Sydney feels like Spring at the moment. Warm, sunny days and streets filled with magnolia blossoms. The sun is lingering longer at the end of each day, the sky billowing with pastel hues as I drive over the harbour, but mornings still hold a crisp chill. It feels too early for it to be this warm – as though we haven’t had a proper winter before the temperatures begin to rise again – but, then again, many things this year have not gone to plan.
I’ve begun to pack for my upcoming flight to London. Pulling my suitcase out of the attic and laying clothes on the bed has made me think of the last time I properly used the suitcase – two Octobers ago when leaving London and heading back to Australia on a repatriation flight. The two flights – then, next week – sit in parallel and make me think of all the things that have changed in between.
Two years since I was last in London: it feels like no time and all the time in the world.
I keep telling people I feel like I’m in a Sliding Doors moment. A liminal space, you could say. Not quite sure what’s coming next in my career, what doors will open as others close behind me. The upcoming trip to London is making me reflective too. What would have happened had I stayed? Who would I be now had things been different?
World Cup fever has swept across Australia. Sharing hosting duties with neighbouring New Zealand, we’ve embraced the world’s game in a way we never have before. Attendance and streaming records have been broken and pubs have been filled with packed crowds and bated breaths.
I attended one of the opening games, way back in mid-July. Australia took on Ireland and the stadium was filled with green and gold, and some additional green from the Irish tricolour. The roar of the stadium was electric. A crowd of 76,000, all thrilled to be there.
‘Imagine being her,’ I said to my friend about the girl sitting in front of us. She was young – seven, maybe – and by the end of the night, was falling asleep, curled in her father’s arms. What would it be like for her to see this many people gathered together to watch women play? How will it shape her view of the world to see this many women compete as the world-class athletes they are on an international stage?
Much has now been written about the impact of the Matildas on Australia. They themselves have spoken about the legacy they wanted to make with this tournament. It was an opportunity to create a moment as life-changing as Cathy Freeman winning the 400m gold at the Sydney Olympics in 2000, when many of them were the same age as the girl I sat behind in the stands. But I keep thinking too of how many athletes competing are around my age. Did they also grow up watching Bend it Like Beckham?
One of Sydney’s most expensive billboards is promoting the Matildas. Before that, Barbie. Cities were awash with pink mere weeks ago and are now decked out in green and gold. It feels so momentous: women being celebrated in such a way. I wonder what this moment of magic in the cinema and on the field will create for future generations of women and girls.
One morning, I hop in my car as the rain lifts and drive to the nearest ocean baths. I pass a girls’ school as a class of them walk down the main road on their way to the closest playing fields. About half the class are in their sport uniforms and the other half are in the Matildas’ home kit. It feels magic, this sense of pride.
Later that night I walk through the city on the way to meet a friend at a pub. I walk past a major bank as a group of corporate men race down the stairs with Matildas scarves proudly draped on top of their suits. The city is buzzing – bus loads of people heading out to the stadium and streets filled with floods of people hastily leaving offices to cheer the Tillies on with friends.
There’s a yellow glow seeping through clouds as I drive forwards beneath the criss-cross iron of the Harbour Bridge’s distinctive arch.
It’s been a whole year without my Nan so I head to my favourite small bushwalk. It’s quiet there, the sound muted so that the lap of water against rocks on the shoreline is loud by comparison. I sit and watch a ferry glide in the distance, as leaves rustle in a faint breeze, before heading to the end of the path, past a magnolia tree in full bloom, and back to the city’s east.
I take a left instead of the right that would guide my home and meet a friend at a harbour beach. We get changed into swimsuits and then wetsuits and head down the concrete steps to the beach. I head in first, bolstered by the warmth of my wetsuit despite the chill biting my feet and numbing my fingers. I swim, doing my best to swim at length. It’s not long now until I’ll be swimming around a lake in Hyde Park; I hope I’ll be ready.
I think back to what it was like almost two years ago. Caught between leaving London and properly settling into Sydney life, I was somewhat adrift. I had no real idea what was to follow but had stepped boldly forward anyway. Then there was the long-held moment of pause with one foot hovering above an abyss. Or so it felt.
After a surprise redundancy at the beginning of the month, I’m in another liminal moment. I’m between knowing what’s next in the immediate future but nothing much beyond that. I’m caught between wanting to make the most of the moment (lie ins! long cafe lunches! trips to the beach whenever I want!) but not being able to spend too much (not sure when my next paycheck will arrive! wanting to spend my savings in Europe instead!).
I’ve not written much this past month. Not creatively, at least. It’s hard to feel relaxed and creative when you’re spending much of your time trawling job boards and crafting cover letters. It’s made me think a lot about the elements we need to be creative. A room of one’s own, of course, is much talked about. Money, time, Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. I find I write more when I read more, but I’m finding it hard to focus on either.
Maybe this time is helping me to realise how essential both of those tasks are to my wellbeing. I make a vow to myself. When I have more certainty in my life (soon, soon), I will eke out the time and space I need to read more, write more, breathe more.
I was talking to a friend in London recently to say that I’d be on my way soon to see her. I’d been telling her of the recent drives I’d been doing – to see friends, to go for coastal walks, to swim in the sea – and she wondered if all the freedom and winter sunshine I’d been enjoying would make London feel grey and cramped by comparison.
It will be interesting to see how I feel about the city. After two years away. After four-and-a-bit years of living there. Once a local, now as a tourist. Will its allure still remain strong? Or will the life I’ve built for myself again in Sydney feel more attractive with distance (absence making the heart grow fonder)?
It feels strange now to imagine what would have happened had I stayed.
Have a minute to spare? Help me raise $1,500 for the Indigenous Literacy Foundation by donating today. Your donation will allow the charity to translate three books into First Languages so children in remote communities across Australia and the Torres Strait Islands can learn to read in their mother tongue. A very worthy cause and one I’m thrilled to be supporting via Swim Serpentine. Thank you x
I hope you'll have an amazing time in London, retracing old paths and finding everything that's new. x