We’re moving

For 4 years we’ve called this place home and in one week it won’t be anymore.

So much has happened inside this apartment. From where I’m sitting, I have the perfect view of a harbour that leads to a narrow cove. Tiny sailboats are docked on the calm water and little houses are speckled on the hills, buried in between trees. The sky is a pale blue and there is not a single cloud in the sky. It’s the most peaceful, serene view. Every time I look up from my computer I feel at ease.

This apartment has held us through many big life events. It was here where I quit my day job to pursue my dreams in art therapy. It was here where we spent every single day in lockdown, transforming our home into our own sanctuary. It was here where I gathered my friends and danced together in the living room, getting ready for our wedding. It was here I learned I was pregnant with my daughter and our study slowly transformed into her bedroom. It was here where my daughter started crawling and took her first steps. It was here where I learned I would become an Australian citizen, officially making this country my home. It was here that I began my second pregnancy – yes, we are expecting another baby!

This place holds so much to me. So much change, so much growth. A part me doesn’t want to leave. But another part of me knows we’ve outgrown this place. Being in a two-bedroom apartment with soon-to-be two children and a husband who works from home most of the time makes for a cramped living space. However, the real reason we are leaving is because our landlord increased the rent by $100. This has been happening across Sydney, many people have been forced to relocate because they cannot afford their rent anymore. It broke my heart that our landlords were not open to negotiation. It made the world feel cold, unfair, and unjust. We’ve taken such good care of this place; we’ve been great tenants. How could they? But in a way I’m glad they didn’t budge. In our mad search for a new home, we ended up finding a 3-bedroom townhouse in a new suburb that’s about the same price as what we would pay here. I don’t know if I could say it’s better there, but it’s different. We have more space; we have a garden. But we won’t have these views and the warm sunlight pouring in every morning. There will be things I will miss, there be other things we will gain. But that’s life, isn’t it?

This whole situation has reminded me of an important lesson I learned back when I had to do regional work to get my second working holiday visa. I was living a great life in Sydney, I had great friends, a job, my gym. But then I was forced to leave and do work somewhere rural just to get my next visa. The anxiety was killing me, I was literally sick to my stomach thinking about it. Despite my extreme worries, things went way better than I imagined. I happened to meet someone who told me about farm work at a yoga centre in Byron Bay. I was lucky enough to pass the interview and started work shortly after arriving. I traded my comfy Bondi apartment for a caravan in a park in the middle of a field. I began practicing yoga and meditation almost every day. I swapped my office clothes and heels for yoga pants and hoodies as I became a gardener and a house cleaner. I spent my free time eating the most delicious, healthy vegetarian meals sitting discussing philosophy and what it means to be a human being with my roommates. Being in Byron revealed a whole new version of myself to myself. It brought something new out in me. It helped me become more me. I suppose because it felt safe to be who I am, to follow that without fear of judgement. When I left that place, I told myself that if life ever forces me into a major transition sometime in the future, don’t always assume it’s worse. Don’t always think what you have is better than what’s coming. In some cases, what’s waiting is even better. Way better.

So, I take this with me as we pack our apartment and get ready for a new home and a new chapter of our life. It’s not exactly what I chose, but it’s what life chose. As I walked to the park earlier today with my daughter in her pram, the song ‘Every day is a Winding Road’ came on. I felt this sense of euphoric freedom. Not because everything was working out, but because a part of me gave up the fight for things to go ‘my way’. Instead of fighting life, I surrendered to it. I let it be what it is. I let it take me the same way you would lay back in a river on a summer’s day and let it guide you downstream. Sometimes you must let go and see where life takes you. Sometimes, it’s those moments of complete surrender that offer the most beautiful views.