07/07/2023

About Time Theory

Justice is laying on the couch, reading The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, while I am typing away at a short story.

In sweltering Southwest Florida, we’re going about our usual Friday afternoon routine in comfortable silence. As I deliberate making my second cup of tea, watching the hefty cloud cover close in on our street, I think about how a few years ago this kind of afternoon was something I dreamt of. 

For the first two or so years of being in the U.S., we lived with my in-laws. It was a completely different world from where I had last lived, in an apartment outside of Melbourne, on my own. Living with my in-laws, in comparison, was loud and uncomfortable at times. I didn’t quite know what to make of all these Americans (and the four dogs they kept inside the house). Worst of all, (to my horror) they made tea using the microwave, not a kettle. This would never work. 

When we finally moved into our current home, things felt surreal. It was so quiet. No television constantly blaring or someone eternally clattering around the kitchen. The silence made me feel uneasy at first. It was a welcome change, but I felt as if I’d forgotten how to live without having to factor in other people. There were no queues to take a shower, no section of the fridge for “our food,” or people to complain about watching something with subtitles. I could be weird again! I could walk around in my undies! It was liberating to be in our own home, complete with a lovely gooseneck kettle (courtesy of my beautiful friend, Destiny).

Now as I sit here, waiting for the rain to roll in, I think about how different life looks. I think about the morning walks I go on, the meals we share at our dining table, and the movies we’ve snuggled up on the couch to watch. In particular, I think about one of my favourite films, About Time. 

There’s a scene where Domnhall Gleeson’s character, Time Lake, talks about his time-traveller father’s secret formula for happiness. Tim discovers that if he lives his days noticing how sweet the world around him is, suddenly, his life is happier and more meaningful.

When we first moved into this house, I had never anticipated I’d be working as a writer. I was teetering on the edge of burnout as an illustrator and managing a local cafe to stay financially afloat. I knew I longed to work from home, that I was unhappy in my job, and that I was battling a long bout of homesickness, but I was at a loss on where to start in changing things. With the help of some fantastic friends, family, and colleagues, I was coached, encouraged, and inspired to change my circumstances; now here I am writing to you. 

In the mornings, I sit at my desk and fiddle with keywords, building sentences that (hopefully) make sense for humans and algorithms alike. Then I spend my afternoons writing short stories that (almost definitely don’t) make sense and put bits of my heart out into the world. It’s not a bad way to let your days pass by. 

Nick Cave wrote last year, “For me, to strive toward joy has become a calling and a practise.” In many ways, my fervent need to write (regardless of whether or not I am paid to do it) has become a way for me to strive toward joy too, and for this I am thankful. I am thankful that I get to sit at my chipped desk pondering about how I got to where I am and how excited I am to continue writing. I am thankful that I can choose to notice how sweet the world around me can be, despite how easy it can be to miss it. 

This month, I encourage you to actively notice the good around you. In fact, I dare you to tell me about it. 

P.S. In June, I was fortunate enough to be shortlisted for The 2023 Stringybark Short Story Awards and subsequently published in their fantastic anthology, Feral. The anthology is currently available via ebook if you'd like to read my story, Morning Tea, and other fantastic Australian authors.

Food For Thought

What's one good thing you've noticed in your life lately?
Email me your answer.

“Seize the moment, remember all those women who waved off the dessert cart on the Titanic.”
―Erma Bombeck