Discomblogulations from the Other Side

I’m discombobulated. I’m on the other side of the world. And I'm writing a blog. Do you see what I've done there? Thank you people.

The following was written early in the third week we were in Australia but it's taken me till now to work out how to start a blog. And no doubt it will take me even longer to share it with anyone, so be aware this is no longer current - and you'll be entirely forgiven for stopping reading right here.

Discomforting realisations. Hello privilege.

So, as we embark on this 'adventure'  –  the throwing up in the air our calm and settled life in Cambridge for the chance to experience something new and exciting, what has been most foreground in the first couple of weeks? Interestingly, and unexpectedly, an awareness of how incredibly privileged we are, along with an experience of feeling hugely humbled. The privilege is something I know in my mind and is not really a feeling, but my knowledge and understanding of just how privileged has been brought into sharp relief during this move.

Feeling humbled, however, is very much a feeling, a regularly visited felt experience, and one entirely related to my awareness of privilege.

To put some context to this: during our first week here the tasks we faced were pretty simple: visit three different primary schools; feed ourselves; try and get enough rest. That was it. We had a fully furnished place in which to stay, dear friends around the corner who made sure we had tea (and Tim Tams) on arrival and hosted us for lunch that first day. With this in place it was seemingly an entirely manageable agenda. And yet.

And yet… throughout that first week and well into the second (and third) I kept noticing how off kilter I was. In theory I knew, and know, that moving is a highly stressful life event, yet until I was in the process of living this move, that reality remained theoretical. Fifteen plus years of working as a somatic therapist has given me lots of practice at checking in with my body throughout the day and I’m pretty good at noticing the cues it gives me, and recognising the otherwise easy-to-miss habitual patterns and ways of holding myself that are always there but can so easily remain below consciousness.

So often since getting here I've caught myself wide-eyed, jaw-tensed and brow-furrowed. And from that point I've been able to let my mind catch up - 'Oh, yes, I'm really stressed right now.' It's been quite a shock. I did not feel at home, didn’t even feel safe. The Doors song ‘When You’re Strange’ has been on repeat in my head since we arrived here and feels very apt far too often. In these moments I find it hard to think clearly, and struggle – really struggle – to know what I want or what I’m feeling. All of this simply because there is so much that's unfamiliar (even worse when coupled with jet lag and tiredness). Fascinating and humbling. My long-held sense of myself as competent, capable, mostly upbeat, calm and together has been thrown on its head. That identity seems to be an illusion, a very fortunate illusion that relies largely on routine, familiarity, ease – and incredible privilege.

Alongside my astonishment at the degree to which my body has shown me how hard I have found this move, is the growing awareness that I could hardly have had it easier. What could be more privileged than making the move here as an Australian citizen; a white, middle class European? An English speaker for whom the culture is familiar, someone with a place to stay, with friends around the corner, with more than enough money in the bank to make this possible and the luxury of time and no need to pick up work immediately upon arrival here. How could it be so hard?!

And yet… And yet sometimes it really is. I feel embarrassed at how hard it feels at times. I keep coming back to an awareness of the millions of migrants and refugees around the world facing situations so incomprehensively more challenging. As I say, deeply humbling.

[And to add an extra layer to the complexity of my acute discomfort at so much privilege, I’ve become acquainted with the character of Uriah Heep while reading David Copperfield (I’m still only half way through at the time of writing). Identifying with the main trait of a character so vile yet so permanently ‘’umble’, while I feel this way myself really adds that kicker to my discomfort (‘Oh poor me! I’m trying to enjoy this classic work of English literature in my ample leisure time, and it’s so irksome to associate my current experience with that of such a dreadful character!’) And so, of course, my spiral of privilege and cringeworthy humblingness continues…]

I realise I have said very little (actually, nothing) as yet about Melbourne. And there is so much to say! What I will say now, briefly, is that I think I will like living in this city very much. There is an ease, a friendliness and an openness to connection we have felt so often with so many people we have encountered here. The streets are wide. There are a plethora of outdoor swimming pools to choose from, and parks, sea and culture. The sun, when it comes out, shines with a brightness that dazzles the eyes and lifts the heart; the bird song is glorious and the smells of the Australian vegetation delight us all. 

As a place to feel lost and confused, bewildered and befuddled, it’s as good a place as any.