finding the window

Jeanne and I went out to our sundrenched terrace to bask in Sydney sunshine and to drown our sorrows in a bottle of freshly brewed sweet tea. The knowledge that we are leaving Sydney in less than 24 hours brought about some kind of emotional cloud.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore. This is depressing me." We sit in silence for a few more minutes. Jeanne gets up to grab the rest of our sweet tea, our drug of choice for the afternoon.

"I want to write down goals for when I am back in Orlando," says Jeanne.

"What kind of goals?" I have in my head attainable goals such as: 1) eat a Chick-Fila sandwich and 2) go see a $2.50 movie at the Colonial Promenade.

"All kinds of goals. Running. I was thinking of running. I have to run a 5K in a month!"

"Ha. I haven't RUN a 5K in a month."

Goals. I think of one. "I want to be more Australian."

This, I remember, is something that I want to be a part of my life. Being in Australia has changed my perspective on life. Being a part of the Hillsong community has transformed my attitude toward my friends and community back home. But I can't let myself off the hook. I remember how only a few weeks ago, I was lamenting the terrible weather, the lack of deep friendships in Sydney, and the lack of employment opportunities.

"Two weeks ago, I was feeling miserable about Sydney. Today, I have all these warm and fuzzy feelings about Sydney because we've just had the most beautiful weekend we've ever had in this city. My feelings toward this city are clearly fickle. But the reality is, that there are so many reasons why we need to be back in Orlando."

"It wouldn't make sense for me to stay through March. Yes, we would have been here for a year, but it would have been with such a temporary mindset. I mean I guess I could have found work in a restaurant or a cafe, but it contributes nothing to what I want my purpose to be or how my attitude has shifted . It would have been enough to make money to travel and to come back home. But leaving now, I can immediately get a job that has something more directly to do with what my purpose is.

"The window in which we are leaving is perfect. If we had left when Walter left, we would have missed all of what's happened in the past two months with Hillsong and appreciating Sydney."

"We would have appreciated Sydney, but not enough to draw us back in the future," Jeanne says, processing with me.

"Right. And if we had stayed even until Mim had come, it would have been a bad situation. We would have been wanting to come home, we would be running out of money, and not happy once she got here. The window of leaving, the timing of us leaving now is perfect."

"It was long enough for us to appreciate it, but short enough for us not to become complacent," Jeanne says, like a wise, Hindu guru.

"That was very profound, Jeanne."

We smile.

And just like that, the cloud lifts.

Things I learnt my last week in Sydney...

- Having a car would have changed my entire interaction with this city. We rented one for our last 4 days and didn't stay home at all this weekend. Even if the weather is rough, a car makes it easier to tolerate.

- Bondi Beach, particularly the Sunday Market, is a great place for fashionable men. "Goodbye, Bondi, You've been sexy."

- Saying the previous quote out loud results in Sydney, your ex-lover, strutting half-dressed men with surfboards past your window. No lie.

- A God Encounter, as defined by Brian Houston, is a collision with the Unexpected. Yes, indeed.

- If you shun Sydney, in an attempt to return to your roots, it will lavish you with a final glorious weekend of beautiful sunshine, warm temperatures, fantastic worship/messages, and natural beauty - both surroundings and mankind. "I feel like Sydney is trying to seduce me."

- If I were a character from The Idiot, I would be Aglaya. A stubborn and haughty young woman who loves both carefully and carelessly at the same time. She deeply loves the beautifully good Myshkin, but fails to conquer her own insecurities.

- The Northern Head of the Sydney Harbour, in Manly Beach, is a great date/make out spot. I do not know this from experience :) The Southern Head, in Watson's Bay, is more beautiful. And, according to Mel, possibly the final shot in Mission Impossible 2.

- My left hand is far less 'simple' than I made it out to be. Ellie calls her dominant hand her 'clever' hand, so I labeled my left hand my 'simpleton' hand. He's rebelled by straining my left thumb. I now realize how much I need my left hand.

