Gayblog, Life, Opinion, Thoughts

Life’s Conflicts.

The biggest conflict in my life today is my job situation, or currently lack thereof. In more of an expanded sense, I have a conflict of identity and purpose.

 

I simply don’t know what I want to do with my life.

 

I don’t know what I am talented at. I don’t know what I enjoy doing which could bring me some prosperity in my life.

 

I look on to those who have had a clear sense of purpose in regards to their career and what they want to do with their life, and I feel an acute sense of envy. And that sucks. Envy is such a debilitating thing. I try my best to let it wash over me like a wave, or if I see the wave of envy coming toward me, I’ll dive under it, pass through, let it go over me, and I’ll rise back up, unaffected.

 

I wish I was that person who studied hard from an early age and knew they wanted to study law or medicine for instance. They may have had this in their mind from perhaps age ten upwards, and kept this goal, studied hard and maybe forewent all the things that make adolescence a little bit fun [sex drugs rock n roll and all that], and instead kept their heads down and made it, and became what they worked hard at doing.

 

I also wish I was that person who wasn’t academically inclined, always struggled at school from a young age, graduated and fell into a trade, and now have burgeoning and successful businesses which means they get to enjoy their lives and not worry about things like money and rent.

 

Right now, I just don’t know what I have to offer to anyone. I really don’t.

 

And it’s been something that has plagued me for over a decade and a half since I graduated school.

 

I used to think I wanted to be a photographer. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the creativity of it, the fact that I was world-building. Fusing a story and narrative and weaving them into something marvellous. Creating something from my mind’s eye into reality was the core of what I absolutely loved about photography.

 

It was this act of creation that pulled me towards this art, and what made me fell in love.

 

Somewhere along the way, however, I lost this passion. I lost the love. It slowly faded and died, turning into a dry husk of what was once vibrant and alive. I turned my back on this art form, bitter and let down, both by my own failures at it, and the fact that it just wasn’t appearing to work out for me.

 

Each new shoot became less fun. Each time haggling with clients over pay became less fun. Receiving less and less money from clients became less fun, as was the expectations in terms of ever-increasing workload. Exposure for the work we did slowly became the industry standard, and I hated it.

 

I get saddened over the fact that I lost this great love I once had. I really don’t think I’ll get it back. I’ve had seven months worth of time here in San Francisco to start shooting portraits, yet inevitably I’m drawn away elsewhere. Why is this? Maybe it’s that venomous interior that I sense when I equate my photography past to present. Perhaps I just don’t enjoy it all.

 

So, here I am in the unenviable position of being 34, not qualified for much at all, and unsure as to what I should be doing. Or what I want to be doing. I’m extremely lucky to be able to live in a vibrant place such as San Francisco, and have the opportunity to move here from home [I remind myself of this daily], and I’m the first to say I’m privileged to be able to live in this country due to my nationality, and the hard work of my husband, who through his determination and sheer talent, has meant we are here.

The fact is however, I feel like a bit of a transparent ghost sometimes. Drifting in and out. Haunting spaces in an in-between dimension of purgatory, with no real purpose.

 

What do I do? Which direction is good for me, and something that will bring me some kind of career and prosperity? Do I try to seriously pursue my writing? Do I try to revive from the proverbial dead my photography?

Do I keep applying for those mediocre crappy jobs that I know I won’t enjoy and don’t get any response to anyway, yet would bring that much-needed money in?

 

I definitely sense that I’m in a rut. That I’m simply running on neutral, and spinning the wheel.

 

I hate that I’m always in this situation, and I know it concerns the other half. I get scared about it. I tend to worry a fair bit about it, and this overpowers my drive to search out new work or pin down what I should be doing here in this town, and with my life.

I don’t want to miss out on enjoying life here and seeing this great country and travelling. I don’t want to feel like a failure and disappointment to myself anymore.

 

This is the biggest conflict in my life today. Yet, I still know something great will be around the corner, and this faint light of hope and faith in the future, and myself, is what keeps me going.

 

 

What’s the biggest conflict in your life today?

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Gayblog, Life, Thoughts

The Dumbest Thing I’ve Ever Done.

The dumbest thing I’ve ever done is something that I regret, after almost twenty years.

Its nothing major, just one of those things in life that you do and that later on in life you question yourself. Why did I do this, why did I not listen to my conscience, and what would have happened had I not done this, made this decision and how would my life look now?

