Rafting

When I am at work I sometimes forget that people are generally good. That most of us are inherently good hearted and if something comes across as vindictive, spiteful or unjust it’s most likely about their own insecurities rather than a direct reflection of me. In the heat of mid-term when I can’t see out of my own misery, I forget that the people who are grating my chain are not intently out there to make my life miserable. Of course there are some exceptions but in the wise words of a friend I had in high school, I will not let those people rent space in my head. The real estate is too valuable. They are just pushing something that doesn’t directly align with me.

Over the last few years my opinion of men has generally been quite negative. I have been prone to man bashing and to that defeatist thinking that they are all really just different versions of the same arsehole. There are of course exceptions to that rule, my dad, my grandpa … and then the list begins to struggle. I have male friends, lots of them, but even they can be prone to a dose of arseholeitis. (It’s a medical condition – google it.) In this space of man bashing, I can sometimes conveniently forget that I can be prone to bitchitis, surliness, moodiness and even just flat out condescending dismissal and yet I am appalled at any instance of assault on my character. I’ve never been good with men. I have this uncanny ability to make them my best friends almost immediately and then end up surprised when they just don’t love me like that. You’d think that after repeating the same pattern for thirty-two years I would have changed something. Identified that part of me that needs to make them like me.

I base it on the fact that if I like them a bit, then having them in my life at all has to be better than throwing yourself out there to sea. Putting yourself on a wobbly platform hoping that they see me as something more than the fat funny girl just simply has never been worth the humiliation of falling off. But what I seem to have forgotten over the last four years of man bashing (ok – it’s probably a little more than that) is that I can swim. If I fall off the platform, I can swim. People may laugh as I hit the water but unlike some others less confident in the sea, I will bob to the top. My body fat ratio will always assure that. It’s one of the perks of being a Big Frilly Knicker Wearer and while I would rather take my chances on one that I know will be leaving the next morning, if I want my raft to float and stop wobbling I need to tie it to a second one. And that my friends, means talking to one who isn’t leaving the next day.

I have joined two tour groups this holiday and they couldn’t be more different. While the first taught me so much about where I’d been, what I’d learned and how far I’ve come, the second was able to give me a much clearer view of what COULD be coming. But more than that, the people on it gave me a clearer idea that even if whatever I am waiting for doesn’t come, doesn’t mean that I am destined to float around forever. Brian and Leanne met when they were 32 and 26. Six weeks later, Brian asked her to marry him and move in. They made constant jokes about the fact that she just needed a place to live and Brian was just lucky but underneath the bravado and smart arse comments, I noticed that they held hands on the bus, that they would sneak kisses when no-one was watching and that even though Brian was well aware of what she needed he had absolutely no issues giving her enough space to do what she wanted. Their Mexico trip was in celebration of their 25th Wedding Anniversary.

Frida was travelling solo. On closer investigation, she has a husband. At home in Yeronga. She likes to travel to third world countries and he won’t leave the first. This independent married woman left her husband for three weeks because she wanted to see something else. Brendan was a historian who was divorced and getting back to doing the things that he loves. The rest of them were just like me. Running from something or in my case nothing or to somewhere else, just hoping that being away for a little while will make the world change and each of our platforms a little less wobbly. It’s here that these people were able to steady things out for just a little while. To hold onto my raft with nothing but good intentions. To remind me that the people who surround me, whether by choice or chance, are inherently good people and that, in life like in a group tour, I need to just accept them for the way they are.

It’s floating out here on a raft, ready to put yourself out there that I face the toughest bit. And it’s not the notion that someone may say no, may reject me but it’s what my head does with their response. When I’m standing there, trying my hardest not to fall, balancing on the edge of be my friend and why don’t you like me, I just need to grab the other rafts. Steady myself first and believe what’s being put in front of me. Believe in the good faith of other humans that what they tell me is honest. That when they say, “I like you” they actually mean it. That the annoying, self defeating voice that rings like acid in my ears is actually full of shit. That the other humans (and men) floating on their own rafts don’t need to say those things and that there is no laughter waiting in the wings to tell me it’s all a big joke. It’s ok to believe them, it’s ok to accept the compliments, steady my raft and that its also ok to let their rafts go.

There are people that enter your life for specific reasons and I seem to be luckier than most in having a number of important guest appearances. While they seem to keep trying to teach me the same lessons, it’s probably about time I started to listen. To the people who enter my life for a short time and to the ones who float beside me for the longest years, you’ve all told me about the best and worst of me and it’s probably time I believed the things you say about me. That it’s better than ok to just be who I am. That the me that exists on holidays without constraints, without an expectation of who I should be is the me that I am supposed to be all of the time. And from time to time, a raft will pull up, who likes me just the way that I am, and even though it may not dock for long, I need to accept the reassurance and push off with a little more momentum than before. Brian, Leanne, Frida, Brendan, Trent, Heidi, Larissa, Gareth and Jacob, thanks for the push and the reminder that I can swim. For restoring my faith in humans and in myself.

Before I left home I have no shame in admitting I was lost. I felt like my raft was the only one left in the ocean and I’d lost a barrel and the ropes were disintegrating fast. It felt like everyone else in the ocean had found one or two other rafts to keep themselves stable and that mine was the only one wobbling uncontrollably. The Tucan team was able to show me that even though some of their rafts were tethered, they needed to let them go every now and then and have faith that somewhere down the line, someone would pick them up again. I am sailing my own ship. It’s time to put my feet down, stand up and believe that regardless of what happens, my ship will sail, even if I have to clamber back on board from time to time. I will turn around and look at the rafts that have kept me afloat for all of these years and I will be happy that I have them. I will cease to man bash and I will accept the words that I am offered for I have always been loved even when I didn’t believe it. I think it’s time to come home.