A thought from September...

I'd like to tell you a story. At the beginning of this year, I attended a party in Marrickville. It was a pretty nondescript night; I just sat in the garden and had a few beers and chatted topeople I didn't see all that much any more now that school was well and truly over. Nice, casual, relaxed. The party broke up relatively early - for reasons I can no longer remember - and all-to-soon everyone started to separate, wandering off in the direction of 'home'. A fewof us tried to 'keep the party going' by heading to a friend's house in Newtown but shortlyafter arriving, I said my goodbyes and left. I think that night marked my final acceptance of the inevitable deterioration of my most very close circle of friends - both due to geographica land other reasons - and I needed some air and some space to think.

I walked slowly though the streets of Newtown, streets I probably should have been weary of walking along so early in the morning, but streets that were so familiar to me I never even thought of it. At the top of Australia Street, despite my musing, I noticed an office wheelie cheer lying abandoned at the top of the hill. Those who know me well know my love for spinning wheelie chairs, and riding down hills, and so of course I was not able to resist seizing the opportunity to combine the two. At 3am, the streets were silent, save for the awkwardly loudscraping of gravel as I pulled the chair into a prime position in the middle of the road. (It didn't occur to me to just pick up the chair...) I sat down, and without a second thought - without weighing pros and cons, listing consequences, without even making a conscious decision - I kicked my feet off the ground and let gravity work its magic.

It felt like flying.

And as I flew, I also spun in circles; uncontrolled, unplanned, unanalysed. And I felt my speed pick up, and the wind through my hair, in my face, cutting through the muggy summer night. The world was a blur and I could hear myself laughing and my heart beating loudly over the deafening rumble of plastic on gravel.

I think that may be the most free I have ever felt.

But, as I came to a graceful (ha!) stop at the corner of my street, I heard pointed laughter. A couple taking a midnight stroll were laughing at my mode of transport (hey, it was cheaper than a taxi!) I pushed the chair in their direction. 'Don't knock it until you've tried it,' I advised them. As I let myself into the house, I heard the unmistakable rumbling accompanied by whoops and shouts of joy, and one long 'Wheeeeeee!'. I went to sleep that night grinning.


Now, the reason I'm telling you this, and the reason I've been thinking about it a lot recently is because I think that's what I expected this trip to feel like. Unencombered freedom, and the opportunity to let go. And it has felt like that, I think, kind of, more than ever before, I suppose. I'm flying down that hill but sometimes I find myself scraping my feet on the ground, desperately trying to slow myself down or direct myself back to the middle of the road.

You know, this isn't always a bad thing. I'm grateful in a way - that un-switch-off-ableautopilot has probably stopped me from doing a lot of stupid things (and even once or twice has kicked in a bit late) but you always end up remembering those things you didn't do. Or rather, I always remember the things I didn't do. Financially, experientially, romantically, geographically, characteristically speaking.

More than anything, I hope by the end of this trip I'll have learnt to freefall.