Alive
“All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy, for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter into another.” Anatole France
Strange.
To be out in the world again.
In Tasmania, there are only hints that a pandemic exists. Hand sanitiser at the entrance to stores. The occasional need to register attendance.
No masks. Anywhere.
In the supermarket, I experience something akin to culture shock. I can see too many faces. People are too close together. Not 1.5 metres apart. I get out as quickly as I can.
In Salamanca, a cute little café is overflowing with humanity. My desire for coffee only marginally stronger than my need to escape.
To be outside.
To feel the breeze.
To sit on a park bench and look across the Hobart waterfront, to appreciate that I’m travelling again.
I’m so tired.
It’s hard to resume ‘normal’ life after a year of lockdown. I mean, what even is ‘normal’ anymore?
I didn’t cry much in 2020. Things happened too quickly. And I think I was numb from the over-saturation of news. Waiting for Dan to tell us the numbers. Wondering when it would be safe to see my mum again. Family. Friends.
I hear a gull screech, and for some reason that brings tears. I want to scream with that gull. So loudly. I want to understand the year we just had.
What did we learn?
Patience. Appreciation.
To not take things for granted.
I want other people to understand what it was like to be in Melbourne. But I know they never will.
And so, we carry on …
I’ve always been a planner, a schemer, of adventure and travel, but now, plans have to be fluid.
You need a plan A, B, C and D (for dumb-ass) – Supernatural references always on my brain.
Guess it’s time to embrace impulsivity …
The rain begins to ease. The sun is warm. I wish I could capture this moment.
I’m starting to feel alive, again.