On taking a break

Last week, I went to Melbourne. It's about as far South as you can go in Australia, in the state of Victoria. It was a dream, and while I didn't write or read much, I drank excellent coffee and saw excellent sights in excellent company and I got to wear scarves, which was excellent. I even saw the smallest penguins in the world (This is not a hyperbole. It's fact), and while we weren't allowed to take photographs, it is something that will be etched into my memory for the rest of my life. There is so much beauty in the world, and sometimes it takes the ridiculous waddling of a tiny animal to remind you of this truth.

As we got closer and closer to Sydney, though, I found myself restless. Not in the wanderlust sense. More in the I've so enjoyed this holiday and now I'm back and having to face the daily grind again and what if I can't handle it, and I was oh-so worried that coming back would be stressful.

It wasn't. I stepped into the doorway of my host family's house and it was like coming home, all over again. Like July 1st, 2013 when I stepped out of the airport into the crisp, Australian air for the first time and in spite of everything swirling around me, I just knew that I was in the right place.

There's something to be said for taking breaks. For sleeping much later than necessary and eating breakfast at lunchtime. For walking along beaches and perusing in new bookstores and taking breaths that are so long and sweet you're not exactly sure how your lungs are managing it. I don't know much about this year, but I do know this: It will be great. One for the record books.

I'm not one for resolutions or yearly "reflections" (which I think it a poor word choice, but that's a different story altogether). I think that the last day in May is as good a day as the first day in January to turn over a new leaf or start a new project or talk about how your life is shaping up. But I get it. I get that we live in a time frame dictated by a calendar that says this month is the beginning. I'll take it.

Give me everything you've got, new year. I can take anything you throw at me. I know how to breathe deeply between punches.

Bathhouses down by the seaside

We stopped in Ballarat to watch part of a cycling race. This is the peloton.

This is Stephen. He is a gentleman and makes a stellar travel companion.

Finding the perfect fit

This week I enjoyed some much needed dolce far niete, the sweetness of doing nothing. Carefree, easy. I slept past 7:00 and allowed myself to spend my mornings cozy, in bed with coffee and a new book. I made waffles for lunch with my gentleman and we watched movies and read some more, side by side. I explored familiar parts of my city with my friends and found new treasures in places I least expected. I cried heavily over how exhausted I found myself and then ate handfuls of peanut m&ms to make up for the sadness.

I was glad for the company and I was glad for the solitude.

And in the mix of it all, over more waffles and bacon and fruit, I found myself recognizing a youthfulness in myself that seemed almost unfamiliar. Because, you see, this tender gentleman is bringing out the best in me in the best of ways. We ride in the ute listening to bands that I haven't heard in three years, at least, and I still know every lyric. And I am reminded of frisbee after band practice, of swinging at the park after my first college classes, of midnight trips to waffle house and moving out of my parents' house for the first time, of summer and fall and their respective sounds. We cook dinner and eat ice cream and I am reminded of the first time I cooked dinner. We read together and I remember every word I have ever read. We spend time apart and I am reminded of every person I have ever missed. I am reminded of all the things I've left behind.

He teaches me that bringing out the best in someone means realizing that the best parts of you are not always necessarily caught up in who you are right now. The best in you hides in realizations you had at 17 and decisions you made at 19 and adventures you had at 21. The best of you rests not only in who you have become and where you are going, but the deepest, most soulful places you've come from. Instead of always moving forward, bringing out the best in someone allows the sweetest of backward glances, not to compare or wonder or wallow, but to recognize that even though some of the best is yet to come, some of it has already been.

What a wonderful discovery.

PB&J Picnic before the NYE fireworks over the Harbour Bridge. I was reminded of every new year celebrated thus far, traditions built and buried, and why this new year holds promises far surpassing any I have ever imagined. And I have a great imagination.