November reading (and pining)

Last night I confessed to a friend that I didn't feel listened to... because I rarely told anyone how I truly felt. I'm excellent at getting people to open up to me, but my closest confidante for years was my psychologist. And now I don't have one. 

That may be about to change, as I seek the help I daydream about. So far I've been too scared to seek such an intimate emotional encounter anew. But I know I will reach out... eventually. I can see that time coming. 

This evening I listened to the author of 'The Golden Maze', Richard Fidler, discuss various refrains and riddles that echo in his head as he reflects on the city of Prague. I may hunt down this volume and be transported to a place that is simultaneously familiar and not: Czech Republic, on the other side of Eastern Europe to where I grew up, a place I have been amazed at and repulsed (or should I say alienated) by. In other words, a place worth revisiting. 

About two years ago I listened to the 'Saga Land' audiobook, a previous project of Fidler's and I was impressed by his capacity for research, and powers of empathy - except, of course, in relation to the feminist project. Fidler may be the least feminist of the authors I've read in recent years. Nevertheless, it's an accomplished Australian who takes the leap over to the European continent and tells me something new about its soul. (Reading is not endorsement of every part of the writer's psyche, after all.)

I'm also waiting on 'All who live on islands' by Rose Lu, a queer New Zealander of Chinese heritage who I hope will shed light on the subcultures one might become acquainted with in Australia's most culturally similar neighbour. 

While I wait, there's Simone de Beauvoir's 'The Second Sex'. It's not the easiest read, but it's offered some existentially themed insights so far, and I hope it will again.

Options, Options, Options

Biden won, the Pfizer vaccine was announced, and I got a new laptop - all in the course of a week. 

Newly be-PC'ed, I recall many nights of searching the sky blue background on a Microsoft Word document for the words that would make it all OK. I remember not to limit my search for psychologists to Sydney, because, with Skype or Zoom, the world is my oyster. It's possible there is a Swedish or Nordic psychologist marketing herself as feminist, and I can absorb her unconscious values alongside her bold, conscious strides, as she shows me how to improve my self-care practices. 

The future is as 'up in the air' as always, though I have to be honest with myself and admit that moving to New Zealand doesn't elicit a 'Hell Yeah' response. (According to Derek Sivers, if something's worth prioritising, it comes with a strong positive response.) So I don't know what I'm going to do. And I'm going to live with that uncertainty for now. 

Thinking about existential burdens of freedom lately... the moment I consider committing to a long-term project, I eat away at my conviction until it collapses. Coach Xena Jones says 'Everything you want is on the other side of discomfort.' I have a feeling my insecurities will continue to be in the driver's seat until I pay for good help. 

Here are some ideas I have for possible long-term projects:

- Write a book

- Become fluent in a language (other than English or Bulgarian)

- Lose weight and keep it off by changing my diet permanently

Even writing more often on this blog would be grand. It would be a stepping stone to the discipline required to write a super long-form text. I could keep myself accountable through documenting my progress in language learning, and/or reaching a healthier diet. 

Here are some thoughts I have on each of those goals:

- I have a book idea (too nascent to share)

- I know I want to learn either Spanish OR Swedish OR Finnish OR French

- I know I can reduce my portions long-term (because I've done it in the past)

If I were advising myself I would say: Pick just one goal. Consider which would be the most beneficial, all things considered. Is the prospect of making money through a book more compelling than being able to move to Finland or Sweden? Is creating a healthier physicality a bigger boost than the above?

Do I trust myself to be honest with a psychologist, so that they can help me organise all these random can-do impulses?

Can I be more honest with myself?

Pressure from close ones / New Zealand on the radar

You know how sometimes you just want to relax and not have to defend yourself to anybody?

Today my mum started with a theme she has started in the last two years (ever since I voiced my intention to remain childfree), which is that I will miss out on the "joys" of the standard route in life - that is, settling down with a man and having children. 

It just goes to show how out of touch my mum is. I've been pursuing a strategy of nonconformity wherever possible since my teenage years. It makes me happy to pursue relationships with women or non-binary people, and retain my childfree lifestyle. I may be friends with a few select heterosexual men, but the idea of being in any "standard" hetero arrangement is a non-starter. 

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Early 2019 saw me spend a couple of nights in Wellington, where I was trying to investigate New Zealand's suitability for long-term dwelling. 

Given that I'm obsessed with the Nordics, you'd think it'd be a no-brainer: learn Swedish properly and move to Sverige or Suomi. 

But after years of learning Spanish on and off, I have language learning fatigue. That, and the likelihood of guaranteed Seasonal Affective Disorder 4-5 months every year has me rethinking that strategy. 

New Zealand, meanwhile, proved its remoteness and good governance in their Covid eradications. They say that future novel pandemics are very likely, meaning that NZ will be an even better place to be in the future. And the legal pathway to Kiwi citizenship is uncomplicated for Aussies. 

I've also noted that NZ has scored higher on the Global Gender Gap Index than Australia for years. I noticed a readiness to take women more seriously while I was there. 

So I have Dunedin within my sights... eventually. Unless something unexpected happens to make me re-evaluate. Which, well, anything can happen.