The view from our balcony getaway.
‘Peaceful’ is not a word I would use to describe the location of mine and Evie’s apartment. ‘Quiet’, ‘serene’, and ‘calm’ don’t leap to mind either. With a main road situated just outside our front window, and one of those building sites that is always getting worked on and yet never being finished sitting just outside our back window – incessant noise reigns supreme. Car horns, police sirens, and the shrieks of crazy-looking vagrants merge with jackhammers, drills, and angle grinders to create an inner-city cacophony that’s enough to drive anyone insane. As if trying to compete with the noise that surrounds them, many of the people we share this apartment complex with operate at a volume that seems wholly unreasonable as well. With no other plausible explanations forthcoming Evie and I have concluded that the lady who lives above us must be teaching tap-dancing classes to pupils wearing steel shoes. Not to be outdone, the heavy-set guy to our right stomps up and down the shared stairwell as if he is sincerely trying to break through each step. And, of course, the people coming and going from the carpark yell to one another as if they’re survivors stranded on a deserted island trying to get the attention of a passing ship.
While I’d be lying if I said I’m thrilled to be surrounded by so much racket, there’s an ironic way in which that non-stop noise suits my temperament. See, ‘lackadaisical’ is not a word I would use to describe the way I approach my life. Instead, as Evie has so affectionately put it, I am “an obsessive psycho who doesn’t know how to chill”. Like a horse whipped by a jockey on methamphetamines, I am forever charging towards the next thing on my to-do list. And because I genuinely struggle with the idea of relaxation, I make sure there is always far more on my to-do list than I can ever actually get done.
But don’t get it twisted – I like being this way.
Whatever it is that makes people thrive from constantly doing stuff, I have that shit in droves. I suspect a part of my go-go-go-go-go-go attitude stems from being an addict in recovery. As I’ve heard that many people who make it to the sober side find themselves with far more energy and motivation than they know what to do with. I also know that a part of my drive comes from being an obsessive. I mean, despite my best efforts to the contrary, I am still dangerously fanatical about writing and skateboarding. And there are at least four other vocations I fight tooth and nail just to keep at bay lest they start to eat away at time I do not have. Then there’s the simple fact that, for as long as I can remember, this is just how I’ve always been. Being busy makes me feel good. Knowing I’m working as hard as I can to get where I want to go leaves me satisfied. And moving towards the carrots I’ve placed in front of myself grants me a sense of steadiness that’s hard to find elsewhere. And so, as far as I’ve always understood it – this is just who I am.
As you might imagine, going on holiday can be somewhat ‘challenging’ for someone like me. I’m fine if on that holiday I can see and do lots of things. But lounging around by the pool all day – get fucked! I could do that for about an hour, tops. And in that time, I would, undoubtedly, swim a bunch of laps and scour every corner of that pools depths just to keep myself entertained. So, imagine my apprehension, when Evie suggested we go on a little holiday to a cabin in the woods for her birthday.
“What are we gonna do there?” I asked my poor girlfriend when she floated the idea by me.
“There’s a waterfall and a lake in this national park we can check out.” Evie responded, clearly prepared for this inevitable showdown.
“That sounds cool, but like, is there much else to do?” I pressed.
“I don’t know; I thought we could just hang out and take the days as they come. Is that alright?” Evie countered, immediately putting me on the back foot.
“Umm, yeah, it’s just, umm, aghh, obviously I love hangin with you, I’m just kinda wondering, like, what we’re actually gonna do when we hang, ya know.” I said, scrambling to stay in this bout.
“We can just chill and relax, there’s a bath and this nice balcony that overlooks the forest, we can sit out there and watch the trees. It’ll be nice. C’mon, do I really have to talk you into this? Can we please just go?” Evie said, delivering the final blow.
“Of course, we can Chicken; it sounds great.” I said, as the referee held up Evie’s hand.
As it turns out – it was great. This isn’t surprising really, everything I do with Evie is great. That adorable Chicken makes life a hoot. The destination of our holiday certainly helped as well. . .
Situated roughly four hours south-east of Perth, and home to the famous Karri Forest, Pemberton is a unique Western Australian getaway in that its landscape is distinctly different from the stereotypical barren-bushland or picturesque beaches Australia is known for. There, luscious green undergrowth nestles up to the giant Karri trees that make up the forest. And thanks to Evie’s thorough research, she’d found us the most beautiful place in the whole of Pemberton. Overlooking Beedlellup National Park, our cabin was perched on the edge of a huge hill that careened down to a lake at the bottom of the valley. This meant that from the lofty vantage point of our balcony we could see as far as that dense timberland would allow. Enormous Karri trees filled our gaze, their dark greens and browns contrasted against the soft blue sky to paint a scene that was truly arresting. It was spectacular. So much so that Evie and I sat on that balcony every morning drinking our coffee before we went out for the day.
