The Things I Missed Most

The list of things I missed while living abroad was incredibly odd and random, at best.  I didn’t have the slightest inkling I would miss most things, until the time actually came, and I was often surprised that I focused upon and obsessed about certain foods.

While backpacking through New Zealand, I couldn’t help but fixate on cereal with cold milk.  It was a completely unexpected craving, but I couldn’t help myself.  After a month of suffering through stale bagels and peanut butter, I dreamt of the crunch of the cereal juxtaposed against the coolness of the milk.  Sure, cereal and milk existed in the land of Kiwis, but we didn’t have the luxury of a refrigerator or cooler, so traveling with milk was out of the question.  Once we were settled in Australia and had a refrigerator at our disposal, my obsession shifted to specific types of cereal (namely plain Cheerios) and other convenience foods (i.e. Goldfish crackers and string cheese).  It was weird; things I never thought twice about while living in the States suddenly became of the utmost importance to me. 

But the thing I absolutely missed most was Sunday breakfast.  Again, we could have easily gone out for breakfast at any number of restaurants in our neighborhood, but it just wasn’t the same.  A typical Aussie breakfast is nothing like a typical American breakfast, and is usually twice as expensive.  Omelets, even eggs, were rare.  Hash browns always came in the patty variety.  And they seemed to be obsessed with roasted tomatoes, mushrooms, and avocado as sides.  I like all three, but after a while, I just wanted a “normal” breakfast.  Most of all, I yearned for a good cup of coffee.  I began to dream of a nice, steaming, and bottomless cup of regular coffee.  I didn’t want a cappuccino, latte, or Americano; I just wanted a cup of brewed, black coffee.  So, after nearly an entire year of deprivation, that was the first thing I did upon returning home.  I went directly from the airport to my favorite breakfast joint in Newport Beach, ordered a breakfast of scrambled eggs, and savored my hot cup of coffee.  I even had the server fill it up a few more times than truly necessary, simply because I could.  I may have been tweaking from the caffeine overload, but I was in heaven. 

Even after a few weeks, the luxury of a good breakfast and hot coffee is still not lost on me.  In fact, I think I’ve come to appreciate these things even more because I know what it’s like to go without.  Now, I absolutely relish our Sunday morning breakfasts.  They are a tradition I look forward to all week.  I know it’s silly, but I can’t help myself.  I’m a sucker for a good breakfast.

Silverman Blues

The Silverman Triathlon was on this weekend back home.  This means it’s been an entire year since I’ve competed in a triathlon.  To say this feels weird is a massive understatement; it feels unnatural.  I’ve come to define myself by which races I’m training for or recovering from.  My races keep me grounded and give me purpose.  Not training for anything in the past twelve months makes me feel slightly lost.  A big chunk of my identity is missing.  Obviously, I’ve had good reason to forgo training for now.  This year was meant to be about exploring, not training.  I wouldn’t be able to put the proper effort into it and enjoy Australia at the same time.  But seeing Silverman photos still makes me jealous.  I crave the challenge and competition.  I miss the sense of accomplishment.  I know I will be home soon enough and back into the swing of things, which will include a full-blown training schedule, but that doesn’t quite soothe my current itch.  For now, I’m just going to have to make due with my own regimen of running and swimming laps.  More importantly, I have to remind myself that there is more to life than training.

There Goes My Grammar

Uh oh.  I did it.  Yesterday, in the midst of a perfectly normal conversation, I caught myself saying, “I reckon.”  I didn’t mean to.  It just slipped out.  As soon as I said it, I caught myself and looked up, just waiting for my coworker to call me out. But, of course, she didn’t, as this is nothing out of the ordinary for her.  So, the conversation continued, without any acknowledgement of my error.  Even still, I felt silly, especially considering I give all of my Aussie friends such a hard time for the blatant overuse of this term.  I’m not joking, every sentence either starts or ends with “I reckon.”  It can be maddening.  “I reckon” has become my least favorite of all Aussie slang.  It’s like a tick in their language that just won’t go away.  And there I was, just dropping it into the conversation like it was a normal part of my vernacular.  To make matters worse, I’ve caught myself saying, “Good on you!” a couple of times.  Ack!  What’s happening to me?  Am I losing all sense of grammatical propriety?  The next thing I know, I’ll be saying things like “fair dinkum” and “Bob’s your Uncle.”  I shudder just thinking about it.  I need help.  But, considering I’m surrounded by Aussies and only have access to a handful of American television reruns, I might be in serious trouble.

