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.

Melbourne Cup Antics

So, I have to admit, the Melbourne Cup party was really fun.  (And considering the bubbly was flowing before noon, it was probably a little bit too fun!)  This may have been just another excuse to play hooky and sip on cocktails all day, but it somehow seemed appropriate with all of us dressed up in our Race Day best.  The pretty dresses and extravagant headwear helped elevate it beyond grown-up frat party status to something much more elegant.  The men even wore ties!  Everyone looked so festive and debonair!  (Until, of course, later in the day when all of the dresses and ties couldn’t make up for our cocktail-induced sloppiness.)  But the highlight of the day was definitely the race itself.  It may have only lasted a few moments, and I didn’t really understand what was going on, but it was so much fun.  The energy in the room was electric, with everyone glued to the television, cheering in unison.  Oh – and I won!!! (Woo hoo!!!)  I bet on Americain and won!!!  Now I understand why the Melbourne Cup is so popular – it’s just plain fun.  This is one Aussie cultural phenomenon I am glad to have experienced!

Melbourne Cup Fever

It’s official.  Melbourne Cup fever has swept all of Australia.  As an outsider, I find it utterly fascinating to observe their level of obsession.  Billed as The Race That Stops a Nation, the entire continent is absolutely gaga over this race.  It’s all anyone can talk about: the horses, the breeders, the trainers, the racetrack, the parties, the fashion, etc.  I’ve never seen anything like it.  Sure, Americans have the Kentucky Derby, but it pales in comparison.  The Aussies have taken their love of the races to an entirely different level and have raised the bar for enthusiasts around the world.  Today, the Melbourne Cup is the center of the Australian universe, with everything else orbiting inconsequentially around it.  Today, nothing matters more than “The Cup”.  Thus, at 2:00pm (or 12:00pm, or 1:00pm, or 3:00pm, depending upon where in Australia one is located), the entire country will stand still to watch a bunch of horses run around a track.  Unbelievable!

So today, for purely anthropological purposes, I am playing hooky from work, dressing in my Race Day finest, donning a fabulously feathered hat, and attending my very first Melbourne Cup party.  I would be doing myself a disservice by doing anything else.  I am out here to soak up all of the Aussie culture I can, after all.  And what better way to do so than by sipping on some bubbly on a Tuesday afternoon?  I love it!

**I will be sure to post the party pics later, as the hats alone will be worth gawking at.

A Very Un-Halloween

The Aussie version of Halloween is strange.  It’s here, but not really.  I know that’s a pretty poor description, but it’s the best I can come up with.  I mean, it is Halloween, but not in the same capacity as back home.  The grocery stores advertise for it, in hopes of selling a little extra candy, but that’s really about it.  Jack ‘o Lanterns don’t light up front stoops.  Trick-or-treating isn’t big.  People don’t really dress up.  It’s kind of depressing. I know Americans don’t own Halloween, but we do celebrate it with certain flair.  As much as I love the Aussie way of life, I have to admit I’m more than a little disappointed in their luck-luster treatment of this nothing-but-fun holiday.

So, this Halloween, I was left to live vicariously through Mouse.  As I was getting ready for work this afternoon, he was prepping for his big night out.  And, even though he was merely copying an old costume, I was a little jealous.  I love dressing up.  I also love big nights out.  But instead of joining in the fun, I was readying myself for another afternoon of cleaning poo.  I definitely got the short end of the stick on this one.  (No fair!)  I guess this is one of the prices I am doomed to pay for my Australian adventure.  No Halloween.  Who would have guessed?

The Itch I Had to Scratch

Why Australia?  I can’t even count the number of times I’ve been asked this question over the past year.  Potential employers quizzed me during interviews.  Family and friends queried when I told them our plans.  And everyone (coworkers, patients, everyone) I meet out here asks, often incredulously, stupefied I would leave the glitz and glamour of Las Vegas for sleepy Brisbane.  (Of course I have to remind them living in Vegas isn’t nearly as glamorous as one might imagine.) 