Now, given that you can take the boy out of the city, but you can’t take the obsessive psycho who doesn’t know how to chill out of the boy, it should come as no surprise that, not only did we explore every inch of that national park, but we also filled each day with a myriad of activities that kept my insatiable urge to do things appeased. We: hiked through the forest following the longest trail we could find, stood atop the swaying bridge that’s suspended over Beedlellup Falls, took silly photos of each other walking through the base of a ginormous hollowed out Karri tree, ate lunch at the restaurant that sat on the lake, got accosted on our own balcony by two aggressive parrots that coerced us into giving them food, broiled ourselves close to the point of fainting in our cabins huge bath tub, sat by the fire talking each night, and we even went canoeing on the lake. Although, the word ‘canoeing’ is probably a bit misleading as that implies that Evie and I worked together rowing our plastic floatation device in a clear direction, which is essentially the exact opposite of what we did. Instead, we steered haphazardly into every low-hanging tree branch at the lakes edge, nearly capsized like five times, and argued profusely about which direction is actually left.
“No Evie, paddle to the left; the left!” I cried out from the back of our lake-fairing ship.
“I am paddling to the left!”
“No Evie, you’re paddling to the right.”
“No, I’m not, that’s the left.”
“No, it’s not, I know my left from right,” I insisted, before pausing for a second to look at my hands just to be sure, “actually wait, maybe you’re right.”
“What?!” Evie exclaimed.
“I said paddle to the right; the right, I say, matey!”
It was all incredibly fun, and it proved to me that not only is Evie the best travel companion ever, but that she can, when ‘gently encouraged’, keep up with my go-go-go-go-go-go approach to holidaying. However, there was one afternoon when Evie said, “enough”. Claiming a few hours of relaxation to herself, she decided to read a book in the bath before settling in for a well-earnt nap. Unsurprisingly, I seized that opportunity to get a few things done. Armed with my laptop and the sketchy Wi-Fi connection my phone’s hotspot provided, I ventured onto the balcony to do some work.
Pulling up a chair, I sat in front of that beautiful expanse and turned on my device. Waiting for my old-shoddy laptop to load, my eyes wandered into the trees. Since the ground at the foot of our cabin cascaded down the hill, my gaze met the tops of those phenomenal Karri trees. Towering more than 70 metres in the air, and standing as straight as a lamp post, those kings of inertia radiated wisdom. Their height reminded me of how far away the sky really is. Their stillness filled me with a sense of calm. And their might made me feel secure. Staring into the dense canopy those ancient nurturers had fashioned over countless years, I began to put faces to the bird calls that punctuated the silence. To my left a pair of Kookaburra’s cackled in unison (no doubt, acknowledging their appreciation for the fine-looking fellow on the balcony to their right). A Red wattlebird flew from branch to branch intermittently calling out to the vastness it soared above. And the same duo of aggressive parrots that had accosted Evie and I earlier, now sang to one another as they danced amongst the trees. With those arboreal creatures tweeting in harmony with the gentle rustling of the leaves in the breeze I felt my body aligning to the tune of that naturistic symphony. And as the evening’s pink sky tinged the dark greens and browns of the forest with a golden hue, I felt the richness of that scene soften something within me. Glancing down at my laptop, after what must’ve been twenty minutes, I realised my normal urge to get things done had completely melted away. And so, I just sat there, watching the trees.
Sometime later, Evie came and found me.
“Whatcha doin?” She asked.
“Just sitting.”
“Did you get some work done?”
“Nah, I was going to, but then I just started watching this.” I replied, casting my arm out in an arc to gesture at the forest.
“Hmmm that’s not like you.” Evie responded, sounding somewhat perplexed.
“Yeah, I know. But, I mean, look at that tree over there,” I said, pointing to one of the Karri trees I’d grown particularly fond of, “that tree hasn’t moved all day, and yet, it seems perfectly happy.”
“Good point.” Evie said, as she pulled up a chair.
There’s a lot to love here, but something that immediately stood out was how your syntax led me into an appropriate rhythm. While you go-go-go through every inch of the park, you’ve got long lists with rich clauses between the commas, such that I felt out of breath as I read along. On the flip side, when you sat down, you modulated the rhythm into these languid, beautiful observational sentences. I found myself breathing slowly automatically. This is chock full of awesome detail and the figurative language at the beginning left me grinning, but you use those details to awesome effect in different sections. The playful dialogue is great, too—including the final line when your stillness becomes a shared stillness.
Like you, I tend to be a go-go-go-er. My idea of relaxing is to walk eight miles, write a 4,000 word essay, or watch a challenging, heart-shredding movie. I’m walking and upright all day, so doing is the path of least resistance. This month, I’ve tried to give myself a weekly moment to soak my feet in this little bubble tub I found, and I’ve found it difficult to make into a habit. I found this really encouraging in the same way your endorsement of yoga was in “Torn in Two”. Pausing feels dangerous to me, like a squandered opportunity, but you make a compelling argument in its favor.
(Also in favor of Pemberton. Seriously, you deserve a sponsorship check for how well you sold the place.)
Long story short: fantastic read, as a piece of writing and a persuasive endorsement of not-doing sometimes.
Omg Evie is the Master of Persuasion - you didn't stand a chance in that battle! Future battles don't look good for you either. Kudos to her for keeping up with you but also helping you reach a place of balance. You got me on this post at the title - what a great story. Loved it.