s there something about you that you wish wasn’t part of your makeup?
Do you have a defining characteristic that you would change, if only you could?
My list may have more than one or two items on it, but today as I write from an internet cafe in a caravan park on the shores of the Clarence River (Northern NSW), I am thinking about my “gypsy” characteristic.
I have not always “known” about my inner gypsy; at least not consciously. Growing up I lived a stable life, where the family only ever lived in two houses.
When I left home at 18, I embarked on course that saw me living in around 15 houses over a 10 year period. And although I hated the packing and unpacking into each new residence, I loved the excitement, the sense of opportunity, that came with each new home.
During the middle of these years I consulted a physic for the first time. Looking back, I’m not so sure of her credentials – she told me we would never leave Tasmania. We moved to Perth within 6 months.
But one thing she told me has stuck with me ever since, and is generally accepted by those who love and know me as being part of my personality.
The physic told me I had been a gypsy in many of my former lives, and for most of those lives I was accompanied on my travels by my partner in crime.
Problem is, said gypsy partner is still hanging around in the spirit world, and apparently likes to hop on my shoulder ever now and then and whisper in my ear “time to move on, time to move on”.
I like to think of this in a romantic way – as if I am somehow living in a real world version of “Chocolat”. Only without Jonny Depp. Sadly.
The husband on the other hand, tends not to view my ex gypsy partner with quite the same glowing light. He has been heard to exclaim on more than one occasion, “I wish I could shoot that b*#*!y gypsy”.
Post children, I have managed reasonably successfully to quieten the inner gypsy, if not banish for good. Ok we moved back “over East”, but since arriving in Melbourne 11 years ago, have only lived in 4 different houses. The last one for eight (very long) years.
However it seems the wind is blowing, or the gypsy on my shoulder is singing. Whatever maybe the cause, I am struggling with this sense that seems to follow me everywhere I go. “Time to move, time to move”.
Yes, I am currently on a four-week long holiday. So naturally, being the “grass is greener on the other side” type of girl that I am (according to the husband anyway), it is natural I might fantasize about living the good life in places such as Noosa.
Unfortunately, the truth is I was hearing the call to move long before we embarked on our version of the Griswold’s Holiday Road Trip. In fact, I had hoped four long weeks on the road might have sated the urge.
But alas it seems not.
So what to do? Do I, as my (long-suffering) mother-in-law suggests, simply tell myself I do not in fact have a gypsy within, suck it up and get on with it? (I’m paraphrasing of course. She did not actually say “Suck it up”).
Do I remind myself of my obligations as a wife, mother, employee and friend – get over myself, and get on with living in the real (adult) world. Perhaps with the assistance of some new clothes?
Or do I start investigating where might be a good place for us to head to. A new house in Melbourne? Different suburb maybe? Or perhaps somewhere warmer, a bit less of a city, where more of a work/life balance might be achievable?
I have no answer about this today. It’s too hard to think when you are on holidays.
So in the meantime, I’m off for a bike ride and the next stage of my own personal crusade to find good coffee outside of Melbourne.
Embrace life till next time,