 

In all honesty, had I gone in the other direction in this choice, the chances are most likely that I would not be sitting here in San Francisco writing this. I would have never met my boyfriend turned husband, and my life may have looked very different.

I sometimes think on this, and wonder what kind of person I would be. Who would I hang out with, who would I date, where would I live, what would the relationships with my family and loved ones be like in this alternate world?

 

This choice, which since I made it at the young age of 17, is still something which haunts me, and rears its head at times. It wasn’t something that I thought much on at the time, but it is a choice that I consider after all these years to be particularly dumb, and one that took me out of where I could see I should have gone, and sidetracked me for years.

 

The dumbest thing I’ve ever done was listen to my father when he said he wouldn’t let me study the photography course at a great visual arts university back in Sydney in 2001 when I graduated high school.

 

It was my top pick in all the degrees I selected, and I recall being so excited and anxious about it as a possibility.

 

Being asked to make important decisions about life at the age of 17 is absolutely heinous in my opinion.

 

I know this may seem like something that is inconsequential and just a bit first world problems, and that I was never in any physical danger, but I consider my listening to my overbearing and strict father in this instance to be the dumbest thing I have ever done.

 

Because of it, I missed out on what could have been a great opportunity for me, especially as a wide-eyed kid from suburban Rhodes in the outskirts of Sydney’s Inner West. To be thrown into such an explosion of creativity could have done wonders for me at such a young age. I missed out on what potentially could have been a colourful and exciting time, a time for experimentation, evolution and growth. I honestly feel that I could have been excited about life, and not to mention had met some great people, and been a part of something.

 

I regret having listened to my dad for these reasons, and because of it I decided to take the 2nd choice, which was studying Communications at the same University as my sister, at the University of Western Sydney. A far cry from the buzzing with artistic energy inner-city campus of COFA in Surry Hills, the campus I went to was spread over acres of grassland and bush, and yes there were kangaroos sometimes. It felt a bit sparse. It was a far cry from the busy halls of COFA. I recall going to visit friends studying at the lush and busy University of Sydney and having pangs of envy.

 

Luckily, however, I met some new friends and became close to them. They were great people and I counted myself very fortunate to have made some friends there. There was, truthfully, at times a disconnect, however. Clearly I came from a super-Middle Class background, complete with a private education, something of which I recall my uni friends ribbing me about, and justifiably.

 

The truth was, however, that my heart wasn’t in it. What was a 3 year degree turned into a 4 and a half degree for me. I failed classes, I never showed up, preferring to stay home in bed till 2pm, I deferred for a half a year as I was simply bored of it all and would have rather worked more, paid my rent and sat around during the week.

 

Adding on to this the fact that my parents were going through a [verging on violent] divorce, me coming out as gay, working crap jobs in restaurants with touchy-feely relatives and not to mention a whole lot of undiagnosed depression, meant that academically, I was quite a lost soul. It’s a wonder I even managed to graduate.

 

I recall finally finishing this degree, and not even bothering to attend the graduation. I missed the cutoff to go.

 

I really didn’t give a shit at all, to be honest. By this point I had lost any and all interest in the degree and what I was studying and that university. I was back at my old family home now with only dad living there as mum had left. All my friends had graduated and moved on. It felt really lonely being there, at uni and being back home. It wasn’t a great time for me.

 

The thing is, however, had I not attended this course and listened to my dad, I would never have then gone on to study at the small arts college in North Sydney about a year or two from finishing my previous degree.

 

I finally got the chance to study what I wanted, and to be in a creative environment.

 

And, it’s also where I met my now husband, who I’ve been with for 9 years now.

 

I guess there’s a reason for everything. I’m not one for religious faith, but perhaps in this case it wasn’t the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, but perhaps maybe the best thing I’ve ever done.

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2018, America, Opinion, Thoughts

Media Deprivation

This week, as part of my Artist’s Way book course, [which is a self-guided course in creative rejuvenation and recovery], I underwent what is termed as a ‘Media Deprivation’ week.

Media Deprivation could be thought of as the ‘Digital Detox’s’ cousin; similar in many respects, with similar aims and justifications for what they do, but with a slight difference in each.

So what is a Media Deprivation, you may ask?

It’s any stretch of time without any taking in of media of any sort. Kinda like a fast for your mind.

So, no reading. At all.

