the grass is greener...

Sometimes it feels like the grass is indeed greener on the other side... sometimes it feels like you would have been on the greener side yourself if it wasn't for decisions you've made... and sometimes it feels like grazing on the greener grass on the other side is a possibility but you haven't quite worked out the fence yet. And then sometimes it's just a case of saying 'hey - I'm hungry - and I have grass - and that's all I need...'

I'm staying tonite with my friend Karin and her family (Youcef who is kind enough to not mind when I steal Karin from him for an evening to talk up a storm, and lovely gorgeous sweet smart little Aliyah who fixed my hair in not one, not two, not three, but four pony tails - plus a scatter of clips - this evening) in Parramatta. Karin and I have been up with cups of tea, talking about the paths we've taken to vairous places and the paths that have taken us to various places... and now I'm reflecting on things, I realise that we've been talking a lot (and I've been thinking a lot) about the greener grass just over the fence, in the paddock up the road, beyond the horizon.

Now, let me be clear that I fully enjoy and appreciate my life - I have crazily amazing opportunities I never dreamed of and I'm one of the lucky ones who gets to follow her passion for a living. It is extraordinary that I am paid to read and write for a year, that I am moving to Toronto in two weeks, that I get to trip around the world so much, that I am part of a whanau context which is supportive, fun and multidimensional. I have been taught by great people, encouraged by generous people, and kept honest by loving people.

At the same time, some days I can get a bit sad about the places I thought I'd be by now (this is usually the green grass of a partner and kids of my own) and the way I wish my worklife could be (this is usually the green grass of a mythical university setting where staff are valued, mentored, supported and where I would feel like there's a department where people say 'hey Alice, we're so glad you're here, your research and teaching is something we need, value and enjoy'). Well, sad isn't the right word. Maybe I just yearn for that green grass... maybe I'm peckish for it... a bit hungry... starving... ravenous. Hmm, it all depends on the day.

And this is the place we all end up, I suspect: all of us, pulled tight like a clothesline between the posts of fantasy and reality. Or perhaps between the posts of 'if I wait for it, it may never come' and 'if I actively chase it, I still might never find it .' Between the posts of inertia and nihilism. Between 'may not happen anyway' and 'why bother.' Perhaps this sounds a bit too glass-half-empty? Perhaps it sounds like I'm saying the dream man and dream university don't exist so why bother going after them? Well, maybe they don't.

But there's another possible way to think about the clothesline - if 'it's not going to happen' is at either end, surely we can imagine that 'yes, at this specific point it might well happen' could be somewhere in between? Tonight we've talked about men who might be a good match for me, and we've talked about universities where we would be happy. As far as I know, there are no men out there dreaming of me tonite (am happy to stand corrected on this one!) and there are no other universities which at the present time would be completely ideal; and yet, I keep an eye out for new people and keep an eye on job advertisements so I feel like whichever situation I find myself in, I'm there because I know what the options are. I'm here because I know what the options are, and while I'm always happy to review the status quo of either situation, I am equally unwilling to sit around in case either situation gets better by itself just through the sheer force of my dogged determination to stare the problem down.

There's always an opportunity cost: there's always a price that is paid for the one that got away. There's never a guarantee you'll find what you're looking for and there's never even a guarantee you'll get home. And yet, as I write I realise that green grass can feel like it's taunting but it can also motivate. I'm writing in Parramatta, a place where Maori people have literally been coming for two centuries in order to get away from home, seek new perspectives, meet new people, gain a certain kind of education and - for some - plan further journeys to places beyond Australia. Mowhee, Teeterree, Tooi, Kooley, Toopunah and all the rest have spent time here - yes, literally, here - in this space of dry grass which is, from certain perspectives, green.