Wednesday, December 25, 2013
If someone had told me I would be driving past a signpost that reads Jumpo Creek on my way home everyday a year ago, I would have laughed and said, "yeah, right, very funny", so when I see this now familiar marker along the roadside as I cruise past on what still feels like the "wrong" side of the road, I still shake my head in disbelief.
I think back to just one short year ago, living in Toronto, working in the interior design world, wondering where my life was headed and the internal angst that had a grip on me as I knew change was coming but was still uncertain as to exactly which path I was going to take and now as things have begun to fall into place, I feel a tremendous sense of relief that I chose this new road that allows me to pass Jumpo Creek each day.
So many people thought I was crazy. It was hard to block out the naysayers at times. They could not imagine me living in the country. I was a city gal. No way could I do it they said. It's not you Deb. I often wondered if maybe they were right. Maybe they knew me better than I knew myself. But a little voice inside me kept telling me they were wrong. I had longed my whole life for this sort of peaceful simple existence. The city was wonderful in many ways, but it never offered me the serenity of country life. There was an anxiety attached to city living that was like a constant underlying current I could not turn off.
Out here now, as I drive out of town along the winding country road, past sugar cane farms and modest country homes. up and over the rise in the road that reveals Bauple Mountain off in the distance, a calm and peace flows over me like a deep breath of fresh air filling my lungs and leaves me knowing I am on the right road. The current is switched off.
Yesterday, Christmas Day, as I squatted down, hammer in hand, taking aim at a rock hard freshly picked macadamia nut on the concrete patio, after three good hits on the sweet spot, I watched the hard shell crack and break away. The goal is to do this without breaking the nut inside and peeling off the shell to reveal the most perfect creamy white, buttery tasting treat. I disposed of the bits of shell and examined the prize inside each time before popping it in my mouth and marveling at the texture and subtle sweet taste of this unaltered nut. No salt added, no sugary coating, just fresh, raw, nut meat.
Funny I thought, this macadamia metaphor. I too have been cracked open. The life I held on to so tight for so long is gone and what has emerged is a fresh new version.
And it tastes delicious.