This is the big point that the author makes. She wants us all to stop taking in information and consuming, and start producing. Instead of reading a novel, she would have us write instead. Or paint, or jog or exercise, take up a class in language, etc. And no news means having to actually get your information from a person, not a newspaper, website or social media site, with the hopes of re-engaging with live people.

No tv, no films, no visual media at all.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about this. I was feeling quite apprehensive. To me, all of these things are so important to most, if not all of us. Many of us rely upon social media for their livelihood, not to mention keeping in touch with loved ones and family, and most of all, for entertainment.

Believe me, I love nothing more than spending hours on Youtube watching anything and everything or wasting time on Facebook and Twitter.

And, at this point of view after having completed this Media Deprivation week, I see that I personally waste so much time on these things, not getting up to much at all.

 

So, how was it?

 

I hated it. At least at the start. The first 2 or so days felt as though I had been crushed by an anvil and deflated of any sort of emotion besides panic and boredom. I didn’t know what to do with myself besides continue on with my job hunt, write and journal, or go out for walks about town and sit in parks with my trusty journal or camera.

I felt resentful. I felt downcast and frustrated as well as panicked in those first few days. I could sense my mood darkening as I struggled to make sense of what I was to do with myself to occupy my time, and more importantly, my mind.

But, after this initial period of confusion, I did begin to notice some change. As I grew to accept the fact that I couldn’t simply google something I didn’t know, I would jot it down on a piece of paper to ask my husband when he got home. We would sit and talk, and he would look things up or inform me of things going on.

I couldn’t sit around and waste time on Youtube, so I wrote instead. It became easier for me to sit down and just start writing or typing. Anything. It didn’t have to be of any magnitude. It didn’t have to be Shakespearean prose. I just had to get writing. I began to think, ‘well, if I can’t read, I may as well be writing something’.

I noticed that my conversations with people became slightly more enriched, as I wasn’t constantly reaching for my phone and being distracted by it and its constant notifications. I was able to look people in the eye with clarity and not look away in shyness.

I felt lighter and a touch better about myself as I wasn’t going on dating apps or on Insta, with its endless parade of gorgeous gay men to make my spirits deflate.

By Wednesday I felt almost giddy as I got dressed and went to perform at the opera that night. A lightness came over me, as though I could do anything, as I skateboarded up to the grand old SF Opera house.

In the dressing room, where I would usually be stuck on my phone waiting for the call to head up on stage to perform, I instead sat there and just took it all in. The way the room looked, the heat of it as it was underground and stuffy, the fantastic costumes sitting on their racks, the din of my fellow supernumerary extras chatting away. All minor details that I may have missed, and that soon enough I would as it was my second last performance. I thought that I may never be back here so be sure to take it all in now.

I spoke to one of my compatriots, who upon asking me how I was, I responded with my being on a media deprivation week and it being a challenge. His eyes lit up and he made note that my attention and spirits seemed far more present than usual, as he noticed that I tended to be on my phone quite a bit.

We chatted briefly upon the merits of media deprivation and digital detoxes as means for clearing out the mind and helping one be aware of their usage of social media, and the repercussions thereof. He too had done some similar work and found it to be challenging yet engaging and of worth.

The next night, I attended my very first Baseball game.

I felt exhilarated and most importantly at all, present. The lights somehow shined brighter, the colours appeared far more vivid and the noise of the crowds heightened.

 

By the weekend, [which was San Francisco Pride], I felt pretty great. I’d not been on Facebook or Twitter the whole week and felt no compunction to check back in, I kept my checking on emails to a minimum and I had logged out of the apps; I enjoyed a weekend of sipping beers in sunny, packed with people Dolores park with friends; attending the Trans march, and dancing the night away.

 

The lesson that I learned from this week was that we have killed collectively the idea of ‘boredom.’.

 

We are always stimulated, much of the time overly, if not terminally, so.

We are bombarded every day, every moment from when we wake to when we sleep with imagery, sounds, visuals and new fads and memes and celebrity gossip and bad news over and over in wave after wave.

 

It feels like some kind of dystopian sci-fi nightmare sometimes. I often wonder what someone from any point up to the early 1990’s would make and think of our world today, and how we are quite addicted to social media.

Just slightly jiggling out of this all for just even a week was like taking a great big breath of fresh mountain air.

It has made me aware of how I consume and use media, specifically social media. Of how much time I waste there, how much of my life is there, and how it has caused the death of boredom. Of how neglectful I can be of interpersonal relationships.

