I want to live far away and I also don't.

On longing, curiosity and home.

I just set myself a 30 minute timer to sit and write this. It will be left rough and it will be left raw. There is a lot left out of this conversation that I have already popped on a list of ‘things to write next time’ or ‘things to include in book.’

I have been setting myself timers this week, to hit my 1000 words-a-day goal for a book I am working on. When I say I’m working on it, I mean, I am constantly struggling through the resistance and the never ending thoughts of ‘this book doesn’t matter’, ‘this sucks’, ‘make a course instead’, ‘I bet you don’t finish it.

I wish I had matured beyond this stereotypical creative struggle but alas, it’s still with me, sat right beside my matcha as I write. Two things that have been so helpful for me have been a) setting a timer and letting loose on the keyboard until it stops and b) a goal of 1000 words a day.

Writing a book is no joke, especially as we’ve become more attuned to the world of fast dopamine hits. A book is long and a book is lonely. It requires a lot of discipline. I find myself wondering why writing my first, and even second book felt so much easier. The answer to the first book can perhaps be explained by the fact I was pregnant with my first child, and I had all day long to faff about. Distractions were minimal and it just felt… pretty straightforward.

For the record, I don’t at all yearn to return to those days full of endless space to create. It feels far too confronting now to think about having an entire day. I’d waste too much time, I know it. Two solid hours, even one solid hour of total focus and I am golden. There is something about the fullness of motherhood that squeezes the best creativity out of us I believe. There is less space for the nonsense. Maybe.

I am writing this piece when what I really want to be doing is asking chatgpt to list all of the potential cities, countries and towns that could be ripe for our next adventure. It will take into account the expat community, quality of food, alternative schools or home school community, and of course weather— because I am a woos, used to over 320 days of sun a year. “Where has over 360 days of sunshine a year?” I ask on behalf of my olive Greek skin.

If England had even 20% more sunshine a year it would be my spot. I love England. I love England because (some of my) my ancestors came from there on a convict ship, seven generations ago. My ancestor (wish I knew his name, let’s call him Wallace), was standing beside someone who hit someone else over the head with a barstool, and so they thought ‘what the heck, chuck that guy on the boat too.’ I wonder if Wallace had not been in the bar that night, whether I’d have been born in England, studied literature at Oxford, had pale skin and rosy cheeks, and one of my greatest dreams— have been more able to tolerate the cold and grey of England. Or perhaps I wouldn’t have been born at all. Of course, my Norwegian, Greek, Italian, Scottish, German ancestors all played a roll in it too, but just like parts of the Mediterranean, England feels so like home.

It feels home in a different way than Australia does. Australia feels like home in the way that it is familiar. It is comfortable. Most of my closest people are here. My kids were born here. I drive around retelling stories of my childhood to my kids. I understand it. I feel a deep recognition when I am flipping through travel magazines and spot the gumtrees, the gorges of the far North East, and Uluru. I feel a special sort of comfort when the kookaburras sing in the morning, when I land back in Aus after being away and see the big red kangaroo, that first perfectly made coffee. God chose for Australia to be my home and it for sure has made me the funny bugger that is expert level at swimming out of rips that I now am.

But Europe/England feels home in a different way. It holds pieces of me I don’t know well enough but that knock at me from the inside wanting to wake up. It brings parts of me alive that have remained dormant perhaps, my entire life. It has me thinking ‘I know this place’, even though I’ve spent far less time there, than here.

I don’t think I’m alone in feeling like I need beauty, richness and culture. I need it like I need food and water. I need it like I need the sun. I need variety like I need air.