A Well-Deserved Headache

I’m somewhat of a wreck today.  My head hurts.  My body hurts.  I’m exhausted.  And my brain has that fuzzy quality that only comes from drinking way too many adult beverages.  In short, I had a good weekend.  Quite honestly, this is the first post-Mouse weekend in which I’ve felt like I actually have a life, and it was fun.  I had places to go and friends to share drinks with.  (Two nights in a row.  Unbelievable!)  I even went dancing.  Such basic things may seem silly to most, but after spending so much time feeling lonely, it’s a big deal to me.  I actually had a reason to go shopping and get dolled up.  I wasn’t stuck sitting home alone on a Friday night, feeling like a social reject.  Instead, I traded in my comfy pants for some stylishly uncomfortable heels and sipped on espresso martinis at hip bar in the Valley.  Now that is what I call a weekend.  So, I will suck up the headache and the brain-fuzz, and stop my whining.  After all, a little throbbing of the temples is a small price to pay for so much fun.

A Simple Phone Call

Last night, I talked with a friend I haven’t had an opportunity to speak with since leaving the states.  And, even though the phone call was initiated out of a great sadness in his life, we didn’t linger on the melancholy for long.  Instead, the conversation quickly turned from somber to upbeat.  It wasn’t long before we were laughing and chatting like old times, before thousands of miles and the international dateline came between us.  It was good to hear a familiar voice.  It was even better to hear stories from home.  It gave me a sense of familiarity and connectedness I haven’t felt for a while.  It reminded me of what I’ve been missing, but not in a sad way.  Instead, it was reassuring, like pulling on an old, comfy sweatshirt, and relishing in its warmth for a bit.  It was the verbal equivalent of a security blanket.  As much as I’ve grown to appreciate the independence living out here has helped me develop, it’s nice to know I still need my friends.  It’s funny how the simplest of conversations can have so much meaning.  It’s good to know my friends are still out there, just waiting for me to come home.

Crocodile Tears

I cried myself to sleep the other night.  Not just a little cry, either.  Nope – it was one of those full-on, gut-wrenching, sob until you hiccup type of cries.  I was such a wreck that I almost embarrassed myself.  I even feel kind of silly now, just seeing the words in print.  Quite frankly, it makes me feel uncomfortably fragile and vulnerable to put it out there, but that’s exactly what I did.  I lay in bed, listening to the rain pouring down in sheets outside my window, and cried until I had no tears left.  The strange thing is, I can’t even tell you exactly what the cry was about.  Some of it had to do with missing Mouse, of course, but that wasn’t the crux of it.  It wasn’t out of unhappiness, either, because I love it here.  No - the tears flowed for other reasons, feelings and worries so generalized that I can’t quite pin them down.  I cried because life is uncertain.  I cried because nothing is as simple as it should be.  I cried because I’m tired of making tough decisions.  I cried because I’m emotionally exhausted.

Being an adult isn’t easy.  Trying to maintain a sense of independence and individuality while nurturing a healthy relationship is even less so.  Is it possible to do what’s best for me and for our future at the same time?  I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing by staying here when he’s gone home.  I don’t know if I’m brave for pursuing my dreams, or if I’ve gotten lost somewhere along the way and have become just plain stubborn and selfish.  It’s hard to know what’s right and what’s wrong when you’re in the thick of it.  And, to be honest, I don’t know if there even is a right or wrong in this situation.  It’s all a matter of perspective and figuring out what works for us.  So, I lie in bed and wonder.  And sometimes, like the other night, when it all feels so overwhelming, I just have to give in and let myself cry.

The Long, Aussie Road

When we were planning our road trip up the northeast coast of Queensland, so many people tried to discourage us from driving.  “Don’t do it, mate,” they warned.  They thought we were crazy, vowing we would spend all of our time on the road, leaving us little time to relax.  But we would not be swayed.  First of all, we had too much stuff to lug onto a plane.  With our camping gear and diving equipment in tow, flying was not an option.  Plus, we really wanted to see Australia.  Flying may be fast, but it kills any true sense of adventure.  Besides, after consulting our map and Google directions, we determined we would only be covering approximately 1,700km (1,050 miles), all of which were on the main motorway.  How bad could it be?  We’ve tackled much greater distances back home.  What were all of these Aussies squawking about?

