Lately, newlywed life has seemed wearisome. Alarm goes off. Procrastinate by listening to the radio, before hauling out of bed. Get ready for work. Go to work. Come home. Make dinner. Make a half-hearted effort to wash up / tidy up / water the sad little herb garden on the balcony, but ultimately slump in front of the tv before collapsing into bed. On some days, get to ballet classes (at least that’s one tick on my resolution list). Rinse and repeat.
There is a slight variation on weekends, where instead of work, there seems to be other commitments – never-ending errands, obligatory family get-togethers, catching up on reading research papers for work, volunteer work (or in Boy Robin’s case, just more work) … Our house has become a place to exist in transit, as we rush from one item on our to do list to the other.
Since when did all the excitement of nesting dissipate and unbearable weight of everyday life take over? I’m not talking about a modified social life, but a more overall feeling of stagnation. That existential, self-indulgent navel-gazing which leads to thoughts of “What is the point of all this anyway? Is this rinse and repeat cycle all I have to look forward to for the rest of my life?” The Coulda Shoulda Wouldas raise their collective heads.
I used to have vague daydreams of the future of marrying someone exotic and foreign (obviously with a wonderfully attractive accent), living abroad in a vibrant city, employed in some exciting, high-powered job and leading a sparkly, fast-paced life, against a backdrop of culture, art and history. Paris? Berlin? Don’t mind if I do.
Instead, I work as a policy officer for a not-for-profit. I think it’s important work, but not particularly exciting or high-powered. And I fell for a country boy with a broad Australian twang, who likes nothing better than the wide open spaces of the farm. Not quite the exotic accent I had in mind. Perth would seem to be a suitable compromise for us both: the biggest country town in the world trying its darnedest to be a city. But sometimes, I look at the monotony that life represents and it makes me restless.
So, if I could zoom through space in the speed of light, what place would I go to right now? My first thought was London in the Summer. A bustling cultural heartland, full of people to meet (and people-watch) and things to do, heaving with the electric energy of beautiful weather in place where sunshine is a precious commodity. Everything that our little nest is not, especially as we approach the depths of Winter (well, as deep as Winter gets in Perth … Today a maximum of 24 degrees Celsius was forecast).
But that would most likely mean a life without Boy Robin, which would be unthinkable. For the time being, work has rooted us here. Although we’ve talked about spending a year living abroad, it is still a distant plan. And to be honest, as much as I would love to pack a suitcase and fly to London tomorrow, I’m not entirely convinced that having to deal with the normalities of life: work, paying the bills, putting food on the table and trying to keep the house halfway tidy, wouldn’t take the shine off London as well. It’s something to look forward to, but perhaps I need to get the hang of everyday life first.
On reflection, where I would really like to be is our house, but with the time and energy to make it our home, looking with anticipation to the future.
Written as part of WordPress’ Writing 101: Building a Blogging Habit challenge.
Nesting Newlywed 