The fact that I can travel like I’ve been able to travel, would have had 10 year old me in disbelief. I didn’t go on a plane until I was 15, for my first soccer trip. Mum had to refinance the house and sell her cars (many times) for our soccer pursuits. Holidays, at least ones that required an aeroplane, were not part of my childhood. Money was scarce and it just wasn’t within reach. We had routine, community, and the upbringing of the good ol’ Aussie burbs. The slightly rougher ones. I remember laying in my bed inside the garage (which was my room), thinking about growing up and seeing the world. I wondered if it’d ever happen. Some kids dream about buying a home in the nice part of town where they’re from. I dreamt of leaving. I don’t mean that in a tantrum way, but in a curious way. My home town of Perth is the most isolated city in the world. It is safe. It is clean. The weather is incredible— long summers, mild winters. There is so much to love about it.

But no matter how much I slice and dice it, it’s just not my place.

My mum describes it as driving around toy town and waiting for Noddy to appear. Like pleasant-ville. It truly is a paradise on Earth but it is so isolated— geographically, and mentally. I appreciate the comfort so much, but I miss the richness, the grit of the world.

What brings us back here intermittently, is being close to my mum, especially around the times we have babies. I wouldn’t change this for the world.

Still, I wrestle, I wrestle and I wrestle, with what is ‘right’ with regards to roots, and curiosity, and aliveness and how to live a life that honours them all.

Do I root my family in a place that feels a little suffocating because being close to family over-rides all?

Or is that tug on the soul more important?

Everyone has different views on this. Everyone was born with different curiosities, different desires, different circumstances. There is no one answer any of us can give to another.

I know that wanting to be close to my mum is biological, but perhaps wanting to be close to my English/European heritage is too. What also matters to our family, is that my husband is American. So, even though we are quite integrated with my mum, and my kids have cousins in Western Australia (hubs is an only child so they don’t have first cousins on his side), my husband has a biological home also. His parents, despite being ridiculously healthy for their ages, are also aging and we talk often about spending more time there— maybe a little, maybe a lot. It’s not off the cards that we’d move back there.

We are in the blessed position where we could spend time here and time there. But, that does get tiring. After returning home from a brief trip to the US over Christmas, we vowed not to travel again for two years. LOL! My husband asked if he could record me saying that. I’m so glad I didn’t let him, because what was I thinking? Regardless of where we root down, we have family on the other side of the world, so long distance travel is apart of our life regardless. This became a vow when we married.

My kids love travel. Sol is like a mini me in that way. You should’ve seen her face when I told her we’re planning to go and see the pub where C.S Lewis used to hang with his writer friends— The Inklings. She remembers England as the place with the epic cafes, that serve hot chocolates with soooo many mini marshmallows, and she remembers our old London neighbours, Henry, Archie and Finn.

I have tried to swat my desire for new family experiences. I have told myself the lie that it is wrong, that I am just ungrounded, that if I was a better Christian mum I would be able to live without it. But then I lose a part of myself, a part that God Himself gave me. I am made to observe, and to tell.

Maybe we go on some more extended adventures. Live in places for seasons like we did England and Italy.

Maybe we get it out of our system and go somewhere for two years, with the plan to return and ‘root’.

Maybe it never leaves the system.

What I know is that being close to family does matter, and there is no mistaking why we have come home to Australia every time we’ve had a baby. I want to be close to what is biological for me and who is biological for me— my mum and this support serves our whole family.

The kids form deep bonds and it becomes harder to leave but all of this mental and emotional reasoning still doesn’t quieten the tug of the soul. It’s more than a tug on the soul too. It’s a sense of discernment. One that perhaps is so exciting that I feel it can’t be true. Unfortunately, I have tried. I have tried because everyone has their ideas of what is ‘the right way’ to live as a mother.

My husband and I also had a really good chat the other day about the more radically culturally Christian ideas about submission. Maybe I’ll write about it. Maybe I’m too shy to. My mentor Martine says that the woman sets the tone, and the man directs. The woman’s desires mean a whole lot to the family and especially to the husband. My husband reinforces this with me, and he lights up when I share the things I feel excited about. We don’t act on them all, obviously. My husband is practical and logical. I am emotional and idealistic. That’s why I share ideas and he directs, leads, makes decisions that I am perhaps too emotional to make. Yes, I am intuitive. But I need his pragmatism.