Well, let me be the first to clue you into the fact that 1,000 Aussie miles are nothing like 1,000 American miles.  A distance that should take 12 hours to drive is more likely to take 24 hours.  And, just because a road is labeled as a major highway on the map, does not mean that it is any more than a two-lane, country road.  Really, the Bruce Highway could have been any road in the Midwest, winding us through countless small towns, effectively decimating any hopes we had for keeping a swift pace.  Apparently, the only Aussie qualification for coining a road a “highway” is that it’s paved.  It didn’t take long for us to realize this was going to be a very long haul.

Even though the drive was painfully slow at times, we had a blast.  Yes, the miles wore on us and we eventually became pretty road-weary, but the experience was worth it.  The further north we drove, the further the towns began to spread out.  With each passing mile, the landscape transformed before our eyes, going from city to bush land to sugar cane fields as far as the eye could see.  I don’t know how many thousands of acres of sugar cane we drove past, but the vastness of it was astounding.  Sometimes, we saw nothing but sugar cane fields for hours at a time.  (Come to find out, eastern Australia is one of the largest producers of sugar can in the world, second only to Brazil, churning out 4.5-5 million tons of processed sugar per year.  Wow!)  We saw cane trains, a giant mango, kangaroos, dingoes, and even a massive croc sunning himself on the banks of the river.  We stopped at lonely fruit stands and bought local produce.  And then, just when we thought we couldn’t stand another moment of driving, we reached Cairns.  I can’t say I have any desire to repeat this epic drive anytime soon, but I will say that driving the distance from Brisbane to Cairns is an adventure all in itself and is definitely worth the time and trouble.

You Can't Be Serious

Why does it always seem that an already bad day cannot help but attract more bad things?  Take, for example, today.  I’m in the miserable phase of missing Mouse.  Work was a beast.  I had hit the upper limits of my stress-o-meter hours ago.  So, as I drove home from the hospital, my single-minded goal was to get home, crawl into bed, and shut the outside world out.  No such luck.  Instead, the inner sanctum that is my apartment shut me out.  Yup – I was locked out.  While I was at work, my landlord dropped by for an inspection, locking the dead bolt on her way out.  Too bad the key for the dead bolt was sitting on the dining room table.  I wanted to cry when I realized what had happened.  It was a sinking feeling of understanding how totally alone I am in this foreign city, with no one to call for back up.  No one.  How depressing and frightening.  This was definitely not the way I had planned on ending my night.  Luckily, my good-Samaritan neighbors were home.  Even more luckily, I had left my second-floor balcony door slightly ajar.  So, thanks to their stepladder and my ability to scale buildings, I was able to scramble up and let myself in.  Whew!  I guess this could be considered a happy ending, although it hasn’t left me feeling very happy.

Gone, Baby, Gone

And just like that, he’s gone.  The past eight weeks flew by.  One minute, we were having the time of our lives exploring the northeastern Australian coastline.  The next, he’s boarding a plane.  I knew our time together had to come to an end.  I knew he had to go back home at some point.  I just didn’t think it would happen so quickly.  Our holidays are over and it’s time for him to get back to work, to concentrate on building his business.  It’s time for me to focus on work again, too.  After all, that’s what responsible people do.  It’s just that, unlike the majority of couples, our respective responsibilities take us to opposite ends of the world.  Why does something I’ve dreamt of for years and worked so hard to achieve mean that we have to be apart?  It doesn’t seem fair.  I don’t regret my decision to stay, not completely.  I’m proud of my accomplishments and enjoy my work.  I just wish we could be together.  I wish he could stay.  I guess it’s the age-old predicament of wanting it all.  I’m not a fool; I know that isn’t possible.  So, for now, the best we can do is compromise.  For now, we’re left to make our own rules and navigate uncharted relationship territory.  For now, we have to rely upon phone calls and scheduled visits.  It won’t be easy, but it won’t be forever, either.  And when this is all over, when we’re living in the same house once again, we can look back on this adventure and laugh.

Here We Go Again

He’s packing his bags today.  His flight back to the states leaves bright and early tomorrow morning.  I knew this time would come.  I knew he’d eventually have to go back.  Knowing doesn’t make it any easier, though.  My heart is already sinking.  The loneliness is waiting behind the scenes, just waiting to creep in.  This shouldn't be so hard.  I should be used to it by now.  We’ve done it all before.  He was just gone for an extended stint.  But I’ve become accustomed to his presence.  We quickly fell back into a comfortable routine.  Life was more fun with him around.  He gave me something to look forward to on a daily basis.  My Australia will not be the same without him.  I’m going to miss him.