 

Believe me, I know I won’t get rid of social media for a very long time, if at all. It is all something we do really need, and it has made our lives all the better in many ways.

 

Perhaps I’ll make it a more prolonged experience in future.

 

Still, I recall as a kid mum always saying ‘only boring people are boring’. She was kind of right, as I would always go back to my mainstays of reading or playing with lego or going bike riding down the park back in those pre-internet days of the early 1990’s. The point was, I always managed to find something to occupy my time without just simply consuming passively.

 

This last week, I found boredom to be a good thing.

It got myself busy, it got me to be more productive, thoughtful and importantly, social with everyone I came in contact with.

 

It helped me to see life a little more clearer, and to be a bit mindful of how I use all of this technology, as we’re all people underneath this shroud of social media, and I feel we are easy to forget this.

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2018, Gay, Gayblog, Life, Opinion

The Person I Want To Become

It can be great to think of the kind of person you want to be, and picture that image framed in your mind’s eye, and hold it as a kind of fuzzy objective.

However. Your mind can wander out of focus and enter the enchanted lands of fantasy, far removed from reality when picturing the ideal that you want for yourself. It can intoxicate and drug you, and leave you disappointed with your reality.

I find it both alluring yet galling, pondering on the type of person I imagine I want to become. There is an inherent sense of unreality when you think about what kind of person you wish to be in the future. And a sense of dread and fear that you may never reach this pinnacle of ideal.

Naturally, you would want to be the best version of yourself in the future that you can possibly be. This might be different for us individually, but I’m sure most if not all of us want to be successful and prosperous, fit and healthy, wise yet humble and yeh why not, attractive, both in personality and soul.

I feel as though out there somewhere in this world, or a parallel one just mirroring ours, there’s another version of me of whom embodies those qualities above.

He’s confident in himself and his abilities. He smiles more than I do. He hates himself far less than I do, and in fact isn’t too proud to admit that he loves himself. Obvs, not in an egotistical kind of way. More the way someone who exudes self-confidence would be able to make that sort of self-acknowledgement.

The person I want to become is successful both in terms of career as well as personal life. He works a job, or better yet, has a career that he enjoys which also happens to keep him comfortable in life. He doesn’t worry or stress about his financial situation, and is savvy when he needs to be, thrifty yet not a miser.

He is generous to a fault to those he loves and holds dear, yet is a good judge of character, and has no problem standing up to himself when he perceives he is done wrong by. He is an ardent believer in loyalty being the number one quality and virtue in a friendship or relationship, yet will be able to deal in a fair and adult manner when he feels a friendship is not being reciprocated.

This personage of the future goes to the gym regularly, looks after himself and eats well. He likes being social and goes out, and doesn’t suffer from anything as silly as social anxiety which has made past Alessandro fill with fear and stay home, missing out on at times a lot of fun.

He is calm and collected, and doesn’t have anymore negative dialogue in his mind which once plagued his mind. He sleeps and rests fully at night, and will more often than not get a full night’s sleep.

This is the kind of person I want to become. Basically a pastiche of all the things I see in people I know, like or admire.

 

And yes, an amalgamation of pretty much every self-help book I’ve come across and read.

Which is quite a bit.

I know that this person would come across perhaps as too perfect, however. Maybe he’s just the end sum and total of the concepts and ideals of what I want to be, but not a whole package in terms of what makes up a person.

If there’s anything I’ve learnt over the past few years, it’s that our imperfections make us who we are. The imperfections form our character and that thing that makes us special. It’s the little scars, the wrinkles, the furrowed brows or laughter lines and that lived experience and foibles we all have that make us the best we can be, however.

This then, is the person I want to become. Not perfection manifested, a character akin to an old family sitcom or worse yet a character from a Brett Easton Ellis novel, but a person trying their best, and doing their best in life.

What kind of person do you want to become?

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Homesickness.

I’ve been here in San Francisco 6 months now. I can’t believe it’s been this long.

 

So missing things from home sometimes is a part of my life. I know that this will come and go, some days I won’t miss a thing, and that I’m doing well here, and starting to get my life moving by getting out more and trying new things.

But there are going to be moments when I miss things. Or people, or places.

Being homesick kinda really does suck. A few months back it really peaked. I would sit there and think about home and daydream I was back there, with those that I loved. I would tear up a little. I would picture myself on a Saturday waking up with the hubby and going downstairs to the cafe that we lived above, sitting with a Flat White and tucking into an overpriced poached eggs and avocado breakfast.