- Aussies are my favorite, culturally. They understand how to live life to the fullest, they are very relaxed and un-stressed about life as a whole, they understand what it is to be unselfish in community (at least those I know), they embrace markets to the fullest, and they have the most fantastic beach culture I've witnessed.

- The Sartorialist continues to be my favorite blog/photographer. His photos inspire me to move to another foreign country, preferably Italy or Brazil. Maybe France... maybe.

- Hugh Jackman (sometimes accidentally referred to as Hugh Jackson when my mind is on another) was, apparently, just a phase. I hate it when Walter is right.

- Bruce, the vegetarian shark from Finding Nemo, sounds suspiciously like Brian Houston from Hillsong. I've never noticed the Shark say "Good on ya, Mate!" until now, when I know what it means!

- Valkyrie came very close to succeeding. I wonder what the world would be like if it did?

- Getting to the IMAX 45 minutes before Harry Potter does not make a difference. Next time, show up at midnight.

- Fiji has a ton of islands. Trying to find a rad place to stay in Fiji is difficult.

- Hillsong has previously considered 3 cities for its American Campus: Miami, LA, and Orlando. I'm voting for Orlando. And then, I'd like to figure out how to steal Brooke Fraser, Joel Houston and Jad Smiley-Guy.

- Romans 11 in the Message reveals a whole different side to the word envy. "Now, they're wondering what they walked out on!"

- Depression and Loneliness are a plague in our world.

- Mel is better at blow-drying my bangs than I am.

- Paddy's Market - the cheap souvenir place - is almost identical to Tokyo. Or what I think Tokyo would be like, given that they have the population of America on a tiny island.

- Tim Tam Slams are far better with tea instead of hot chocolate. And the dark chocolate Tim Tams are the best. Tim Tam Slam Seduction is what they should call them.

- It costs $20 to get to the Hills Hillsong Campus from the city. And it was worth every dollar tonight.

- Master Chef is Australia's new craze. It sucks you in, even if you only watch the final 40 minutes of the season finale.

- Tear Down the Walls does not have a DVD recording. I looked everywhere.

- MJ is pretty sure that Hillsong hired stylists at some point between their older DVDs and their newer ones. "Joel, put the flannel down. Back away from the flannel."

- If you ever unintentionally lose a bet, so that now you have to buy your best friend dinner, arrange said dinner in Fiji, where the food is imported and clearly not all its cracked up to be.

- When something MJ has been talking about comes up in the church message of the week (or day), don't be surprised. Just laugh and appreciate the Confirmation.

- Blockbuster at Rockdale Plaza has more stolen DVDs than anyone. Don't start watching a series unless you check with the cashier to make sure all DVDs are accounted for. And then do a double check yourself.

- The concept of living presently (and thankfully) is a pivotal lesson to understand. I get depressed when I think that every moment that I have cherished - in which I have had a wonderful conversation with someone, in which I have laughed until I cried, in which I have wondered if my reality was real life - is now in the past and unaccessible to my physical self. I suppose this is why I have thousands of photos.

- The version of "Your Name High" on A_CROSS// The_EARTH is a lot more fun. They either yell "What!" or "Hiya!" in the chorus. And we got lucky enough to hear it tonight! "What!"

- Sydney does not have any radio stations that are static-y enough to please the iTrip. Finicky thing.

- Sometimes a question is not a question, but a statement to get you to listen. To hear with your spirit, maybe.

- MJ is going to annoy everyone with the way we say a word, and then repeat that word in an Aussie accent. "Shark." "SHAHK!" "Arden." "AHDEN!"

- All the Aussies I've been attracted to wear horrible 80's sunglasses. I suppose I can get past that, though.

- India is a fascinating place, as portrayed by Shantaram.

- There is no way to live a city you love without having your heart break. Even if you've already booked a ticket to come back in a year.