Why did I push for us to come here?  Why was I so determined?  Believe me, I’ve thought long and hard about this.  I’ve wracked my brain trying to figure out exactly what made coming here such a priority in my life.  I know things would be easier if it weren’t so important to me.  Life would be much simpler if I had been happy to continue on as per usual back home.  But that wasn’t enough for me.  I’m not sure why, but it just wasn’t.  Sure, I can cite logical motivations like professional development and life experience, but my need to come out here was driven by much more than any of that.  It started years before I even considered nursing school.  It came from somewhere deep inside, something I can only attribute to an innate restlessness and wanderlust.  Moving to Australia was an itch I absolutely had to scratch.

Maybe it was because Australia sounded so exotic.  Maybe I was taken in by the stereotypical images of sandy beaches and bodacious surfers.  Maybe I was just in love with the idea of it all.  Whatever the reason, coming out here was a priority for me.  I didn’t want to look back on my life and wish I had been brave enough to do something different.  I didn’t want to regret not taking the chance.

As I approach the nine-month mark, I have to wonder if it has been worth all of the stress, expense, and trouble.  Nothing has gone as planned and life out here certainly isn’t what I imagined.  But being here has helped cast a new light on my life.  I’ve learned so much about myself, and my relationship with Mouse.  I’ve learned what it feels like to be a foreigner.  I’ve experienced a different take on nursing.  I’ve formed incredible friendships.  And, most importantly, I’ve had a blast throughout all of it.  So, yes - it was worth it all.

Who Said You Could Have Fun Without Me?

It’s funny.  Today I was jealous of Mouse.  Here I am in Australia, one of the coolest locales imaginable, and I was jealous of him.  He called at the crack of my dawn, as I was sleepily getting ready for an early shift.  It was his Sunday afternoon, and he was enjoying a day of football and bottomless mimosas with some buddies at the local brewpub.  I could tell he was having a great time.  People were cheering in the background.  He sounded so relaxed and happy.  (A dozen mimosas will do that to you, though.)  And here I was, preparing myself for another day of multiple diaper changes.  No fair!  At that moment, he was having loads of fun and I was jealous.  What burned even more was that he was having all of this fun without me, and I cannot stand feeling left out.  While it was good to hear his voice, it was a slightly irksome way to begin my day.  As I drove to work and started my shift, all I could think about was him having a grand time without me.  Hmph! 

I knew that this was bound to happen.  It’s one of the pitfalls of being in a long-distance relationship.  I don’t really expect him to sit alone at home and pine away for me, just as he wouldn’t expect that of me.  It’s just that I want to be included in all of the fun.  I don’t want to miss out on anything.  But, for now, I have to reconcile with the notion that all of our fun must be had separately.  I also have to remind myself it won’t be like this forever.  So, I just have to suck it up and deal with it.  Besides, football Sundays will be there waiting for me when I finally make my way back home.

Let the Sun Shine!

Just when I had given up on the sun and relinquished myself to the constant rainfall… I woke up to a bright and shiny morning.  Hallelujah!  Sure, the wind was howling and it was quite nippy for a spring day, but the sun was out.  Quite frankly, at this point, I refuse to complain; I will take whatever bits of blue sky Mother Nature sees fit to toss us.  After more than three weeks of rain, anything is better than another overcast day.  I’ll gladly take the wind and chill if it gives me a chance to dry out.  It felt like a minor miracle to wake and see that the grey clouds and never-ending drizzle had finally dissipated.  (Yes – this is how thoroughly depressing the weather has been.)  This was the first day in a very long time I was actually excited to get out of bed.  More importantly, it was the first day in a long time I actually felt like I had a reason to get out of bed.  

Over the past few weeks, the rain had systematically sucked the life out of me.  Being cooped up in my little apartment for so many weeks left me feeling claustrophobic and despondent.  But today, I had energy.  Today, I jumped out of bed, slammed my coffee, and immediately headed across town to the West End Markets.  The wind made the open-air shopping a little tricky, but that didn’t matter.  It was still great to be outside and feel the sun on my face.  After that, I hit up the Valley Markets and a couple of new neighborhood boutiques I had been dying to check out.  I know none of it was exciting or flashy, but all I needed was a little bit of sunshine to make for a great Saturday.

