Sunday, April 3, 2011

One Year Later...

Today is April 3rd. Countless times yesterday I found myself staring at the date, knowing that it held some grand significance, aware that I was probably missing a national festival, an important birthday, or other such event. But no, this morning, while sitting here in 'Bubbles' cafe with my second cappuccino, amazed at the number of thin-as-a-rake people that can order and scoff a full English breakfast with seemingly no consequence, I realise that I have now been away from Perth for one year and one day.

The second of April - I spent weeks and weeks last year, petrified, watching as the calendar crept closer and closer to D-Day. I vividly remember a moment of weakness around one week before I left, hysterically telling my work-friend, Clare, that 'I don't even really like camping! And I definitely don't like cycling!' A funny thing to be experiencing on the eve of a year-long round-Europe cycling and camping adventure.

I've been waiting for the right time to divulge my self-discoveries: Discovering what is truly important to me; discovering what really makes me happy (and unhappy); Discovering what it is that makes my relationship with my husband work; Discovering what it is that makes me me, despite where I am, what I am doing and who I am with. And believe me, no one was more surprised by some of these revelations than me.
You're not going to get everything - I have to save some things for just myself. But I will share with you a couple that surprised me:


1. The degree to which my happiness (I use this word in its most Dalai Lamic sense) is related to my self image.

One of the reasons I was looking forward to this trip so much was to 'reset' my self-image. If I had to wear lycra all day every day, and my only out-of-lycra-option was some daggy ill-fitted (but light, quick-drying and functional!) shorts with a thermal top, and if I brought no make-up with me, and my hair was forever helmetted and therefore disastrous, then surely it would be only a matter of time before I would be happy with what I had and with what I was.

This was a terrible plan.

I am not someone to wear a lot of make-up, to get manicures, to wear fancy shoes (or any shoes over $20) or to have a wardrobe full of dresses. But I do tend to put on some mascara before going to the shops, and I do consistently worry about how much my hips are accentuated. And so, take away any possibility of feeling pretty (well, let's not get carried away. Let's just say 'not hideous') and I am truly miserable. I develop complete social phobia and feel that no-one can possibly look my direction without laughing or feeling sympathetic. I mean, I am more than happy in jeans and a black t-shirt, but when this is not even possible, and I must expose my legs, no matter how much of a 'fat day' I am having, and I can't cover those pimples, it is a recipe for hysterics.

I bought myself some jeans. And somehow budgeting this into our 50-dollar-a-day-for-absolutely-everything budget was not an easy task. But for me, it was as necessary as putting a cast on a broken arm. Now I wear what makes me happy. And, inevitably, it seems to be jeans and a black t-shirt.


Cooking dinner in my 'fancy clothes'



2. The importance of food. Not as fuel, but as something that brings joy.

Funny how this and number 1 are so intrinsically linked and yet also so contradictory. I needed to (and still need to) remind myself the only comparison I had was Duncan, who is some kind of ultra-human beast who can conquer anything 'just for fun', and who still thinks that one of the greatest meals of his life was his turkey-spam and strawberry jam sandwich that he made on his hike through the Bungle-Bungles. I, on the other hand, simply cannot fathom the thought of a breakfast of four-day-old rock-hard bread rolls with stolen jam-packets that have burst and half the contents are oozing out. And I always always always wanted to cook a nice dinner. Bread with jam for dinner is not an option, darling. ;)

3. What a clean-freak I am.

I can hear you all laughing from here. Me? A clean freak? I must be joking! I have forever claimed to be the messiest person I know, but something switched inside of me. Seriously switched. I suppose it's the difference between being 'messy' and being 'dirty'. And when you only have such few things to keep clean, and when them being dirty is a serious health hazzard, I am a freak. But Mum, if you could see me with that hand-sanitiser and those baby-wipes, you would have been proud.

I suppose that's about it for now. Back to my Real Writing.

Oh, one last thing - you want to know the secret to a happy relationship when one ridiculously-fit-avid-cyclist decides to take his new unfit-overweight-self-conscious-non-cyclist wife on a six-month life-changing cycling and camping adventure? Just tell each other you love each other all the time. All the time. It can do wonders :)

True love :)