Wanting What You Can’t (Quite) Have
We saw in the New Year in peaceful surroundings. A spontaneous last minute booking had us piling into our car and heading for a couple of nights in ‘The Bush’. Not being a fair dinkum Aussie I’m still not entirely confident in using the term ‘Bush’ (unless I’m referring to a shrub or a politician) but there were lots of trees, scorched earth and a warning from the home owner that snakes are not uncommon. Max befriended the homeowner’s child who was at one with his surroundings and happy to race lizards and chase kangaroos; Max on the other hand revealed us as city slickers by referencing iPad and Babycino in the same sentence.
The couple who lived there had sold their poky 2 bed apartment in central Melbourne and swapped it for 20 acres of prime Australian Bush complete with two beautiful mud brick houses, a yabby laden dam and a very rustic tennis court. They were the cats who got the cream or in this case the hippies who got the land. We had gone up to switch off, get away from it all and get a last dose of each other before Anna is snatched back by ‘the office’. But I didn’t switch off, I found myself wanting what they had. As well as going up to relax we were also scoping a nearby town as a possible place to take the plunge and buy.
I’m writing this from the kitchen of our own rented, poky, two bed flat in central Melbourne, I’m just close enough to the bin to smell it. We have a small balcony that isn’t quite wide enough to actually sit down on without grazing your knees. People peer in and deliberate why the man never leaves his desk and what sort of content he might be viewing on his computer. We have an overzealous real estate agent who insists on visiting every three months to make sure we haven’t dared to hang a picture.
There is a little surf town somewhere in Australia with our name on it. I will spend most of my time bobbing about in the sea doing an impression of a surfer whilst trying not to look like an injured seal, Max will conquer his fear of the waves and become a champion Nipper (if there is such a thing), Anna will transform the humble little shack we’ve purchased into a groovy retro beach house and we will all live happily ever after…….or something like that. I have this incredible clarity that we would all benefit from this move, it feels very close and my lack of patience is palpable. It’s hard when you want something you can’t have.
In the mean time I’ll continue to despise every squared metre of this poky little flat and there isn’t many to despise. I will spend my spare time indulging in a particularly painful form of self harm which involves a certain real estate website and an unrealistic budget. Fortunately the mass group therapy sessions that has become writing a blog post seems to do the trick and if you can just put up with a few more I’d be ever so grateful. Apparently if you want something bad enough it will happen, we want this bad and by the end of the year we will be in the place we want to be.