A lot has changed since I last posted. For one, I’m not in South Australia anymore. I’ve moved back to Queensland, alone. For the first time in more than eight years I am single – and for the second time in my adult life I’ve had to retreat to my parents’ to recover from a separation of shared lives (and housing). I am grateful that I even have the option, but as a 34-year-old, it all feels a bit heavier than it did when it happened the first time ten years ago. 

The break-up was amicable, but I think that no matter the ending, going from sharing your entire life with someone to sharing nothing – in an instant – is rough. You go to sleep next to the same person every night for almost three thousand consecutive nights and then you just… don’t. You share coffee every weekend morning under the sun on the patio, thinking nothing of it until one day it’s the last time you’ll ever do that together again. You are partners, then one of you drives out the driveway, turns the corner, and then you are not. You start seeing the barista more than the person you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with. It’s bizarre, though it happens all the time, and not only when we choose it to. And it’s heartbreaking. 

Early on in my relationship, I wrote an article about how to get over a break-up. So confident I was in my newfound love, I remember writing so keenly, as someone who had “made it” to the coveted Other Side, thinking I could give heartbroken others hope that, even though they may be crushed now, greater love lay ahead. Thinking back I can see that, while well-intentioned, it was silly of me to offer any kind of certainty in that respect, and equally silly of me to think that partnership is a goal in itself. Plus, it’s easy to tell someone they’ll find love when you’ve just done so yourself, just like it’s easy to tell someone they’re not likely to get bitten by a shark when you’re not the one getting in the water. No one can reassure you of a specific future.

This is also a good reminder that nothing we have now is guaranteed forever. 

So for the moment I’m back with my parents in the idyllic Cedar Pocket, which has been the perfect place to recover from heartbreak: the wraparound verandah is doused most mornings in sunlight and gives spectacular views over the mountains, where waves of light green paddock blend into dark green forest, and a dam shimmers to the east. Birdsong fills the air around me, a dog is snoring gently at my feet, and, my Dad being an excellent cook and it being the tail end of winter, something is often bubbling away on the stove for lunch or dinner. Today, it’s pumpkin soup.

I know I’ll be okay. I don’t really have a plan for anything at the moment, but I am finding joy in writing. I started a Substack, because, why not. If one day I can get paid doing it, that would be a dream.

My new hiking partner. Can you see him?
Proof of my okay-ness… I’ve been birdwatching loads. New favourites: red-backed and variegated fairywrens.

I hope you are keeping well.

Until next time,

E. xx