Have you heard the saying “how you do anything is how you do everything?”
I’ve always thought it was bang on the money.
I walk fast, I drive fast-ish. I even read fast. I’m impatient. Some days, I do a day’s work before breakfast.
But when it comes to travel, I like to take my time. On vacation, I’d walk everywhere if I could. I like train travel and boats are nice as long as there’s no chop. I get seasick. I like long lunches and slow wanders. I’m happy to stay in one place and chill rather than see a dozen.
I might miss out on seeing something new but that’s okay.
When I set out, I like to arrive at the airport with plenty of time to spare. Rushing is my least preferred mode and I would hate to miss a flight.
Thats a definite shadow for me. An unforgivable thing.
As I write this, I’m sitting in the Qantas lounge enjoying the calm ambiance. I’ll admit I’m a control freak. I like everything to be just so.
After years of therapy and journaling I know exactly whence that shadow came. I’ve been a connoisseur of cool, calm and collected my whole adulthood. My childhood wasn’t exactly chaotic but we had enough stupid things happen to trigger the control freak in me every time.
Like the time we stopped to help a woman who had run off the road and a car ran up the back of our car because he was too busy rubbernecking.
Or the time our car caught on fire and we had to catch the train back from Perth. It made the papers.
Casting my mind back I remember that I almost missed a flight a few years ago because I was deep in conversation with my work bestie.
It was a good conversation.
The airline was paging us. The boss phoned and said ‘get your arses on that plane!’ The boss thought it was hilarious because it was very out of character for me to stuff up like that.
Now that I’m thinking about it, there was also a flight to Cairo from Heathrow that we nearly missed due to last minute gate changes and an overflowing toilet. That’s a story for another day.
Oh. And I missed my first short flight to Paris from London. I blanked the date and turned up a whole day late. Somehow the brilliant staff got me on a flight to Paris.
I was a mess then. Nothing cool about me. I was deep in grief and steeped in alcohol.
That first trip to Paris was 30 years ago in July. That’s so hard to believe.
Thirty years.
I am much better at grief now; years of practice.
As I boarded the plane on Tuesday for another stint on my beloved Bali, it was the first time without mum’s words ringing in my ears. She would always say, ‘stay safe. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you over there.’
Sometimes I’d say “something can happen to me right here,” at home. In recent years I would just promise her we would be safe.
It’s Mother’s Day in Australia on Sunday and my first without my mum. I didn’t spend last Mother’s Day with her, her last Mother’s Day. I visited the following week. She was always so grateful for our visits.
Mum was a work class worry wart and all that got her was a broken heart. I’d like to think I hope for the best and plan for the worst but I’d really rather plan for the best. It sounds like heaps more fun.
