I recently spent 10 days in Melbourne, my first time back since Christmas. I tried to catch up with as many people as possible, and the number one question I was asked was ‘How’s life in Sydney?’. It wasn’t as easy to answer as I thought.
Well, this is not something I ever thought I’d be writing about. If you’d asked me 18 months ago about my adult swimming journey you would’ve received a very short answer: I can’t swim.
Why is it that a new year always makes us hopeful that things will be different, better, this year? The older I get the more 1 January just feels like any other day, but there’s still something about the calendar ticking over another year that makes just a small part of me feel that maybe something new is coming.
Today marks 30 years exactly since I came into the world. That’s 30 years of generally making my way in the world, and I don’t want to go all Kylie Jenner on you, but in that time I’ve realised some things. And I’m still realising some things.
Is there anything more therapeutic than a big clear out? As someone who is such an aggressive culler that I once made my mother cry while trying help her sort through her stuff, I guess I might be a little biased, but there’s not much that makes me feel more alive or de-stressed than getting rid of a whole bunch of stuff I really don’t need anymore.
About four months ago my husband’s work told him they were closing the office in Melbourne and centralising all their operations in Sydney. He could keep his job, but he’d have to move to Sydney to do so. And he had four weeks to tell them his decision.