The sun would shine, and we would contemplate on what to do that day. Perhaps we’d run back up to our flat, grab towels and and sun block and organize with friends to hit the beach and soak in those rays.

Maybe we would traipse through the city and check the town out and look at shops. Perhaps we would just take it easy and stay home, or go out west and visit family.

 

I do miss the ease that living in Sydney provided.

 

I find that I’m really learning to curb this kind of thought process, which is basically fantasizing and for the short term helpful as a calming salve for the mind as it were, but absolutely detrimental to the mind if continued. I have so much here in SF to look forward to. That’s the big thing I’ve started learning lately. Changing your mind and being more open and thoughtful by cutting out those thoughts in your mind that will bring you back down to a negative state. Fuck I sound like a bad self help author. But it’s the truth of the matter.

 

I’ve actually done great the last couple months to be honest. San Francisco is slowly becoming my home. Despite the jolting changes, the way things are done so differently [so fucking differently], and the change in lifestyle here, I am making my way steadily to making this place a home. And it will be. I don’t intend on coming back to Sydney for some time, yet I will at times get some pangs of sadness and homesickness.

 

Some days, this town really makes me wanna just take a sledgehammer to it and knock the whole fucking thing down. Even today. Finding a job has proven to be a challenge for instance. Internally I’m screaming at how and why things are the way they may be and why it couldn’t be done a different way, but hey this is how life and the world works. If everything was the same, it would be a dull place indeed.

 

This is probably the most challenging, toughest thing I have ever done. Yet, I know I’m getting stronger [*cue Britney], and that each day I’m getting to know this town more and more, and becoming accustomed to it incrementally.

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2018, America, Gay, Gayblog

6 months later…

It’s been six months since we moved here to the US, and this past week I’ve felt really up and down. I guess as we’ve reached that six month mark I can;t help but reflect, and as humans we tend to frame our lives through measurements of time.

I’ve felt up as the weather is becoming great; the sky is clearer, the sun is out and little by little there seems to be a bit of warmth in the air. Not much as yes, this is San Francisco, and as I continually get educated by the locals, there is no Summer here. Again and again I seem to be told this.

However, Spring slowly seems to be encroaching upon us, little feelers slowly creep in. A flower blooms in the park, a leaf grows on a tree outside our flat in the drab back alley.

The seasons are changing, and its a good thing to see. We came to San Francisco right in the middle of a blustery and grey Winter. It really did seem to colour our time here initially. I can see that in hindsight. We can learn so much from looking back, and looking back to our first couple months here, I see that we really did struggle.

I sometimes wonder what it would have been like, had we moved here at this time of the year, or perhaps in the middle of Summer, when everything is at its heightened best, and more things are happening. Perhaps we would’ve dealt with the change of moving countries much better than we did, perhaps not. All I know is that we moved at a particularly tough time, and now that the seasons are changing, my mood is perceptibly far loftier.

On the other side of things, I’ve felt a bit down as I still feel a bit purposeless here, having been waiting for my EAD which is a document which allows me to work here in the US to come through which took months.

However, that brings me to another stumbling block: I’m unsure of what I should do here, what job I should go after, and what it’ll be like to work here. I’ve now been out of work for almost six months so its going to be tough to readjust. I’m genuinely quite anxious about this. But, I will deal with it when I get to this.

The other big thing is I’ve also started as a volunteer extra in the opera. Which is fucking mental to be honest. I never thought I would be an on-stage extra in a professional production. I’m literally acting and running and even tumbling around on stage with professional opera singers, decked out in costumes. Crazy. As is the giant blue bruise featured on my right butt cheek from all the tumbling.

Doing something like going to an audition on a whim and getting it, and being a part of an opera is something so unlike me to do. I have never acted in my life. I’ve really tried my best to say yes more the last few months. I do this in order to grow and to experience as much in this town as I can. I’ve tried my hardest to get out and experience more and not hole myself in my flat too much. Although I still have days where I do just that.

I’m really glad I took a chance and applied to audition for the opera. It is something so unlike me that the Sydney version of me would never have done. I’m happy I didn’t just pike out and not turn up like the voice in my head was telling me to do on the day of the audition.

