Edwin Jones

You know the saying, “Make your weaknesses, your strengths”?

No?

Yes?

I was told that when I was not good at kicking a ball. How I could make it a strength was something I never really could work out. Thanks wise teacher.

An old man also said it to a bank teller in the bank one day, I was listening in. Mainly cause I was trying to avoid the creepy stranger behind me who was standing just a bit too close to me. I could smell his strawberry mints. The old man was giving this advice to the bank teller. Who nodded politely.
No idea why he said it, but I guess I thought about it and applied it to myself, sub-consciously. I did not go write it down, but I guess I am now.

If I tell myself, go to the gym at 6am. I pack my gym bag, sit it in the hallway all ready, even have my socks laid out individually ready for me to slip on.This will not convince me to go to the gym when my alarm goes off at 5:45am. So what does?

Growing up in a religious family has caused me to have a sense of “the fear of disappointing”. Whether that be from a school teacher, my parents, the fruit shop guy or God. The religious aspect mainly coming down to falling to letting God down. And you could do that, by disappointing anyone else in your life. Not being good, or good enough.

The worst phrase that you can throw at someone in my mind is “I am disappointed” and people throw it in wherever they choose. Especially in a work environment. Emotional blackmail, burrowing into the child within.

Then there is the more important, disappointing yourself. If I dont go to the gym, I am just going to disappoint myself, no one else. It is a weakness of mine, which I do shake off these days. I can also only do the opposite of disappoint, which is achievement. Remind myself of the good. That works better.

So you are asking yourself, or probably not, “where can I buy cheap dog food?” Cause the above made no sense.

I am only using the word ‘dappled’ cause I like it. And it makes me instantly think of sunshine gently seeping through bright, soft, green leaves, that have just stretched out into the breeze. Dappled light. And it is summer. And I have not spoken on here since Spring.

I no longer have a job, and I am on a hiatus I guess. Enjoying the time, which feels so wide and ever present, but then so brisk. Struggling to catch up, I tell myself I need to plan, need to make use of time. Then I try and remember Christmas, two weeks ago. And I do, and it was outside in the bush, with family and warmth. Then a stroll by the beach, where a dog said hello.

It is still sinking in, saying goodbye to my work family, and the unique and lucky ride I had there. But things will be OK.

The next few months are important. And a gift.

From here, I can trace the path in the distance, my finger carefully moving along where my feet will walk. If I walk that far. My mind has wandered there. I could look further in the distance to where I could now, I could look back to where I came from, to the point I stood now.

The figure, walking along in their red jacket, is wandering there. They can trace their finger along to where I am standing right now. They could imagine what it is like for the guy in the grey coat. The same coolness, the same sea beside both of us. If they walk this far.

I turn around and walk the other way. Back inside, out of the wind and rain. And the ants continue to stay underground. They asked to be mentioned.

Remember when I drove behind you, and when you turned right, and I had to turn left? I watched your white ute escape the corner of my eye.

When you met me in Canberra for a Bush Dance, holding onto me wherever we went. I didn’t want to dance, but you grabbed my hand and pulled me into the sweaty crowd.  We muddled our way through the moves, laughing. Then holding your VB can and leaning onto my shoulder to tell me you loved me.

Remember when we stood over the mist, and you explained what was below the gray, asked me to imagine where the buildings were and where you spent your days,  you had your hands safely on my waist.

Remember waking up in the cottage, looking out as the sun poured in, over the pond. You would make me instant coffee, with honey, no milk.

When we were laying on my bed, and then you told me you already had someone in your life, the fear in your eyes and the worry of what that would do to me. You were ready to catch me in my sadness, and yours.

Remember when I met your other half for the first time. We sat in couches, and spoke of books we had read, and had a platter of cheese and sparkling wine. He was an intelligent, gentle and handsome man. Then we said goodnight to him, and we went to bed.

When I played that song, and you would burst into tears and hold me tight. Every time it played, you would do the same thing. “Its a Better Place Since You Came Along”, the words telling me that this is what you wanted. Me.

Remember when we would call each other, throughout the day. You would be eating tuna and crackers, I would be walking by the sea. I would learn about your customers, you would learn about my work. And he would be in the background, working beside you.

When we would talk of getting a house in the country. My own room to write in, and have a view of the world outside, sat at the beautiful old roll top antique desk you bought me. I still have the key for it, I wanted to return it. He said not to.

Remember the smell of the old Volvo, as we drove across the outback in the heat, no air conditioning. We had to shout to hear each other, the windows open, Adelaide panting on the backseat. I would take your hand, and I wouldn’t feel you grip mine.

When I said I would fly home, I couldn’t find you. You stood before me on the beach, but you weren’t there. You drove me to the airport and let me go home. The next day you drove 800 kilometers to my door, to hold me tight again. You were gradually ripping apart.

Remember surprising me for my birthday? He turned up the door, I said he could stay. Then you came from around the corner, you both brought cheese and sparkling wine again. The following day you remained while he drove up home, and we lay and watched the baking show.

When you text me suddenly, that you weren’t coping. Then went silent. I would call, you wouldn’t answer. I would text, and the man I knew, was overgrown by the silence.

Remember when I drove to a hotel near you, in the storm. I waited while the late news played in the background. All the power went out, I could see your headlights out on the road, as they came near. The gravel moved out of your way, the wind blowing inside as I watched your dark figure walk towards me. I couldn’t see your face, you couldn’t see mine. But I felt your sadness, you felt mine. We kept each other warm that night, as you let me in and talked for the final time.

Then we had no more talk of country living, or of tuna or customers. You went back inside the man I lost, and then when he nudged you, we spoke on the phone nine months since we met. You told me I deserved more,  I nodded, I did. The call ended, and the ringing in my ears is the silence that stayed with me.

1.  I lose my job in three months.
2. I have debt.
3. I have heartache.
4. I open up the news, its filled with fear.
5. Family have told me that who I am is not right. Its wrong.
6. I have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. I am drained and tired very often.
7. I dont know who God is anymore.
8. I try to write, and stop. I try to create, and pause.

__________

1. I can do anything I want next year. I can travel, I can write, I can take on new adventures with work.
2. I have money to eat good food, live in a comfy home in a safe place.
3. I have been loved, and loved. And will love again.
4. I open up books, and there is so much hope.
5. Family have told me that they love me no matter what. Friends fill me with joy.
6. I am fit and healthy. Focussing on my health, also makes me mentally strong and happy.
7. God is there. My faith is not dead. And will continue to discover.
8. I write and keep going. I create and get to encourage others, usually when I don’t realise.