Columns: WILD THINGS @meganholbeck
[MEGAN HOLBECK]
www.meganholbeck.com
RECOGNISING THE GOOD BITS Remember to remember how good life is.
L
ast year was a bit average. There were highlights: time spent in the rainforests of Tassie’s takayna; a fantastic family adventure up to Far North Queensland, exploring the reef, the waterfalls, the stunning beaches and landscapes; three days of sunshine and stunning coastline along the NSW South Coast’s Light to Light track; and many other smaller adventures. There was also the chance to reconnect with friends and family after years of COVID interruptions, and, conversely, there was not a single day of home schooling. But after what feels like years of crap weather, I realised my outlook and expectations changed in 2022. (I suspect a large swathe of the East Coast’s population also adapted to 2022’s ‘new normal’, just like we did globally with the pandemic.) I stopped planning outdoor things for the weekend because they were always washed out. After cancelling four camping trips in a row, our family almost forgot how much we love a tent. I barely went in the ocean because the “no swimming for 48 hours after heavy rain” advice wiped out two-thirds of the available days. And at the end of the year, for the first time ever, I had a limb in plaster. In the school holidays, we escaped the rain by going ice skating and I zoomed around the rink, remembering that feeling of gliding, of flying. It didn’t take much encouragement to pull out my primary-school figure-skating skills. “Mum, you’re so good,” my daughter said. “What tricks can you do?” I launched into what should have been a basic twirl and quickly realised two things: Those skills are rusty, and ice is really hard.
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There was a collective, “Oooh,” when I hit the ground. I sprang up from the quickly forming circle of concern and did a few laps of the rink to show how much it didn’t hurt, ignoring the blossoming shock and my ballooning right wrist. I made it through lunch, then took myself to emergency. I then spent more than a month in a cast. But good things came out of both the rain and the injury.
THERE WAS A
COLLECTIVE, “OOOH,” WHEN I HIT THE GROUND. I SPRANG
UP QUICKLY ... TO SHOW HOW MUCH IT DIDN’T HURT,
THEN TOOK MYSELF TO EMERGENCY.”
Not long after ‘the fall’, I had a weekend when the days sparkled with spring and possibility; the sun was out from Friday to Sunday. I’d organised a surf weekend for fifteen friends with lessons and catch ups and fun and freedom at Gerroa on the NSW South Coast. My old-school plaster cast couldn’t get wet, but I swam regardless, holding my arm above my head. While the others surfed, I sat on the beach and watched, went for walks and read. Part of me was bummed while the rest of me was delighted: I could still go for runs; eat, drink and be merry; soak in the warmth of friendships and sun. And watching others out there made me realise how much I enjoy surfing and want to do it. When the cast is off, I will be back out
there, rain or no rain, without the excuses of tiredness or busyness or anything else. In colder climes, people really appreciate a glorious day. In the UK, the sun transforms the mood. On the first spring day, the sun comes out, and so does everyone: Undie-clad people cover every available patch of London grass, the beaches are packed, and normal life slows down so everyone can soak in the warmth and the goodness, and replenish their stores of both. That’s what life now feels like in Sydney: We’re making the most of every sunny day. Instead of waking up to perfect weather and not even really noticing, now we’re capturing every moment: We dry off the chairs and have dinner on the balcony; pick up the kids for a swim and fish and chips on the beach. It’s all about silver linings. The interminable downpour made me grateful for any break, and the actual [bone] break made me realise how lucky I am to be healthy and active. After being locked down, we can appreciate our usual freedom. In Gerroa, during that weekend away that I’d organised, I joined the end of a surf lesson, shivering in the shallows in my swimmers with my wetsuit-clad friends. Our coach was ex-professional big-wave surfer Rusty Moran, who had begun the lessons with a rather big claim: Surfing makes people better humans. He finished the weekend with meditation to show us how. The waves washed in. The sun was warm. You could hear the surf and feel the peace. Tap into this feeling whenever you want, he said. Don’t try so hard, don’t think so much, don’t stress. Just be. And be grateful.
