Four years

Do you know how long four years is?

I know you think you do, but you don’t.

In four years, I’ve been through a redundancy and been employed twice more. That’s three different jobs at three different companies. In four years.

In four years, I have visited 7 different countries for holidays.

In four years, the bridesmaid ditched a man she was about to move across the country for. Got over him. Met another guy, dated him, got engaged, planned a wedding, got married and is having a baby in a month’s time. In less than four years.

Another friend, fell pregnant, was made redundant, had her first son, started a new job, started looking for a house to buy, bought a house, moved to the southern suburbs, fell pregnant again and her son number 2 is now a month old. In less than four years.

Four years is a really, really, really long time.



**written on 12 January 2014**

I don’t believe in meant to be. I don’t believe there is one chosen path and outcome for your life.

Sometimes however, there are events that feel like more. Some call them coincidences, some say they were meant to be. I’ve never been one to believe in the romantic version of life, that no matter the different choices you make, your outcome remains the same.
I believe, that life is a series of choices and with every one, you define where you are going. Those choices or daily decisions, some big (take the job, stay at the party), some small (cross the road, take the first turn off, or the second) – each of them are the best decision for the time, otherwise you’d never choose it.
We second guess ourselves a lot. Am I now, where I need to be? Forgetting that where you are, is exactly where you put yourself. Every day you choose, but sometimes, our choices are without thought. And it’s then, in the midst of not thinking, in the midst of no conscious decision making – that a serendipitous moment may creep in, causing you to stop, to wonder, to think of signs, of destiny, of fate.

I recently read that time delivers certain people to your life, and your heart decides if you want them there. It’s your behaviour, that decides if you let them stay. I’ve had time to consider the course of decisions I’ve made consequent to letting people in and out. I’m always surprised by those recurring individuals. The ones you’re sure should have no significance, but the ones that show up over time again, in different ways, crossing your path, making you think, making you reflect sometimes on what was, or what may have been.

But really, it’s probably more because I’m from a small town, and Facebook makes it smaller.

The happy-sad dance

I knew it was coming. It had to be. It had been a while since I last had heard it. It just came from somewhere I hadn’t expected, or perhaps – I hadn’t given enough thought to recently. Even though I should be prepared for it by now, it still jolted me. The way it always does.

The trigger for the happy-sad dance. The confusing emotion of pure elation and joy for the friend saying it, combined with the gut-wrenching grief for something I may never know.

These days the announcement usually comes with some level of sympathy, awkwardness, or head tilt from the person delivering it. However this may possibly be the worst part. This is a happy day. This is your day. Don’t feel sorry for me. Don’t cock your head and shrug, and say words of encouragement to me on this, “YOUR” day. The “you get to laugh and dance and yelp with joy” day. Don’t be sad for me on this day.

Its the saddest part of the happy-sad dance. The fact that while I’m doing it (discreetly mostly), so is the friend who is telling me. Because she is, after all, happy. Except for me. She’s sad for me as I’m sad for me too. But no-one needs that when they’re happy. And so.. I pull further away from the friends I once could relate to. Who now seem so foreign to me.

And I do my lonely happy-sad dance.