Sticking Out Like a Sore Thumb

Tonight was another good girls’ night out.  Nothing extravagant - just a bunch of us out for dinner and drinks.  But what struck me, as I sat and observed everyone conversing around the table, was that I couldn’t understand a bit of the conversation.  Sure, I could catch a word here and there, but I couldn’t follow the overall conversation.  The accents were just too thick and the slang too prevalent for me to be able to follow along.  It was slightly mortifying.  After eight months, my ears should be trained.  I should be able to understand Aussie.  And there I was, feeling totally lost.  To be fair, most of the time, I have no problem processing the Aussie accent.  If someone speaks directly to me, I rarely have trouble understanding.  I may get hung up on the occasional slang term, but am usually able to put it into context and keep the conversation moving.  But, apparently, when you mix alcohol with gossiping women, I’m lost.  The conversation swirled around me, leaving me unable to absorb the majority of it.  Ugh!  So there I sat, feeling like a sore thumb sticking out amongst the others.  I felt so un-hip, so very American.  I was convinced everyone could see the look of stupor on my face, or, at least, notice my dumb silence.  Thankfully, if anyone did, they were gracious enough not to call me out on it.  But this experience makes me wonder when I will begin to feel like I fit in.  When will all of this feel less foreign?  I guess, as with everything else in life, only time will tell.

Eight Months and Counting

I’ve been gone for eight months.  EIGHT MONTHS!!!  It’s kind of surreal.   Eight months away from everything (and everyone) I know and love.  Most days, I’m fine with it.  But there are definitely moments of weakness when I succumb to my homesickness.  These are the day I miss home.  These are the days I actually think about what I’m missing out on.

After eight months, I miss…

Good Mexican food

Goldfish crackers

String Cheese

Ben & Jerry’s

Bagel Sandwiches

Anthropologie

J Crew

Victoria’s Secret

My friends

My family

Training for triathlons (I can’t afford a bike out here)

Cheap drinks

Good microbrew beer

A nice, big, California Cabernet Sauvignon

Driving on the right side of the road

American nursing

Mouse (even though it’s only been 6 weeks since I’ve seen him)

The Rocky Mountains

The Sierra Nevada Mountains

Zion National Park

Mt. Charleston

Red Rocks

The American Southwest

Canyoneering

Climbing

Hiking a 14-er

Target (the Aussie version is a pale comparison)

Whole Foods Market

Please don’t misunderstand; my life out here is good.  Being out here has been (and continues to be) an amazing experience, but I do miss home.  I miss the creature comforts and familiarity of it all.  I miss a sense of belonging.  But that’s what this adventure has been about: broadening my horizons, venturing into the unknown, and going outside of my comfort zone.  I’m proud of myself for doing all of that.  But, right about now, I would give anything for a pint of Chunky Monkey.

So Over It

Ugh.  Another day of rain.  Considering I was over this never-ending wetness a couple of weeks ago, I’m beyond over it now.  It is seriously beginning to affect my mood and motivation.  Where is this awesome Aussie spring I’ve heard so much about?  I’m sick of being stuck indoors, but even more sick of getting soaked every time I venture outdoors.  Even running in the rain is beginning to lose its charm.  My only consolation is that I’m in the midst of working my obligatory overnight shifts and these grey skies make for great sleeping weather.  Still, it’s fairly depressing to wake up to nothing but damp gloom, day after day.  This dreary weather is sucking every last bit of energy out of me, making it nearly impossible to pull myself out of bed.  All I want to do is throw the blankets over my head and burrow deeper into sleep.  I would give anything for a slice of blue sky at this point.  But all I can do is hope and pray that Mother Nature will show Brisbane a little mercy and grace us with clear skies soon.  (Or, at least by the time I have my days off.  I would really like some nice weather for my weekend!)

