Philosophising Things Up

Countdown to Borneo- Seven Days.

by Lori Dwyer on May 13, 2013 · 3 comments

Countdown to Borneo: 13 days to take off.

Anxiety Level: Increasing

Organisation Level: Low to Moderate

***

I keep reminding myself- I’ll only be gone for nine days. In my mind it feels likes some kind of forever, an indistinguishable eternity of change.

Fueled by my children’s obsession with death, perhaps, or maybe the other way around (whichever). The thought of dying in a horrible plane crash or ingesting some variety of flesh eating parasite exists in my mind as though it’s already happened. There’s a nagging, uncomfortable anxiety at the edges of my consciousness. 

I really don’t want to die. That’s a thought is both unfamiliar and comforting. I find the universe’s inherent sense of irony alarming in it’s extremes- it would fit, horribly, if I were to find some kind of happy, begin to feel ‘normal’ again, only to cease existing altogether at the crux of it.

I put that thought out of my mind, away in a compartment marked ‘Impending Doom’. There’s not much else to do with it.

***

I’ve never been away from my children for such an extended period of time before, and I will miss them.

I’m existing in a heady mix of terror and excitement I’ve never felt before. It’s as though every time I inhale I’m reminded of how very scary this is (this is my first time overseas, I’m effectively going all by myself, I am far too f*cking old to be doing this for the first time…). But for every inhale, there is an exhale. And every exhale is a fizzing excitement akin to rapture (I am doing this, I am going overseas. I am terrified and I’m doing it anyway).

My bigger-picture consciousness runs on the same undulating, up and down waves. I bounce from maniacal organisation- packing, sorting, photocopying, planning; to lazy apathy- smoking cigarettes, drinking copious cans of V, randomly surfing longform reads on the web. I’m thinking it’s a kind of self-regulation; my mind effectively shutting down the Big Preparing To Go Overseas process at regular intervals. Lest it overwhelm me and I begin to feel as though I’m drowning in it completely.

Deep breaths. Just seven days to go.

***

Sometimes weird stuff just happens.

I had the pleasure of taking my mum on a BridgeClimb for Mother’s Day (more on that coming soon, and you can check out the video on YouTube).

It wasn’t until the end of the climb that we really got chatting to our instructor, Nicole. As it turns out, Nicole’s dad runs a tour company in Borneo. Working with orangutans.

Nicole’s dad is Garry, the owner and organiser of Orangutan Odysseys, the company that’s taking me to Borneo.

I like to think these things happen for a reason. I’m not sure what that reason is, as yet. But what are the chances, of a coincidence like that?

{ 3 comments }

Morbid.

by Lori Dwyer on May 10, 2013 · 9 comments

My children appear to have some kind of obsession with death lately.

It’s not so much an obsession with their father dying, or having died, as with the whole concept in general.

I’m not sure if it’s entirely normal, or ‘normal’ for children who’ve had to deal with death so close up at such a young age. I’m not sure if it’s healthy for them to discuss it so much. I don’t encourage it, but nor do I discourage it or shut them down when the topic comes up. I find myself watching keenly in order to see if I actually do hear the words ‘dying’ and ‘death’ as often as I think I do, or if I’m just overtly sensitive and tuned to the sound of it.

The characters in my daughters dollhouse- a mixture of porcelain nic-nacs, Barbie dolls and Maccas toys- are constantly dying, their whole families perishing in terrible hot air balloon accidents. The make-believe games that the Chop and her play often end in death, and my son makes dramatic declarations about what would happen, exactly, should he step into the gas heater (“Goodbye, family…” he roleplays, a mimic of seriousness attempting to squirm itself into a smirk on his face).

Part of the reason for this phenomena has to lay in the testostor-isation of my boy-child, the newly found roughness that’s come with Big School and Skylanders, Ben 10 and being five. And if I compare one child with the other, the Bump at this age to the way the Chop was two years ago, then her questions and discussions around death seem comparative with his. She still asks questions, about Heaven and death and Daddy. My son rarely questions anything anymore, and acts as some form of instigator of truth and their reality as he sees it. Generally it’s kind and gentle corrections, filling in the potential gaps in her knowledge with what he already knows. Only occasionally does it take a more fervent, aggressive tone (smacking his sister in the head because she dared to argue the topic of whether or not people can come back from the dead- the Chop obviously on the side of the negative- was a particular low point in sibling instruction).

As I do with most everything I’m not quite sure about, I’m leaving this one to run it’s course. I’d rather they talk about this stuff than didn’t. I’d much rather them mention it when they feel they need, than not be able to mention it at all.

{ 9 comments }

Countdown To Borneo: 13 Days

by Lori Dwyer on May 7, 2013 · 3 comments

Countdown to Borneo: 13 days to take off.

Anxiety Level: Moderate

Organisation Level: Moderate to High

***

I’m existing in a bubble of my own self-inflicted anxiety. The things I’ve been meaning to do before I left for Borneo are piling up, one atop another, in a heap marked ‘Later’. (Visiting both the shrink and the dentist, toilet training my daughter…. all the best of good intentions that can certainly wait).

I am going overseas for the first time (kind of) in less than two weeks. The days are toppling onto one another like a pile of dominoes. A clicking, sliding house of cards that disappears flat into itself with such startling rapidity you barely have time to catch your breath before the next rows fold into each other.

Don’t think about it, just do it. I’m terrified. But, if nothing else, I’m an expert at just putting one foot in front of the other. And that’s how I’m choosing to approach the next thirteen days. One thing at a time. One task at a time, as it becomes important. Try not to forget anything. Especially breathing, in and out, and reminding yourself you will be fine.

I’m in a good head-space for it. I know this feeling- it’s bizarrely nostalgic, reminiscent of a another time when I was so terrified all I could do was one moment at a time, one task as it became important. But this time around, it’s laced with magic and adventure and excitement. I’m focusing on that- the exquisite, exciting apprehension of it. Because if I don’t, I may just find myself paralysed with crippling fear. And that won’t do, not in this situation. Not at all.

***

“”You are exactly where you are supposed to be, in this moment, right now,” Our yoga teacher said to us. My racing mind immediately came to a screeching halt to digest this new and profound information.”

Paula’s Story, published at Carly Findlay’s blog

“You know, I’ve been thinking, everything is…just comes together. It’s me. I chose this. I chose all of this. This rock…this rock has been waiting for me my entire life. It’s entire life. Ever since it was a bit of meteorite a million, billion years ago. There, in space. It’s been waiting, to come here. Right…right here. I’ve been moving towards it my whole life. The minute I was born, every breath I’ve taken, every action has been leading me to this crack on the out surface.”

127 Hours

I like to think sometimes the Universe presents you with tiny nuances, recurring themes to remind you that the world is much bigger than you can conceive. Signposts, perhaps. to tell you that you’re on the right path. To present you with tools you may need to do what you have to do.

Or maybe I just look too hard and put far too much significance in the blog posts I read, and the movies I watch.

Whatever.

I am exactly where I need to be, right now.

Things roll out the way the do for a reason.

{ 3 comments }

← Previous Entries