If you have made it this far, I applaud you! This stuff is very funny and interesting to me, but it's my life :)

time, the arrow.

Jeanne once wrote: "If time is an arrow, we dance along a razor-thin line of uncertainty."

Mellow conversation over medium-rare filet mignon and Shiraz Cabernet. It's a frigid night in Sydney. We spent an afternoon wandering along the cliffs and beaches of Clovelley, Coogee and Maroubra, the eastern beaches of Sydney. By the shoreline, we found a narrow pathway between a tidal pool and a concrete wall, and Jeanne urges me to run alongside with her before another onslaught of waves comes to drench us. "Come on, it won't get us here!" she shouts at me cheerfully, as if the ocean is a writhing, seething monster that we can cleverly outthink and escape from.

Standing upon cliffs overlooking the ocean often makes me feel awestruck and peaceful, but now with the wind whipping around my heels, I feel unstable and unsteady. I do not trust the edge, and feel as though the wind would topple me over the edge without a thought.

And time is the same. Often, I marvel and wonder at its passing, but tonight I am wary to look out over the edge.

And now we are sitting at our dining room table, feeling melancholy and reflective.

"I was thinking about this lately. But. It seems that life is just a series of moments that disappear as soon as they're experienced. We waste so much time looking to the past or looking toward the future. We so rarely actually live in the present." Jeanne looks at me. "I want to enjoy being in Sydney NOW."

I look around and try to remember this moment. The table we sit at, the chill in the air from the screen door that was previously slid open. The last embers of warmth from the gas grill on the porch have dispersed, swallowed up by the wintry air. The mood of contemplation that seems to settle around us like a blanket while we recover from the biting cold. The inevitably of moments slipping away, the present becoming the past, the moment its existence is acknowledged and understood.

The other night, Jeanne said something about Walter being here feeling like three lifetimes ago.

I know what she means.

Here, in Australia, the phases and times keep shifting. First, Walter was here, then he wasn't. With us, the three of us were driving from city to city, checking into the next hostel, splitting meals, seeing the next sight--and then he was gone, and we found ourselves back in the same city where we had started. We lived under cold and rain near Maroubra Beach. I learned how to light a gas stove, and a baby would wake us every morning with her tiny cries and tiny hugs, and we could always count on Russia for a visit. The scenery changed again, and we live in a bright, sundrenched room and plan meals and drink wine. We don our boots and coats, and we sit on trains and wander through familiar streets.. The Russian doesn't come around as much, giving way to a friendly Egyptian and Italian.

Four months ago, this church was merely an event. Now, it is a living, breathing mass of a memory of warmth and friendly introductions, shared meals and conversation, time spent and help freely given, pounding drums and piercing electric guitars elevate the room, while truth is sung and declared by a crowd of worshippers. Yes, the lights are brightly colored, but the words resonate and lift my soul, for they ring true when I see kindness and sacrifice manifested in people's actions and hearts. I see the shift occurring, a shift that now seems to pivotal and clear.

But even this feeling and its vibrancy shall pass.

A few days from now, we'll be in Fiji and Australia will have seemed like a dream. And a week from then, we'll be back in Orlando. And once the dust settles from our triumphant return, we'll settle back into a routine and the thrill of being back home will pass and there will just be nothing to tether me to the past.

And who knows what will unfold upon our return.

"With so much uncertainty, life becomes that much more frightening, and that much more interesting."

"What do you mean exactly?"

"I just mean that every time we've been in this place of uncertainty, not knowing where we were going to live, even up to a month ago, not knowing we'd be back in Orlando so soon, there's always been this unknown. It's scary, but it makes life that much more interesting or exciting."

I look around the room, I look at Jeanne. I will myself to memorize how fragile this moment is. I hold it within the palm of my hand, tuck it away for later.

