An absence of purpose.
If there are readers out there that have wondered at my absence these past few months, I was collecting new thoughts from new changes and new challenges.
It’s amazing how the concept of ‘home’ can surface in more than just as your dwelling of residence. Even then, the place you live is not necessarily ‘homely’. You don’t always feel at ease, safe and secure in your abode, or with your housemates. There are different places and people I feel at home with, even streets, parks and rivers. One thing I have struggled to find since the passing of my beloved mum is the place I reside to have that feeling of ‘home’. A sense of feeling safe, at ease, settled. Yes, this was a spiritual, emotional and mental residence I have been continuously working on within myself, but also of a literal sense. I required a residence that I felt ‘at home’ in. Retrospectively I realise that so much of this came down to my inner quest, I nevertheless spent a decade uneasy. I tried to dress up my surroundings but to no avail. I pretended to cook for myself and keep a domestic life, but I could see no point in doing so. I was constantly ready for the next event to necessitate another move to spring up from nowhere.
I eventually found it, a little piece of paradise that was my own home, and moving from it after nearly three years was my own choice. I found it here, too, in the wonderful suburb of Coburg. I got to spend three months in an old, dingy house, constantly cold but feeling safe and at peace. I found a routine and also found joy in every moment I walked out into my neighbourhood. My soul has claimed Coburg, and the northern suburbs of Melbourne as a whole, as its spiritual home. It’s funny how, after spending a seemingly infinite amount of years altering and adapting yourself, the moment you feel you can finally take a leap forward and let out that long-held breath is the moment when the world decides to test your assurances. Yet, that doesn’t need to be a bad thing, nor does it need to send you reeling backwards. In fact, sometimes it is just that final bump in the road that is needed to jolt you into place.
The passing of my housemate in Coburg was sudden although, in retrospect, not really surprising. A friend I made earlier this year at ‘school’, we had a friendly and warm dynamic in the old stone house. After being notified of her death, I immediately reverted to fight or flight, and stayed that way for weeks, instantly in crisis over where to go and what to do. The decades of PTSD training my brain had undergone had made it a master of meltdown, yet I still somehow found myself a roof over my head.
And what a roof…
After my freefall of fear, I landed safely on my feet in shoes of cushions… no shockwaves or hard landing. My new home is two bedrooms, quite spacious, and has a cute little courtyard with luscious garden. Most importantly my housemate instantly felt like home. Two weeks felt like two months, two months like two decades. A kindred spirit, we spent my first night in the house laughing until it hurt. She is one more family member I never expected, particularly in such a short amount of time.
She has provided such solid friendship, love, support and laughter in such a short amount of time, and it is hard to believe I haven’t known her forever. In my anxieties about assignments, she has encouraged me without pressure. In my moments of self-doubt, she has pointed out my awesome without being condescending. My chemical imbalances and overall temperament have been more balanced in the four months I’ve lived here, and the calm has been almost surreal.
I may still be terrified of the path I have chosen for myself and may often feel like I’m too old to be single and childless, but I feel like I’m truly home for the first time in years. Whatever happens from here I can handle it from a safe and secure space.