I’ve been back from England for 10 days now (16,886 kms away from home in Australia), and my valiant struggles with the dreaded jetlag are finally paying off. Last night I did open my eyes at 1.30am as usual, but instead of lying there till 4.30, wide awake and wanting some dinner, I went back to sleep within 30 minutes, so have woken up feeling relatively normal.
This is joy.
And I’m not going to whinge on about the incredible privilege of international air travel, when so many millions of fellow human beings are homeless or without access to clean water…
But jetlag does suck bad.
Plus sleeping on a shitty pull-out bed on Mum’s floor for 3 weeks had stressed my back, therefore a visit to the Osteopath was part of my self-care strategy on returning. I was massaged, manipulated, adjusted and cracked, especially my chest/rib area, front and back.
You know, around your heart. Interesting that.
I went home from the appointment feeling terrible: nauseous like morning sickness, grumpy, on edge, and prickly too. Poor ’18’. Going to school suddenly looked like way more fun than it had the day before as he’d wangled to hang out with me.
The next day, home alone, I just cried and cried. Like, every hour on the hour.
Cried for Mum, for me, for ’18’. For everyone I knew who was losing or lost a parent; for all of us ageing and moving towards our own demise; for every human on this planet who is suffering; for the suffering planet herself. Also for cool songs on the radio, and my favourite avocado on toast snack.
Man, I wept!
I’d been bottling up so much for the entire trip, and finally felt safe enough to let it go.
The following day, back at work, people told me I looked really light, pretty, and well. I smiled to myself and thought ‘I doubt crying all day will become the latest popular beauty routine, but maybe there’s something in it anyway…?’
In gratitude for the safety and space I have at home, G xO