I've spent the last 96 hours in the country. Proper country...as in back of Suffolk: no tarmac roads (who am I kidding?! no tarmac roads for 200m. This is England after all!), eggs from the neighbours, cake from the neighbours, lifts from the neighbours, bike pumps from the neighbours...catch my drift?! Plus the odd gossip here and there to lighten up Saturday afternoon tea, if the cakes don’t do it for you. And it’s amazing. It’s delightful, some might say. I mean, I woke up to the sound of a cockerel crowing. I thought I would be annoyed, but given I’d gone to bed at 10 pm, and the thing’s body clock is a little late (he crowed at 7am), it suited me just fine. I had a little moment. I discovered that I could be happy here. If I opened my mind a little, breathed in the country air, and felt the warmth from the hearth. It’s my Little Women fantasy all over again. It took me back to being 7 and going away to the farm (in Kenya, we call this shagz, but I understand this will create considerable confusion given its British slang meaning), helping ‘till the land’ all day, learning to milk cows, chasing chickens for dinner (clever little buggers) and occasionally being hounded by the bull.
These last 4 days have reminded me about what’s important in life. I realised that I am happy. I am fortunate enough to have parents willing to do anything to give me every opportunity in life. I have siblings who will think of me every single day, and will never stop trying to do things for me; a pleasant complaint to have. I have amazing relatives and friends who add a certain something something (in the words of Maxwell) to my life, like kindness, bitchiness when I need it, a kick up the back-side when I’m feeling pitiful and those that are always handy with a smile and welcome silence.
But all this perfection got me thinking...what’s so great about cities anyway?! I spent a month in Melbourne. It was the kind of working holiday that everyone dreams about...I spent days ‘working’, nights partying, weekends travelling, but mostly, I spent time discovering the city and getting terribly lost! I found a beautiful grungy (not a common combination of adjectives) restaurant bar set in a warehouse, next to a bar with grass on the roof top and a 2 year waiting list for membership. I went for ‘after-work’ drinks to cool places, met interesting people and made new friends. I discovered beaches, architecture, art, food, and streets that sell only cake and chocolate. And then I realised why I love the city, any city, so much: I can dream. It’s never perfect, there’s always something more to do or discover, a way to make myself better.
The country life can be perfect. It very often is, and it calls you to be content and perfect. But the city...concrete jungles where dreams are made of. Someone (!) was on to something when they came up with that line. The city allows me to be pleasantly ridiculous. I can lose myself in a world of discovery, I can decide that I am miserable and want to meet total strangers that will tell me how amazing I am. I can develop new interests that do NOT include walking, bicycles, or taking in the country air. I will discover zumba, steak diets, new shoe shops, noise pollution and the newest cocktail. So I’ll hang onto my world of dreams, where I can rediscover myself, recreate myself and then, wait for it....do it all over again. But every now and then when I lose myself and forget where I am or want to be, I’ll take myself back to the memory of country life. No matter what your station in life is, there’s a little perfection to be found everywhere (my few days in the country makes me an expert on this)!
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