I don’t believe we’re meant to chase our every whim— of course not. I believe in the importance of sacrifice, especially as a mother. But I have some deepening ideas about sacrifice and sustenance, and how we need both.

But I also believe we need to pay attention to our aliveness as women, and not pretend it’s what it’s not because we are being overly influenced by others who ‘live as we perhaps should.’ Your life is not their life, even if you share the same values.

God made us uniquely. This is the one thing I vividly remember learning in Catholic primary school.

We come alive in different ways.

We have callings as families.

I want my children to see me fully alive, just as I want them to see me be able to lay parts of me down in service to my family.

We are told in The Bible to ‘deny the flesh’, and I sit with that a lot— does that mean, deny my desire to see the world? Deny the fact that it brings me aliveness that I want to share with my family? Denying the part of me that comes alive when I walk the streets of Europe, that walks the cobblestones streets of England, feels like dying while I’m alive. That might sound precious and snooty… but my ancestors didn’t struggle like hell so that I could stop dreaming— even as a mother.

Sometimes I think that the greatest gift I could give my mother is to live so radically alive that it surprises even myself. She had struggles and stresses that I could never fathom, so did my nanna, and her mother. She fought for my aliveness, and I take that personally.

If you’ve followed my work for a while you will know that I admire and respect my mum enormously. I talk about it a lot and I talk about her a lot. I made it my mission early on in my life to retire my mum, to pay off her mortgage (yes, I made these plans while sleeping in our garage). I always felt so responsible for giving my mum a better life. And so I did. But sometimes I focus so much on doing that (eldest daughter never clocks out), that I momentarily forget that I need to live my own. I am slowly learning just how important it is that I live my own. Any eldest daughter will know, this is sometimes harder than it sounds. I read this article on Eldest Daughter Syndrome by

Letters by L

yesterday and felt so seen— you might too if you are one. I have some reflections on it that aren’t quite complete… but gosh I am so tired of overlaying every one of my desires with ‘but what does everyone else need’. I’m not sure I know, with total purity, what it is that I want.

My mum writes in every card, including the mothers day just gone (paraphrasing) “My wish for you is that you can enjoy the life, the family and the legacy you have created and no longer carry all the burden”.

So while I want to live close to my mum— for my kids, for her, for us, I also want to live far away. I also want us to go our own way, beyond the comforts and safety of where I was born, for us to continue to be changed by living in other places— maybe for a little or maybe for a lot.

For the record, my mum also doesn’t feel she belongs in WA and she is president of the ‘Perth is like a big toy town’ fan club. She’s been invited to travel with us every time (and we have taken her all around the world over the years). She’s also been invited to move overseas with us— but with other grandchildren here and two geriatric dogs, it’s just not her life path. We totally respect that.

But I’ve also got to respect the life path of my own family. My mum tells me this also.

I don’t have the answers.

But I have a lot of curiosity. A lot of hunger. A lot of excitement that comes from being in new places and I don’t want to live without that.

I feel so grateful for my life.

I feel so grateful to have been born in Australia.

I feel so grateful for the time we get with my family here.

I feel so grateful…

But what do I do with all this hunger? This curiosity? I don’t want to lose it. Ever.

As I read recently— “Curiosity is the closest thing we have to life force”. Peter Godwin said it on

Oblivious Witness

(I listened to her most recent episode because as you can imagine, the topic is right up my alley).

Sometimes I hesitate to write about this stuff because people say ‘Only privileged people can think like this’ and it’s true— not everyone has the luxury to think about living anywhere in the world. My family up until me definitely didn’t. This also is a paradox, because the choice can feel paralysing.

A whole other conversation for another day.

Have you wrestled with location? Family? Curiosity?

Tell me about it. XX

PS. I filmed an episode last week on knowing when to make changes to cosleeping and feeding on demand titled “Permission for even the most natural mummas.” But, the platform I filmed to ‘Descript’ has lost it. I’m hoping temporarily, otherwise, I’ll write it out another time.