So I was perched on a stool at my bestie café waiting for my soy decaf (decaf, you scoff! Yes, I was on an anti-anxiety diet at the time) latte to cool down when…BAM… I had a life changing epiphany and blimey am I grateful for it.
I decided to pack up my meagre belongings and move to the country. Farewell Fitzroy! Toodaloo traffic! Hooroo hipsters! I put all my furniture (that I had originally found in hard rubbish) back out for hard rubbish. Jammed my life, and then me, into Vera the Volvo and trundled off over the horizon.
A tincy town in East Victoria is where I unpacked my bags and now call home. And it is absolutely and with out contention the raddest thing I ever did do.
Here are some reasons why…
I could afford to buy a house! Like an actual real house! My very own tumble down rambling weatherboard dreamboat. It has windows that open up to a sea breeze and a chimney and a vintage original ‘60s kitchen and a creeper that is swallowing the house whole. And every house in the country has a proper dinky-di back yard with a garden. I even have chooks. If I sound over the top and ranty about my newfound house-ownerdom, it is because I am. I lived in a shared apartment in Melbourne, for Pete’s sake.
Everyone is ya mate in the country. I have a gazillion examples of this so I will just give you the latest cracker. Bumbling along in Vera (no need for speed, no one goes over 80 here) when with a hiss and a fizz she breaks down. Not one but three cars instantly stop for help. “Don’t need a mechanic love,” Rhonda says between mouthfuls of ham and cheese sandwiches that have suddenly appeared and are being passed around, “I can fix a Volvo with me eyes closed.” Rhonda tootles home for her toolbox. Hubert calls his missus and next minute we have a thermos and camping chairs. It was a swell morning.
In country towns there are the best op shops in the whole multi-verse. They even have obscure opening times like Wednesday at 10am to 9am and every third and a half Friday. This just adds to their mystic and keeps you on your toes. Finding an op shop open is like discovering Narnia. It is more thrilling than any extreme sport and everything is a bargain. Right now I am wearing pearl clip on earrings, a watermelon bum bag, a fluoro pink taffeta skirt and a t-shirt that says I Love Lawn Bowls. That is just my score from yesterday! You should see what I found last time…
A neighbour cooked me a casserole. So before we all ooooo and aaahhh and get too gooey over this incredible event I will point out the dear old duck had never been introduced to those cheeky little devils called spices. But there is nothing Tabasco can’t fix. The positives such as extreme kindness and generosity far outweighed the lack of flavour and the debilitating neurosis about salmonella I experienced after consumption.
I almost fell in love. This never happened for me in the city. I fell in lust a gazillion times over, a devil-wouldn’t-care fun string of semi-relationships. Here in the country it was different. More of a slow burning candle than feisty fireworks. More Sunday roast than 3am sushi on Swanston Street. It didn’t quite work out. But it was beautiful. Dates on the beach. Comfortable silences. We held hands.
I could get used to this life.
And hey! I can drink real coffee again (only weak and every third day).
My anxiety has (kind of) been washed away with the fresh country air.
