The Last Lilypad

A couple of years ago, when we were in Asia, Kate had the idea to write down our expectations. Nothing major, just a couple of things we thought might happen in the next few months. For ten minutes we scratched out some thoughts, then folded the pages longways into the spines of our journals. Three months later we opened them, marveling at our powers of prediction when we got it right and laughing at how far we missed the mark when we got it wrong. Most of the time we got it wrong. Still, it was so interesting we did it again. And again after that. We kept it up when we got to Australia, through Dingo and Cairns, the road trip and Airlie Beach. Every three months we’d unfold our expectations and write down new ones.

We don’t do it anymore.

Somewhere along the line, and I’m not sure where, three months transformed from something pretty digestible to something entirely abstract. Three months from now might as well be the other side of a black hole. The moment before the big bang. The socks that go missing from the dryer. Three months is fucking Narnia.

Sometimes I feel like I’m spinning around really fast. Like I’m looking out at an incomprehensible smear of color, unable to stop myself or slow myself down. And in those times, every decision I make is a lunging attempt to grasp- something. And when I catch it, even if I don’t know what ‘it’ is, I close my fist like it’s a rescue rope or a child’s blanket, and find myself latching on to ideas I never thought I would. Take now for example.

If you would have asked me six months ago, I would have told you Melbourne was the last stop on this particular journey. ‘After Melbourne,’ I would have said, ‘I’m going stateside.’

The States were a foregone conclusion. I’m tired of being broke and sick of fucking with visas.

And Melbourne? Why not? Melbourne is a gorgeous city. I have friends there from all over the world. I ate better in Melbourne than I’ve probably ever eaten. I had a rad girlfriend and a bicycle. Lived right on the 96.

But hanging above me was the thing that hangs above all long-term backpackers, those skywritten words that linger among the clouds to remind you: ‘Sooner than you think, you will leave this behind.’

For a while, I thought about ignoring them. Fighting back. I considered a sponsorship offered by one of the bars where I worked, but the thought of three years working hospitality made my butthole pucker so I dropped the idea and once again started to spin.

If I wasn’t staying, what WAS I doing? Was I prepared to go back to the US? My hours were inconsistent so I wasn’t saving money, and not only that, they were shit, late nights and weekends. My relationship ended for want of a future and with it’s demise, Melbourne lost a bit of its shine and the spinning sped up.

So I started reaching. Could feel things brushing against my fingertips, but nothing I could grasp.

Then Kate reminded me of a place some friends told us about called Rottnest Island, off the coast of Fremantle in Western Australia. Eleven kilometers by four, Rottnest is a tourist trap sprinkled with rent-em-out cottages and 22,000 quokkas, which a quick google search will prove are the CUTEST MOTHERFUCKING CREATURES IN EXISTENCE.

My fist closed, and here I am. Another place I never thought I’d go. And for now, my spinning seems to have slowed.

Slowed, not stopped.

But from the island, even in the spin, I can see the shore. I’m looking, for the first time in two years, at a single fixed point. A place. Barring a quick stopover in the Philippines and another in Minnesota, I’m going somewhere I’m not trying to leave. Not for a while at least. Readers should note that in my head, three months is a decade. That makes a couple of years a lifetime and five practically a reincarnation cycle.

So while I haven’t chosen the city, while I’m not even sure of the state, whatever I choose I’m going to stick with, and that feels important. Feels like something.

And I can’t say whether this new place will stop the spin. I’m not sure if anything will. All I can say is that for the first time in a long time, the thing in my hand feels pretty solid.

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