And that’s the thing really. This whole endeavor of moving here to the US has taught me that I need to consciously rally against that negative persona that sometimes comes to the fore in my mind. I have to willingly and purposefully fight against it, tell it to quiet down, and do the opposite of what it says. Otherwise I won’t get to do anything fun, and I’ll just be forever more in my comfort zone and miss out on so much.

The last six months have been so full of ups and downs. I’ve missed my home and family and loved ones; I’ve grappled with coming to a new country and city as well as the tasks of building a new home, a new life here.

Looking back, I start to see that I’ve done a great job of it. It has been a monumental task, but I can truly say I’ve made the most of it.

I sometimes feel like it’s almost like a strategy game that I’m playing. Like Civilization. I start with a small town, and after a while it grows and expands. Our little home here is like that. It’s a bit small now but it’ll grow month after month.

Our life here is like that. Right now it may be on the smaller side, but I know with each month as we become more established, it’ll grow more and more.

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2018, America, Gay, Gayblog, Life

Decision Making

What’s the biggest decision you’ve ever had to make? How did you make it? Was it the right choice?

 

The biggest decision I’ve ever had to make was to decide whether to go with my partner of 8 years to San Francisco, possibly for an indefinite time, or stay home in Sydney Australia. It’s really been the biggest, monumental and life-changing decision I have ever had to make. We’ve had to make. It was tough. It was draining.

 

It was also exciting and something to look forward.

 

It’s been just about six months since we moved. I still can’t believe that we’ve done this. I still can’t believe that I’m here. That we’ve made this seismic shift, this gigantic earth-shaking change that has indelibly transformed our lives. It’s not been easy. There have been second thoughts, concerns, arguments and fights.

Moving with a partner to another country is a very challenging thing, especially when you move so far from your home. Home for us isn’t a short plane trip away. So far from the familiar, from the known and from what is comfortable. You only have each other for support and guidance, and that can be quite a lot for just two people.

There are times when I miss my family, my home city and friends and logical family too. I’ll see a post on instagram and my heart breaks a little. Blue skies, beaches, Victorian terraces, pubs filled with people and queer parties where everyone looks so happy and bright.

We came to this decision after months and months of unending talks and discussions. Almost a year of back and forward in fact. We went over everything. Every possible outcome, scenario, issue and challenge. Pros and cons. At one point the entire thing was cancelled out as we thought it wasn’t going to happen.

We spoke and spoke and disassembled, had little tussles about it, and tried to be as honest to each other as we could. Even once it was all confirmed, we had months and months to go till we moved, as the move date kept getting pushed back. So yet more time to think and deliberate. Originally we were to move in April. Then May. Then September. And then finally November came around, and our ticket was bought. We had so much to do and take care of.

I remember the printed calendar I made and all the tasks we needed done for each day on little post-its.

No wonder we both felt so frayed and worn once we finally arrived here in SF. And in the middle of winter to add. We really don’t give ourselves enough credit.

 

Yes, at times, we have both questioned what we have done, and the choice we have made. The first few months here especially so. It felt as though we were thrown into a washing machine, spun around, rinsed repeat spun, then thrown out into this new and strange place.

We fought, we got on each others nerves, emotions became frayed as we tried our hardest, our best, to keep ourselves and our lives together. We tried hard to stay upbeat and positive, to get out more and meet people. It wasn’t easy at all. Again, really this move has been the hardest thing I personally have ever done, considerably so as I’m quite the reflective person. It is in my nature to think upon life, choices made and those encountered upon the way.

 

But, do I think this was the right choice we made, to come halfway across the world, and leave all those we love and all that we know?

 

Yes. In a heartbeat.

 

Sometimes I imagine what life would have been like if we stayed in Sydney, and the opportunity to move to America never came up. Life would be sublime. Comfortable. Bucolic. Fun. Always full of laughs and light and sun. That rhymed. I actually didn’t mean for it to.

 

But, nothing would have changed. I know this. I would have stayed in this comfort zone for such a long time. I feel as though my growth would have been stunted, and we would be in static. As much as I miss the place and the loved ones there [really I do], moving to another country and town has been the best thing for me. You need change in life in order to evolve and experience. Sometimes we need to be picked up and shook about.

 

My regret would be if we didn’t do this. The regret would be impossible for me to live with. I would hate myself for not giving it a go. I picture myself in this alternate world where we never moved, and I imagine myself living in San Francisco, and I can feel the envy.

I’m in the right place. I can feel this with every part of me, and I don’t regret our decision for a second.

 

What’s the biggest decision you’ve ever had to make?

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