So much for maintaining ‘a regular blog’ (Carly’s resume, 2016).
Full disclosure – my last post was published in November of 2015. It was written in Cambodia at the end of the rainy season, in-between tutoring and trips to the coast. Over a year later I’m in Australia at the beginning of summer, sitting on the back deck of our rented house, watching magpies and wondering how I got here.
It would be easy – after such a long hiatus – to give up this blogging business. Who needs it? Who reads it?!
I do, as it turns out.
For all sorts of reasons. Mostly, though, because it reminds me to keep a (somewhat intelligible) record of things. This blog is – more than anything else – a way to reflect, think through ideas, and find motivation. Like going for a run, writing here clears my head.
In the last week – since uni finished for the year and I rediscovered life-outside-academia – I’ve gone back to writing and running. In both cases getting started again after so long is awkward and somewhat painful. Muscles ache, my shoes stumble, headphones slip out of my ears. I’m still figuring out the best routes; my stomach stitches and my breath gets caught in my chest. It’s a long, slow, stop-start process. Sixty seconds jogging, ninety seconds walking. Sixty seconds writing, five minutes staring at the page.
But there is pleasure in coming back, too. A rhythm that is familiar, and an out-of-breath, red-faced, post-run sweat that is a relief to re-find. A reassuring reminder that if I sit long enough, stare hard enough, disconnect enough words are still wonderful.
So where to start after a year has gone by? A year of innumerable films watched, books read, places travelled. A year of North-American diners, South-East Asian beaches, a lobster, a car crash, Shakespeare, Ballarat churches, a pomegranate tree, a kill list, Bigfoot, the X-Files forest (and The X-Files), a road trip, babysitting, a turkey, Christmas lights, cats, mountain bikes, platypus, beaver dams, rabid raccoons, a hockey match, poetry, Holes, blue-tongue lizards, aliens, diabetes, a camping stove, a maths test, nature documentaries, a music festival, kangaroos, a wombat, kookaburras, hotel swimming pools, massages, hot Phnom Penh rooftops, tuk-tuks, sports days, cross country, rockpools, koala grunts, possum growls, the Khmer Rouge, Monopoly, trees, jewelled weevils, cults, metalanguage, Galileo, Nigeria, Romeo and Juliet, dragons, Harper Lee, ancient China, Gold Rush bottles, dinosaur statistics, witches, nouns, drugs, jet lag, salmon, fog, snow, Family Feud, rhubarb, and a tarantula named Nora.
I suppose it doesn’t really matter. A beginning is a beginning, whether it starts in the middle or at the end. The next few posts will be an attempt to catch up on (at least a fraction of) 2016. An effort – really – to figure out how we went from a Phnom Penh apartment to a house with a river for a back fence and kookaburras for neighbours. Here goes.