The Way Home

In early 2018 I started writing.

This last 2 years have been a journey back to that I had lost sight of, the colours fading off the page. Midlife, ill health, injury, stress and estrangement all taking a sip from inner joy and leaving me with an older greyer life. To look around me and notice that things have changed imperceptibly and time is running out, not only for myself but for myriad species, and that the planet's life force itself is dwindling, spent on trinkets, was a sad yet motivating glimpse of the power of now.

So I began to follow my threads back to the source of joy and inspiration, the meaningful moments and the appreciation of who and what I once was and am still innately.

Actually it was a lot longer since I started writing down the things I saw and felt.

I was well into my 30's when I realized that I was on my own, no help was coming and if I didn't get myself together there was going to be no end to the chaos. I thought life would be kinder, people would not take advantage, friends would be loyal and kind, and hard work would bring rewards. One out of 4 is not bad.

In buses, trams and trains while a working student, I wrote about the clatter of humanity, the setting of suns over the ivory towers of cityscapes while longing for the sweeping clear waters of warm sandy beaches and the sticky syrup of fresh mangos between my fingers and lips. I wrote about the tortuous path of love, betrothal and betrayal, picking a way home among shattered dreams and splintered glass. Unlike the other Art students in Melbourne, that I was sure must be partying every night and drinking white wine on the lawn with their family (especially if their names were Minchin or Scase), my world was bleak, tenuous, timorous, and hard.

Traveling to classes and work on trains, trams and buses in rain, sleet and heat waves, often all in the same day. As luck would have it one and a half hours on average each way to and from college for 4 years, 2 universities, and 3 placement schools. I was insecure, tired and hated moving, but I did it 6 times, the last one was the charm.

After 7 years in Melbourne, I had a B.A. Fine Art, and a Diploma of Teaching. I had worked in the Royal Womens hospital, Bars, Telephone Sales rooms, a snack bar and as a Motorcycle Courier to stay afloat. I had 2 failed relationships, 3 exhibitions, lost my father and my mother was dying in hospital in Brisbane. I packed up my things, loaded my motorcycle and headed for Brisbane where things went wibbly-wobbly. I fell in love with a violent, alcoholic musician almost instantly, never a good thing, had a chaotic relationship and eventually a beautiful baby.

After 8 years as a single parent I married my best friend and have been pretty happy with that for 20 years. My baby girl grew up and moved to Melbourne to play and play up out of sight but never out of mind.

This last 2 years have been a journey back to what I had lost sight of, the colours fading off the page. Midlife, ill health, injury, stress, family deaths and troubles all taking a sip from inner joy, leaving me with an older greyer life. To look around me and notice that things have changed imperceptibly and time is running out, not only for myself but for myriad species. To realize that the planets life force itself is dwindling, spent on trinkets, was a sad yet motivating glimpse of the power of now.

So I began to follow my threads back to the source of joy and inspiration, the meaningful moments and the appreciation of who and what I once was and am still innately.

Tasmania