Mini Purple Sharpies

In the invisible, swirling spirits and realities surround my deeply oblivious body. But here on the streets of Sydney, all that is visible lies in front of me, clamouring for the attention of my senses. I stride away from Paddy’s Market in my red double breasted jacket, my peacock-eyed scarf, my tall black boots, and my ever-necessary black sunnies. Oh sunnies of mine, you keep the world from staring into my soul. Most days I applaud you for this highly dangerous task, but every so often, I want to rip you off of my face and stare into the eyes of Medusa herself. I’m not afraid of her reported powers.

Alas, today is a day of hiding, and I’m clapping on the inside. Loudly, vibrantly.

As Central station looms on my visible horizon, I begin to notice people around me. This part of town - Chinatown - actually feels more similar to Japan, specifically Tokyo. Or at least what I expect Tokyo to be. The crowd is pulsating, humming, pushing, pulling in all directions. It’s chaos, disorder to the highest degree. There is no emergence, no pattern to the comings and goings of those caught up in the tangle, the web of humanity. The multitudes continue to throb, surging towards their daily supplies. I do my best to shake off the American who lives at my core, who thrives in large personal space and quiet. Oh, she’s screeching rebelliously against such close quarters.

But soon enough, I walk away from Chinatown, leaving its bustle to its own citizens, and I enter the semi-quiet, easygoing, Australian Central Station. Mel is a few steps ahead of me, soon falling a few steps behind, doing her own tango with the Aussies and foreigners who traipse amongst the trains that are quickly arriving and departing. I lose sight of her quite a few times, mostly due to my distraction with the people around me. I see a lady pull 3 coins from her pocket, totaling $4, and I imagine that she’s traveling back to Bondi Junction, maybe to buy that pair of heeled boots that she’s been admiring for quite some time. It’s gonna take more than $4, or at least that’s what I read as I intently stare into her face. I stroll past two backpackers who are standing at the entry stalls of the intercity trains, debating which track their train is departing from. The pony-tailed guy is pointing at the roughly sketched train-maps sprawled above the stalls, and both are ignorant of how they are annoying other passengers trying to inch by.

I carefully step onto the down escalator, ever nervous about missing the step and rolling down 50+ escalator-stairs. As I walk through Central station, I imagine myself in that movie scene (there are so many) where the protagonist in the bright red coat is stopped in the midst of a busy place, people flowing around her. It is one of those elapsed-time scenes that are intended to imply how busy life is, how rarely we stop to think, and how alone we can feel. Sometimes, I think they also use these scenes to show how someone is waiting for something that never comes.

And so all of those story-morals probably apply to me today as I slowly stroll through Central, listening to my iBuds with my ears and listening to the people with my eyes. I see a guy my age hiding behind his sunnies, and I swear he’s staring at me. I’m glad he’s got them on, because I don’t want to know his soul right now. I have pieces of souls floating within my own soul, and I already feel quite overwhelmed by those (oh yes, in a good way.) Maybe another time, another place, Mr. Sunnies.

I sit on the ledge of the escalator - 8 minutes until the Sutherland train, going to Rockdale, arrives. In the meantime, I change my song and lose myself in thoughts. 7 minutes later - an early train! - I climb aboard the train and sit across from Mel. I pull my reporter’s memo pad from my purse (which is now far too heavy with today’s purchases) and begin to write in purple ink. I love this Sharpie, this mini-purple Sharpie. Some days I wish I was a purple or maroon mini-Sharpie. I wouldn’t feel less superior to the bigger sharpies - I could go where no Sharpie has gone before as a mini! The click-Sharpies, though, are an entirely different story. But I suppose we all need something to keep our pride in check, hey?

I’ve had thoughts in my head that I wanted to transcribe to paper the entire walk to the train, but what instead comes out of nowhere is Russian Literature. I ask myself this question: Of the three Russian novels that I’ve read (Anna Karenina, The Idiot, and Crime and Punishment), to whom do I relate to the most? Who would I be, if I were cast as one of those characters based on my own character? I find myself furiously writing about who I am not, and when I surface for air, I am staring absentmindedly out the train window at the concrete, trees, people, and air passing me by.

