are consolidating, as if I’ve run a marathon without realising there was a finish line and have turned to see that I’ve long since passed it. What rare moments of peace.
Looking forward and looking back have always been things I’ve struggled with but somehow I look at my life here in Sydney, feeling it and being in it completely, not wishing I was anywhere else or anytime else. Some people would call that contentment.