Perth is hot, incessantly hot, yesterday it was 43 degrees. You know when you get dressed straight after a shower and your bodies not quite dry yet? Every second in Perth feels like that, your clothes are constantly stuck to you.
Living in this inferno (tell me again how climate change is a lie) has led to hours of lying around in Hyde Park and King’s Park and Scarborough Beach, essentially any patch of shady grass within walking distance of a bakery. All this time spent lying around like a whale far too far from the sea has given me plenty of time to read and tan (burn), but also too much time to think about what I’ve done/am doing with my life.
This morning, whilst doing my best Free Willy impression at Hyde Park, lying next to a melted iced latte and staring at the sky, I had a thought, a deep thought, this is what blogs are for right?
When I first arrive at the park I find a nice patch of dappled shade, under a tree I’m hoping a spider won’t fall out of, not too close to anyone with a baby, or the bin, or the people doing exercise classes, the perfect spot. And then, slowly, as the morning passes the sun commutes west, so does my shade. So I shuffle further and further across the grass to stay sheltered, no longer under the tree but still in the shade it’s casting. Eventually, when I run out of snacks, or give up and go off in search of somewhere with air conditioning, I get up to leave and realise how far away I am from the spot I originally chose. Without noticing, I’ve migrated.
See how I’ve had too much time to think? My remaining brain cells have made this a metaphor for my life. I left college, went to uni and sat myself under the tree of a psychology degree, then a psychology masters, then a psychology job. But life got in the way. I needed some time off learning, further away from the tree, my dad died, further away from the tree, I realised I actually enjoyed running bars, further away from the tree, my local university doesn’t offer my masters, further away from the tree, and now I’m spending a year in Australia, literally thousands of miles away from the tree.
The point I’m trying to make in that incredibly run on sentence is: I’m now eons away from the life I imagined. I’ve unintentionally and involuntarily drifted to a life I neither planned nor chose, all to avoid emotional sunstroke, to stay in the shade.
So my deep, Carrie Bradshawesque question is: Having realised how far from the tree I am, do I struggle through the heat back to where I started, or do I find a new tree?
(Don’t panic, I’ll do a post about brunch or something soon so it’s not all this depressing).
Abandon 