5 years in the making

If someone, a decade ago, had suggested that I'd have had the experiences I've had over the last few years I would have called them insane. But, who am I to argue with the hairy hand of fate? Late November, just a few days ago in fact, I was walking down one of the neighbourhood streets, brown leaves curling on the cold concrete, when I realised that it was the anniversary of my arrival here and I was now in my fifth year of living in New York. How could that be possible? The memories of home are frozen for me from the day and time and year that I left and moment that I left. I know a lot has gone on, people grown up, kids stretched taller, some re-located, others fallen away - but funnily enough I do find it hard to believe that when I go home things won't just be as I left them. An Australia preserved, waiting for someone to press pause. Of course, this won't be so. Walking down the street thinking on all this, I began to focus too on some of the details of this journey that I wouldn't ordinarily spend time considering. Random things about people and places and homes and streets and staircases and jobs - all the experiences, everything that has put the last five years together. The smell of the cab from JFK when I arrived late one night in late November. The flash of lights of the city. Climbing the stairs, all 68 of them, in Reade Street, Tribeca. Being in love. Suddenly delivering Christmas trees - pounding the pavement and erecting the trees in gorgeous downtown lofts. Being paid in tips. Working in bars. Understanding how bars work, how regulars work, how tips work. Late nights walking home down Broadway in the snow. Getting married in Central park. Navigating the world of expat visas. Moving to Brooklyn. Realising that moving to Brooklyn should have happened earlier. Loving Brooklyn. Becoming a part of a great neighbourhood. It boggles the mind to really contemplate and to try to articulate the minutiae that has been the last five years. A good friend of mine said that it took about 18 months living in New York before you really found your feet. She was right. Almost to the month. Have I found my foothold completely? I'm not sure. Are we ever? Experience has equipped me to survive this city more than it had in the first few years, but it's also had its toll. I could do with a holiday home. It's been three years since I've touched that soil, stirred under that sun, sat with mates and laughed. Many friends and family have visited and the yearning felt for home after their departure is magnified. Do I have friends like them over here? I'm not sure. Mostly, the friends here are Australian and European and ever thankful for that I do miss being able to drop around to friends and family or run into them down the shops. Will we be home in year? Probably not. Two? Not sure. Ever? Yes. For the moment here is home and it's been possibly one of the toughest and challenging and yet embracing and magical places I've been lucky enough to call home. I'll forget details of it. I'll forget names and places and faces and tales and I'll no doubt bore people with sudden and momentary recollection. But for the moment, while it's rushing at me like a New York minute, it's good to pause and think about what it's been and how it's gone and what there is to look forward to. For me right now, it's diving into Lake Eacham sometime in March.