People always ask me what I’m doing with my life. I tell them I have no idea, but I also have every idea, all at the same time. I know that there is a system, one which is institutionalised, where rules are meant to be kept and boxes to be ticked. I know that four plus five is nine but one and eight is too. I know that milk is supposed to be for cows and cows only and that my other half disagrees. But I still don’t know and probably never will know, why a raven is like a writing desk.
Sometimes I stay up late at night watching terribly written TV shows, well after the story line has run dry and I no longer quite like the characters. Sometimes I eat too many slices of bread with caramelised onion hummus and nothing else. Some days I book tickets to far away lands and think about how I’m going to afford them later. Other days I’ll lie on top of the ocean, my body parallel to the lone seagull flying above. And for as long as my feet decide to stay connected to this earth, my head will forever be away with the fairies, dancing with the dandelions and in awe of the magic that is so easily missed.
If you were to ask me what I do for an occupation, I couldn’t tell you, because I don’t have one. I can’t answer you when you ask me where my next pay cheque will come from. I couldn’t tell you where I see myself in five years time, let alone where I’ll be tomorrow.
But this is what I can tell you. I can tell you that I knit, that I pick strawberries and how not many of them make it into the bucket, that I make raw cakes and eat too many of them too, but it’s okay because they’re raw. I could tell you that my favourite place on earth is behind my parents house, someplace beyond all the trees. I could tell you that I spend far too much money shipping little black cats half way around the globe and that my middle name is Elizabeth (a name I’ve never wanted). I could tell you that I sometimes live in New Zealand, sometimes in tiny apartments in Japan and even tinier ones in Indonesia, and sometimes I don’t even have a home, it’s on the road and nowhere in particular. I could tell you that I see magic in the trees, in the off colours of ugly run down houses and in air that dances around me. I could also tell you that I believe life is too short to do what we should be doing, that living in a church in the country would be the coolest thing ever, that growing fig trees would be rather ideal, so that I wouldn’t have to steal my neighbours, and that owning nice new cars won’t bring true friends. I could also tell you that I reckon low fat yoghurt isn’t any good for us.
I know that tomorrow may never come, that now is all we have, that the moon brings comfort, and that the salt air cures all. If only we could feel more love, have more stubbed toes and even more bruised knees, if we could just be in the here, the now, exactly where we are, and no place else, then we will all see, and all feel the magic that lives right beneath our toes.
– Nicole Leybourne, Undone Girl