Some Time to Myself

This may seem strange, especially considering how often I mention missing him, but I’m beginning to have fun being out here on my own.  Don’t get me wrong, I do miss him, but I’m starting to appreciate soloing it for a while.  Without him, my life out here is a whole new experience.  I’m a single girl again (kind of) and get to do all of the fun, girly things I miss when I’m part of a couple.  Sure, my nights are lonely, but I’m discovering there are benefits to this single-ish life.  I can watch chick flicks, grab drinks with the girls, and go clothes shopping without catching any grief.  I can eat gelato for breakfast and cereal for dinner.  (And don’t forget the pumpkin!  I have been the queen of pumpkin-eaters since his departure!)  I get to be selfish and spend my time exactly how I want to.  After living as a couple for so long, it’s kind of refreshing to have this freedom.  It’s nice to be able to make some of this experience solely about me.  Of course, I have days when no amount of freedom or gelato can make up for his absence.  Those are the days I have a hole in my heart the size of the Outback.  But those days are becoming less frequent.  The loneliness is slowly dissipating and is giving way to happiness.  I may not feel this way if our separation was indefinite, but it’s not.  So, for now, I can see the good in this experience and be thankful for the little joys it brings me.  I can enjoy my cocktails, shopping, and cereal, knowing this time is special and won’t last forever.  Because, before I know it, I’ll have to stop thinking like a me and go back to being a part of we.

Running in the Rain

I know I’ve been whining about the weather quite a bit lately.  I’m sorry.  It’s just that all of the drizzle and wetness is getting to me.   This nonstop rain is quite possibly rotting my brain.  I’m somewhat convinced being constantly damp has resulted in some form of exotic mold planting roots in the sulci of my frontal lobe and sending me into a minor depression.  I hate this weather.  I dream of the sun and it’s elusive warmth.   I long for clear, blue skies.  But, if I were pressed to find a silver lining in these charcoal grey cumulous clouds, I have to admit this has been great running weather. 

There is something soothing and relaxing about running in the rain.  It forces me to leave my iPod behind and listen to the cadence of my own breath.  It demands awareness of my surroundings, lest I slip and fall.  The feel of the raindrops on my face is refreshing and comforting, as if they are encouraging me to forge on, begging me not to stop.  This is the only time I don’t mind the wetness.  In fact, I relish it.  Somehow, it makes me feel like more of a runner, like someone so dedicated to my craft that no amount of poor weather could deter me from my goal.  I feel stronger, more alive.  I see the river churn and the pedestrians dash for cover, but I am happy to continue on, rain be damned.  So, while I pine for brighter days, at least I can take solace in these runs.

Flying Solo

It’s October.  October 4^th, to be exact.  I can barely believe it.  October means I’ve been gone for eight months now.  October also means that Mouse has been away from me for a full month, leaving me to continue this Aussie experience solo.  There are moments, even entire days, when I miss him so acutely it hurts.  These are the times I ache for him and wish with every bit of my being that he could magically appear, even if only for a moment.  After living together for so many years and being a part of each other’s everyday lives, it’s strange to wake up to an empty bed and come home to a silent house.  I miss his smell.  I miss his voice.  I miss all the intimate details that are so easily taken for granted when you’re with a person day in and day out.  But then I have good days.  These are the days when the loneliness dulls, allowing the rest of my life to brighten.  These are the days when I can appreciate my surroundings and see the value in having this time to myself.  These are the days when I truly feel happy.  My time in Oz won’t last forever, and neither will our separation.  Soon enough, life will return to normal and all of this will become a faded memory.  In the meantime, I need to be mindful to be thankful for the present and all of the amazing experiences it's providing, despite his absence.  Because, believe me, I am having fun.

