“In 129 days, I will be a wife.”
Such a weird thing to say out loud, but it seems fitting as I walk through the field — the same place where I got engaged only months ago.
I usually take my daily walk here, as it overlooks my partner’s childhood home, where he and his two brothers grew up. Coincidentally, it’s also where I’ve lived with him for the past six months.
I love how there is absolutely nothing around, just soil and flint that look like moon rocks. Sometimes, when I’m really missing home, I pretend their shells and the fields are Manly Beach, the same one my dad and I used to visit when I was a teenager.
In the distance, trees break the horizon line, fuzzy like mascara wands.
If you’d told me a few years ago that I’d be married at 29, back living with parents, in a country where it rains half the time, and doing the same job I’d been doing for six years — the job I started before my degree — I probably wouldn’t have believed you.
Moving to the other side of the world has taught me to trust my instincts more, even though in the past they’ve sometimes been wrong or perhaps I’d been following other people’s instincts, hoping they were right for me.
When I compare my first year in London with where I am now, I notice the horses gliding past my window each morning instead of the sirens finding their way through my window panes.
My salary is wildly different from anything I’ve earned before, and I can honestly say my partner is unlike anyone I’ve dated before, too.
However somethings I’m glad haven’t changed- like my friends in Australia, whom are still the same people I see when I go home to visit. And it feels kind of nice to know my heart was in the right place, with the right people, before I left.
Back then, I was waiting to figure out the creative job of my dreams. And now, I know my next steps and have a plan in place to actually get there. But this time, I’m not alone. My partner is in the waiting room with me.
Meeting him brought new dreams with doors I previously didn’t expect would open. And I was scared to hope for them, in case life had other plans. Incase I was never going to be a homeowner, a mother…
In four months, I will be a wife, and my name will change. But, in a twist of timing, my original name will remain in my passport. And there she will be, waiting for our next adventure together. Someone I will always take with me, wherever I go.
I now see her as someone who made a lot of bad choices — something I think is accustom to being that age. She didn’t get it right all the time, but that didn’t stop her from trying. I wish I’d been kinder to her. Maybe that’s something I’ll make sure to do for my daughter when she’s figuring it all out.
I feel lucky to start this new chapter next year. I may not be where I thought I would be in every area of my life, but I’m slowly getting there, one walk through the field at a time.
Leave a Reply