Pinot, Bretzels, and Cathedrals

I’m not in the best headspace at the moment- I feel like we’re existing in a half-life, where I crave being able to fly on the wingtips of the clouds while snuggling up under my duvet with a book to avoid having to feel anything or make decisions. I scroll through my phone looking at the photos endlessly, trying to find that perfect photo to sum up my holiday that I can put it behind me, because I need to move on.

It’s this half life that lingers while we transition back to European life: switching back to French conversations, driving on the wrong side of the road, not being attuned to the relevant news cycles while seeking out the comfort of familiarity (apparently the dusty plains and vast blue skies never actually leaves our blood). I think of every thing I’m feeling after this recent holiday, I am missing my friends and family more than ever before.

It was never my intention to return to SA over back to back summers- I’ve always felt that we need to explore the travel options on our doorstep and try to embrace the cultural opportunities here. However, Anton turns 50 later this year, and we felt that he deserved to be around his family to celebrate the milestone, and thus Project 50 was born- a divine, no expenses spared opportunity to fly back ‘home’ for it. Determined to capitalise this time, we booked a trip to the Kruger National Park, the girls were invited to a week of camping with my brother and family, and I set aside a much needed fortnight to chill out at the farm in Boston.

And yet, somehow, time was just not enough. It’s never enough, but this time we felt even more apart than ever before.

Did we anticipate too much? Did we set unfathomably high expectations of thinking we would get to see everybody? Did I want endless nights laughing and crying around a dinner table while I was able to catch up on everyone’s’ lives and news, their dreams and successes?

I did. I know that much for certain. I think that’s why I am feeling a little in the doldrums, a nod to my failure at being a distant absent friend.

And perhaps the month I spent away from France has filtered in a little bit more South African-ess than ever before: I’m craving connections to my people. My people who know me, who just pick up a conversation like we last spoke yesterday. Being able to just be myself, not to have to explain why I say things a little differently. This week I find myself drawn to making virtual connections with other South Africans online- a point that I have always vehemently been against because there is a world of personalities out there that bore me to death.

I mooched around our home upon our return for a few days trying to figure out why this direness of dread wouldn’t shake off my shoulders. Lethargic, I didn’t want to do anything, except pick up that conversation I was having with MC or VK, or just to be able to have a cup of tea with my Dad again.

What has been different about this return? Are our families back home more fragile? Do I feel further apart from everyone that I’ve lost a connection? Or is this a notion that I don’t want to have to struggle this year? Struggle to make myself understood. Struggle to figure out school expectations. Struggle with mental health blocks. Struggle to see through the quagmire that is work and the inevitable rat-race (I know. Rat races exist in every part of the world when you’re committed to everything you need to commit to. Because doing the 9-5 here is no different to doing it in South Africa.)

Or is the latter line the “voila’ moment? Are all of my concerns manifesting out of a place that is entirely work based? Am I simply closing down mentally because I don’t want to deal with midnight finishes, being away from my girls and hubby 4 nights a week, splitting my limited social time with my handful of friends- or simply having to cut off that part?

Every morning I open my eyes, I try to take my coffee on the kitchen terrace while itemising what good things I can do with my time. I need to address driving licence concerns. I need to formalise a path to passport application. I need to be creative and write. But then the warmth of the bed, the comfort of the souls that return there draw me back and all half made intentions get drowned in my cup of coffee.

It’s a rut. Like the wedges that line the route from the Netherby dairy to the pump house, and I can’t see a way over. Will I spend the next 11 months in a similar pattern?

Or am I just overthinking this all?

My dearest closest friends who have been here on this site for 10 years (yes, it’s been that long since my first post. It was my parents 38th wedding anniversary to the day. I should/could be reflecting on that milestone but instead I’m wallowing in having to go to work. Sigh), thank you for your support. More importantly, thank you for your friendship.

It saddens me that we didn’t get to spend hours over a dinner table or at a spa, or enjoy a long walk over a high mountain. Please forgive me that I couldn’t have more time with you. I hope that you don’t see it as us having drifted apart – it’s not that at all. It’s that life is just so full that it’s hard to carve out extra time. Let’s not take that away from anything that we have had. If we managed to see each other over my trip home, thank you for your time. Every single moment was precious and appreciated.

I suspect I’ll eventually find my way out of this hole. School starts next week, the rugby World Cup starts at the end of the week, and it’s followed by birthday season chez duP and then Christmas. Life will continue, and soon I’ll have forgotten how the sun hits different and the smiles land warmer back there. I’ll have forgotten what a decent piece of steak tastes like, because I’ll have a country of cheese to choose from instead. I’ll have my bicycle and podcasts, my city with her cathedral spires and cobbled streets, the idyllic countryside that could almost be like home. And so we’ll move on.

How about you?