Rain, Rain, Go Away

It has been raining non-stop for over a week now.  I’m not kidding.  It’s possible we may have been granted the occasional break in cloud cover, but not for long.  Mostly, it’s been a variation between grey and drizzly or grey and pouring down sheets of rain.  I’m trying to remember the last time I actually saw the sun, but am having a difficult time doing so.  The weather has been dreary and abysmal for so long, I’m beginning to forget what it’s like to feel the sun on my face.  It’s supposed to be spring, but all we’re getting is constant wet, and this weather is taking its toll on everyone.  We’re growing grumpy, claustrophobic, and restless. 

Today, a few of us girls couldn’t take being shut-in any longer, so we made the two-hour trek down the coast to the Byron Bay markets, hoping for a slight reprieve from the rain.  No such luck.  We arrived to find ourselves in a torrential downpour so persistently vindictive that it had shut down the markets for the day.  We were crushed.  We stuck around to browse the shops around town, but just ended up feeling like drown rats.  Yuck!  As much as I enjoy shopping, it’s tough to have fun while being accosted by raindrops the size of marbles.  This weather sure knows how to suck the pleasure out of everything.  So, I’m back to taking shelter in my apartment, watching the rain put a damper on the outside world.  I’m trying to stay positive by dreaming of better weather, but the forecast doesn’t look too promising.  Bummer.

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.

Oops!

I should have known better.  I woke with an uneasy feeling this morning, but shrugged it off.  Still, my subconscious wouldn’t let it go.  Are you sure you aren’t working an early shift today?  Exhausted, I checked the clock again and reminded myself that I had double-checked my planner last night.  I was definitely scheduled to work the late shift, which meant I wasn’t due at the hospital until 1pm.  Content with that thought, I rolled over and snoozed a little longer.  Besides, I reasoned, my body clock always gets out of whack when I switch up my shifts.  I had worked an early the day before, so I wasn’t surprised my mind was playing tricks on me.  I chalked it up to shift-worker’s paranoia. 

It wasn’t long before the phone rang.  It was Mouse calling for our daily chat.  (My 6am is his 1pm.)  After that, I was up, ready to make my coffee and start the day.  It was a lazy beginning to my morning, which I thoroughly appreciate.  I relish the luxury of having this time to myself, of being able to enjoy a cup of coffee (albeit instant) before my run.  This is why I appreciate my evening shifts.  I don’t mind getting home a little late if it means I can start my day as I please. 

Unfortunately, as it turns out, this wasn’t meant to be one of those days.  It wasn’t long before my calm was interrupted again. This time, it wasn’t Mouse.  Instead, the person on the other end was female.  More specifically, my charge nurse was calling.  I knew straight away.  Crap!  I could have kicked myself.  I wrote down the wrong time in my planner.  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes” was all I could blurt out.  My face was flushed and I broke into cold sweats.  I don’t deal well with guilt.  My day had just gone from idyllic leisure to panicked craze.  Ugh!  But, I supposed, that’s what I get for ignoring my intuition.

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.

Oh Oprah!

Oprah is coming to Australia!  Big deal, you may be thinking.  Such news is barely worth a yawn in the states.  Not here in Australia.  This is the biggest news to hit the magical land of Oz all year.  Seriously.  Everyone is atwitter.  All of the news programs and talk show hosts are gushing about it non-stop.  I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.  After all, it wasn’t that long ago that a condemned children’s tree house was the top news story of the week.  (People seriously had their panties in a bunch over that one!)  I get that Australia is a little isolated and starved for any real news.  Typically, the headlines have something to do with some footy player making a drunken fool of himself.  So, I really shouldn’t be surprised Oprah’s impending visit is the biggest thing since Vegemite.  But do I really need to see another interview with her wearing that ridiculous bush hat?  Does she have any idea no one but Crocodile Dundee actually wears those things?  (Reminder - he's a fictional character!)  It’s embarrassing.  Thanks for playing into the stereotypes, Oprah.  I’m just praying that something else comes along soon to steal her thunder, because I can't take much more of this.  (Who am I kidding?  It’s going to take a lot more than a drunken footballer to overshadow Oprah!)

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.