Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER.
I never did the party thing – here in Melbourne or overseas.
I married at age 19. It was 1991 and it wasn’t exactly common though it wasn’t as uncommon as it is today. My eldest daughter is 18. Deep in my solar plexus I grow heavy if I think of her marrying. Only recently have I ever pondered my mother’s thoughts on my wedding at that age. My daughter is in a place where I have been. I can remember being there. I didn’t doubt myself then – now I’m not so sure. I know less at 44 than I did at 18. I don’t say this as a judgement on her or myself. The things that I thought I knew just no longer seem so concrete. That’s the way it’s been for maybe ten years or so.
I had returned from my first ever solo travel journey at age 33 and I realised that I had returned to a place where I no longer wanted to be. It was really tricky to know that although you still felt love for your nearest and dearest (well my children at least) , it no longer felt like home. I no longer knew where I belonged. It was the first time that I was searching for my home. There was a song popular on the radio with a line “a place like home”. I no longer knew where that was. It took me many many years to make my own “place like home”.
I couldn’t even take any solace in my parental home. They didn’t approve of my actions. He hadn’t physically abused me. He had financially provided for us. My spiritual and emotional growth wasn’t accounted for but that did not feature a tot. I no longer felt welcome in the home of my parents. There was no solace to be found anywhere with friends or family. That was new for me. I never felt so alienated.
So now I’m turning 44 and I no longer feel up to or have a desire to do the party thing – here or overseas. Don’t get me wrong – I like a drink or three as much or more as the next person.
In the recent past, I realised that I was living in the wrong place; somehow it just happened. One thing lead to another and there you go – I was living in a place to which I didn’t belong. Please don’t misinterpret me. I loved my house. I had friends in the local area. There were some great shops, cafes and public transport within walking distance. It’s visually pleasing, mostly quiet and I mostly had good neighbours. It’s just that I didn’t belong there.
I didn’t feel like they were my people. I often found myself at odds when discussing ideas or issues. The main thrust of my artwork usually was greeted with raised eyebrows and an open mouth. Worse – I found myself censoring what I showed and (here’s the real kicker) even what I created.
It wasn’t where I wanted to be – literally.
So I moved. I upped and cut ties. Left my place of paid employment, changed Pilates class, found a new GP. More than that was I changed how I lived
Now I walk most every day. I listen to podcasts. I create more art and I’m much more experimental with ideas. I go new places. I walk sometimes with purpose and sometimes aimlessly. I drink coffee in cafes I’ve never before stepped inside. I look new people in the eye and have new conversations.
I don’t yet know if I belong here though.