From the sublime to the shitty
Holidays aren’t all about hammocks and swimming in a turquoise sea. But that’s kind of the point - neither is life - and the rest makes great stories
There’s a lot riding on a holiday. They’re so valuable because so rare, and relied on to add shine and sparkle to an ordinary year, like stars studding a dark sky. So much money and planning can go in, and expectations become unrealistic - that everyone will get on, all of the time; the weather will be perfect - life’s niggles will all magically disappear, fixed by the holiday fairy that makes everyone caring and relaxed and kind.
But in truth, holidays can be a shitshow. There’s the travel, the all too common illnesses (dodgy tum, Covid from the plane - whatever), the jet lag and culture shock, the potential for lost bags, the difficulty of finding things you need but don’t know how to get in a strange place or situation.
Which makes holidays amazing for learning how to make the best of a situation. For dealing with the not fun bits - say 36 hours in transit from Sydney to the Caribbean with three kids and a bag that never turned up - and then washing that and the jet lag off at the beach at St Martin, followed by plates piled high with Captain Rib Shacks’ finest. Of finding a vending machine selling slices of cake in a Canadian airport so the 12 year old birthday girl can celebrate with thick chocolate icing.
Sailing is possibly the best place to learn this lesson. One second you’re sailing to a deserted island for pancakes and a swim, the next your anchor winch is screwed (technical term), all of the chain runs out and you spend six hours trying to pull the anchor up by hand without anyone losing a finger and then limping back, exhausted, to spend three days at a marina trying to get it all fixed up. Then you sail off again to moor in a beach-lined bay with a backdrop of jutting peaks where you spend the afternoon snorkelling with turtles and forget there was ever any stress.
We’ve been gone two weeks though, and it could be two months - time works differently here. Focus on the good bits and it’s been amazing; dwell on the bad and it’s time to go home. I know which way we’re going - the way of golden memories and adventure.
Sporadic newsletter alert
This family adventure continues until February 2024 - sailing in the Caribbean, travelling Mexico, skiing in Canada - and I planned on writing regular newsletters. Internet is quite hard to come by on a boat in the Caribbean - shouldn’t be a massive surprise, and yet for some reason it is. So for the next couple of months, ‘Real life, but better’ may or may not randomly appear in your inbox. It’ll get regular again in 2024, when life does.
Midwife crisis
When motherhood dismantled my identity, I knew my lifestyle had to change
This was my first published personal essay, for Sunday Life magazine back in 2019. It was also my first attempt at articulating the idea that you need to consciously craft your life into what you want it to be - give it serious attention, put some effort in. As writing usually does, it also helped me work out what I actually believed.
There are some things you just can't prepare for. Childbirth is one. After the birth of her first child, a friend told anyone who'd listen that she'd "just pushed that baby out of her vagina". Not for her an euphemistic "natural birth" – she wanted to emphasise the momentousness of her achievement.
I was unprepared for the way motherhood would dismantle my sense of self. Pregnancy should have given me some warning, with its slow leaking away of treasured things: comfort, independence, control of my body … I expected things would soon return to normal, only normal plus baby.
The timing wasn't perfect for this to be an easy transition. I found out I was pregnant the day my husband and I landed in Sydney after a year of travelling around the world. I was untethered: without a house, a job and nearby family or friends.
"I'll freelance," I thought. "That way I can ramp things up when I have more time." I imagined writing articles about my interests – travel, outdoor adventures, sustainability – in a sunny backyard, my happy baby chortling on the picnic rug.
This did not happen. I had a baby who didn't sleep, was never happy, and pretty much sapped my will to live, or at least my energy to do it. I didn't have time to shower, let alone bushwalk or travel, be interesting or interested. My world had narrowed, and it was claustrophobic in there.
My life wasn't terrible: I was okay. I had interesting part-time work, a great husband, supportive friendships. I enjoyed my family. But it just wasn't enough. I was missing me.
It took a couple of years, and a couple of kids, before I realised what was happening. I was in the midst of a mid-wife crisis, and I wasn't alone. Everywhere I looked I saw women struggling to fit into lives and identities made foreign by motherhood. But just because it's common, doesn't make it easy to fix.
Recognising my own dissatisfaction, and realising that it was okay to want more, was the first step. But no one was going to do it for me. It was my life and if I wanted to change it, I'd have to prioritise myself.
I started slowly – a babysitter for a few hours a week so I could write. Next came a weekend away without kids: I surfed and explored, ate and drank, caught up with old friends who didn't know me as a mum.
On the flight home I made a list of what I missed and wanted in my life, and ways I might get them back. It wasn't the easiest thing: wilderness, climbing and walking adventures, travel and boozy nights out aren't easy to fit in. But I compromised: instead of week-long walks I substituted hourlong ocean swims; I changed how and where I went. And I squeezed in a whole host of pocket-sized adventures, as well as the odd bit of travel and weekends in the bush, both with and without the family.
Then, a year before the event, Laura, my twin, suggested we do something big for our 40th birthday. I was back in the newborn bubble and not particularly receptive to the idea. Laura sent me links and photos, one-word emails – "Nepal?" – and six months later we'd paid the deposit for a two-week trek to the Gokyo Lakes.
The trip was amazing – I got space, travel, adventure, fitness and an awesome holiday, all in one hit. Spending time with my sister made me aware of our shared history, backstory and beliefs, as well as how much we had both changed.
It also made me realise what having kids has prepared me for: the realisation that things change, time flies, and it's easy to lose stuff you love under the debris of life. Having to carve out the space and time to work out who I am and who I want to become, what is important and how to include it has made me think about my life as the precious, one-off thing it is.
In the past 10 years I haven't just dealt with popping out three babies. I've also taken on the challenge of crafting my own life into what I want it to be. And there's not much that's more exciting than that.
This article appeared in Sunday Life magazine within the Sun-Herald and the Sunday Age on sale July 14.