Amy Tries Again


A wee bit ‘o sentimental reflection
December 17, 2012, 6:51 PM
Filed under: Miscellanea

In a few months, I will move to the other side of the world.  I’d tell you the date, but I don’t know it.  I had a decisively one-way ticket booked for January 16 – less than a month from now! – but then life and awesome performance stuff and the need for dentistry and a lack of frugal living happened, so now I’m waiting until May.  Late May.  Maybe early June.  There’s this comedy festival thing.  Oh, and then there’s this play that might be going ahead that I’d have a role in. Also, Impro Mafia’s doing some really, really exciting yet-to-be-announced stuff next year that that may or may not involve another city…

Ahrg.  My point is: sometimes I really don’t want to go away.  I like my life here a lot.  I have friends and family, an apartment of which I am extremely fond and a really excellent fish.  I have the opportunity to regularly flail my limbs and do silly voices.  Doors open for me, sometimes, slightly, in the realm of performance.  I tend to stick my head inside and have a look around before letting them creak shut again, but I think if I wedged my foot in the doorway and refused to budge, I might be able to get in there to stay.  I actually really enjoy my day (night) job most of the time.  I chip away at the degree that I haven’t quite managed to finish in awkward fits and starts.  I’m feeling pretty strong in the old brainpain, and I haven’t always felt that way.  In short: there is scope for expansion of my happiness, but I am happy.

I am moving to Scotland.  I cannot decide between Glasgow and Edinburgh.  Well, that’s a lie.  I’m absolutely, positively sure it’ll be Edinburgh, but then I felt exactly the same way about Glasgow a few weeks ago.  I’ve visited both, and think both could suit me, in different ways.  Thing is, the life I’d like to have over there is basically the life I have here, albeit with accents and cobblestones.  It would start with me sitting alone in a flat on the other side of the world, and I would have to piece it together from scratch.  That is scary.  It can definitely be done, but it is daunting.  I also can’t help but think that after all that effort, all that building, I’d be gone in a few years.  Home again, I presume.  On my return, the life I had in Brisbane would still be standing, but it would not be in good repair.  I’d have some work to do to make it fit again.  Perhaps this makes me a terrible adventurer: but is it worth it?

I must seem full of doubt.  Well, I am, but I’m going anyway.  I’ve been mentally glossing over my misgivings, but they’re quite real, and I think it’s helpful to look them square in the eye.  I will probably feel lonely when I am there.  I will want to come home sometimes.  That’s cool.  I’ll find a new impro troupe and make new friends. I’ll slip in the frost on some cobblestones and post a picture of the bruise on Facebook.  I’ll become at least 27% more Australian.  I’ll pop over to Slovenia (I really want to go to Slovenia).  I’ll see the name Currie everywhere and it won’t sound slightly silly like it does here.  I will delight in the strange brands in the supermarket (well, you know: globalisation and all that, but I’m sure there will be some).  I will go on a train journey into the highlands.  I’ll be in a bit of local community theatre.  I’ll toil in a Scottish law mine.  I’ll have a new apartment of which I can be extremely fond.  The taps will probably drip there, too.  Maybe I will have a Scottish fish.

I have a secret weapon, you know.  I know what not to do.  A few years ago, I lived overseas.  There were so, so very many wonderful things about it, but I was extremely naive and thought it would be easy.  I didn’t know that I’d have to work at building a life, and when one didn’t fall into my lap, I grew depressed.  I had support and help and the best intentions in the world, but it wasn’t enough.  I had assumed things would be perfect, and I couldn’t understand why everything hadn’t clicked into place.  I failed.  Despite some of the most amazing experiences of my life, this journey into the great wide somewhere did not end well.  When I returned home, my previous life was gone, too.  I’d discarded it, you see.  I didn’t think I’d need it any more.

Not this time.  I’ve constructed my life here, and it is who I am – but if I can take that me on grand adventures, well, that’s wonderful, and just what I would like to do.  Maybe I’ll get some wisdom.  Maybe I’ll change.  Maybe Scotland and I will get along so well that I’ll never want to come home.  Maybe I’ll be home in six months.  I’m working hard on reminding myself that all of these things are okay, and that it doesn’t have to be perfect to be worth doing.  At the risk of getting all Pixar, I don’t want to have NOT done it.

Besides…do you even KNOW how many dudes with Scottish accents there are in Scotland?  Damn.

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1 Comment so far
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How brave. I have a few “could haves but didn’t” You rock!

Barb.

Comment by Barb.




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