I am robbing
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Peter to pay Paul. Well, in the monetary sense, at least. During the past few months I’ve tried to be vigilant with my funds, tucking away the JobKeeper for a rainy day or for whatever muck or mire COVID-19 will lead us through in future. But, similar to London buses, the bills have all conveniently arrived in twos and threes, singing in unison: “Pay me, pay me.” So, I find myself ping-ponging between bank accounts, shifting and withdrawing like a wall street stockbroker in order to make sure the lights stay on. Whoever prepares my September statement is in for an eyebrow-raising read, I’m sure.
I am counting
Down the days until spring weather arrives. In between periods where skin visibly crackles due to the heat or turns purple from the cold, there is this thing I like to call spring. And personally, I can’t wait for it to land. Essentially, we have taken our licks of winter, enduring more than a month of frozen Sundays. Now, we are racing towards the podium, preparing to take home the ultimate prize: T-shirt and shorts weather. There is scientific research out there explaining why spring actually lifts the mood, but I’ll give you the short version: flowers blooming, fresh produce everywhere, no shortage of daylight. You just can’t hate it.
I am afraid of
My washing machine. It’s not as if the household Fisher and Paykel is plotting against me (that said, ‘Homicidal Laundry Appliance’ would make for a killer band name). But I am concerned about the damage it has inflicted on my poor clothes. Putting a load on is a real gamble at the minute; if I’m not careful, I’ll become the unintentional owner of about five pairs of distressed jeans in no time. I’m aware your average spin cycle requires a fair bit of exertion from the washing machine, but when it bounces around like MC Hammer I half expect it to blow the doors off the laundry.
I am thinking about
If life is a highway, where is Daniel Andrews leading us with the latest roadmap? The man in the driving seat has wheeled out his latest plan of action towards “COVID-Normal”, and it is heavily reliant on numbers dropping to single figures in regional Victoria before we go ahead with the next step. On one hand, the economy is waning. But on the other … people are still dying. And we can’t march on as if they aren’t. It was always said a second wave would be much worse than the first, and after seeing cases crescendo as the weeks rolled on during July and August, it is hard to disagree. I can only imagine what a third wave would do to the state.
On board with a steep learning curve
I’ve always tried to be a trier.
Does that make me a try-hard, however?
I guess it makes me human, if anything.
Like the rest of my seven billion earthly compatriots, I share this funny inclination to pry open the jaws of mediocrity every so often and give something the old college try.
What that something may be differs, and whether it sticks — well that’s an entirely different story altogether.
Winding back the clock, my first real red-hot crack in life was at soccer as a five-year-old.
I wasn’t much good, a little tuft of blond hair banging and crashing his way down the field more focused on decapitating the dandelions which stood in my way than banging in goals.
But I stuck at it, and 17 years later, I am glad I did.
Years later, a chance to learn a new language popped up, and I didn’t want to miss out — however this try didn’t work out quite so well.
Let’s just say only one Japanese phrase has stuck all these years later, and I can’t see it being of much use (I haven’t found a way to greet someone with “what colour is your pencil?” yet).
Another avenue I extended myself in is the musical realm, where I tried to pick up instruments — piano stuck, guitar didn’t.
Jobs, sports, other leisure pursuits — I’ve had a stab, whack and crack at a whole host of activities over the years, testing my physical mettle and challenging the cerebrum to soak up a bit of knowledge.
Again, some turned out good, others bad.
However, when it comes to my latest try, well, it just may be the most unsuccessful one of all.
For those who haven’t been religiously tracking the Word Boy movement, last week I advocated a foray into a foreign sport: skateboarding.
At the time I labelled myself a kook — but little did I know I would only need 48 hours to prove it.
I knew once I screwed in my trucks and let rip on the sidewalks I had subscribed to a lifetime of sickening scrapes and gnarly knocks. I didn’t expect to get off scot-free of injury within my first months of carving the concrete.
But two days in? Come on.
I’ll refrain from providing the gory details, but in short, medical intervention was needed.
In fairness, a metal bed frame has no business lying about in the garage (but I guess I have no business trying to chop my foot off on it).
I tried, and failed, which got me thinking.
I’d floated the idea of learning to skate many years ago, but I always abstained, thinking I’d save the ramps and rails for retirement.
Maybe I was wise not to step out of the routine, to refrain from any sort of carte-blanche living, I thought to myself as the doctor complimented me on my bleeding skills last Wednesday.
Then it dawned on me that you can have the greatest intentions and still come off second best.
That’s life.
Also a part of living is learning to take a loss on the chin, and not ignoring that little voice telling you to keep trying.
It’s there for a reason.
But it begs the question — where does this particular whim stem from, this need to throw caution to the wind every now and then, and prove that you can conquer a task or skill?
Is it down to the “you can do anything if you set your mind to it” adage we are told as children?
What about ‘just because’ — is that a right we can plead when someone asks why you’ve started to pick up waterskiing at 70 or learned to crotchet at 20?
I believe it is human nature.
COVID-19 has shattered the normal, forcing change to the point where most people’s most precious modes of expression have been ripped from beneath them.
Trying new things has, for me, been a way to fill a void, and while I’ve stumbled, I keep coming back to the fact that “to err is human”.
So, after my skating faux pas, seven days and four stitches later, I’m back on the board — and I reckon I might try to stay out of ER for at least a week this time.