I’m suddenly thinking of how I feel like I’m in one of those foreign films... the protagonist is staring out the window, considering her writing - its vulnerability, its imperfections. I even hear a voice-over (in French or Italian, of course) in my head echoing my thoughts. I smile at my silliness and wish my life were a movie, or at least a reality show.

I head back to my question and my notepad. I’ve often thought that the Russians are rather extreme in their characters who are burdened by self-loathing, who are bent on self-destruction. What I realized in writing down how I relate to the Russian characters is that the only reason I am not lost in these ideas is Christ.

I love Jesus.

And upon realizing this, I cut those characters a bit more slack. I lament, in writing, momentarily how I am not as gracious, naive, caring, or honest as Prince Myshkin (aka the Idiot). And then, I realize I am a combination of Kostya (Anna Karenina) and Aglaya (The Idiot).

And I’m happy by this revelation, although I want to be more like other characters. It also makes me excited to read Brothers Karamazov when I finish Shantaram, to see if I relate to any of those characters.

God, please make me more like Myshkin. I want to see the good in people. I suppose the correct thing to say would be please make me more like Christ.

And so, I disembark the train, happily alone amongst 50 or so people.

Oh introvert, how I’ve missed you so. And dearest Sydney, I have convinced my heart that I will leave you with no regret - I will not regret our sudden departure. I hope deeply, incessantly, that our paths will cross again, that my children will know you on an intimate level. You are so beautiful, most notably in your citizens. But in the next 4 days, I will love you like you’ve never been loved before.

I am a passionate and sincere lover, dear Sydney. Be prepared to be left longing for me. Oh, be prepared.

oh, how her affections have turned.

Thursday night, while walking home from Hillsong Conference, Jeanne and I are slowly lagging behind Christian and Giovanni. Our Egyptian and Italian our fully engrossed in a conversation several meters in front of us. They are probably talking about finance or uni assignments.

Jeanne pulls out her "bag tag," a makeshift label that includes her name and phone number. At Conference, all the volunteers could leave their jackets and purses or bags in a room. Our personal belongings were labeled with our names and phone numbers.

"How funny would that be if you just handed these out to some random person walking down the street? It's like a pre-made way to just give someone your phone number," I laugh.

"No way, man. I gotta hand this out to somebody who is WORTHY," Jeanne smiles. "Like Joel Houston."

"You should just hand that out to the next hot guy you see."

"I think I will."

"We should play this game for the remaining time we have in Australia. Keep this ready in case you see Joel."

"Or Hugh Jackson."

I stop dead in my tracks. "Hugh WHO?"

"Jackman. Hugh Jackman," Jeanne tries to recover, but the damage is done. It's finally happened.

"Hugh JACKSON? You have name of another man on your lips! Joel's made you forget Hugh Jackman!" I am stunned.

This is only the beginning of the waning of Jeanne's affections for Hugh Jackman.

At Hillsong Church, for all of its amazing atmosphere of faith and worship and community, there is a slight celebrity culture that's been inadvertently fostered, due to the popularity of worship leaders like Joel Houston and Brooke Fraser. I would like to preface this by saying there are far more attractive looking guys here in Sydney, Australia than in Orlando in general. And many of them happen to be in church.

And yes, some of them are leading worship.

While we were walking home from the grocery store today, I told Jeanne that I liked Smiley Guy that Leads Worship better than Joel. Or at least I thought he was cuter. I think his name is Jad. I'm not sure. But anyway, I thought he was cute from that video blog they put up during the Hillsong United tour.

Don't get me wrong. Joel's a good-looking dude. And occasionally even looks hot. He also just occasionally looks like a caveman. Or a lumberjack.

"Didn't you say you would never date someone who wears flannel?" I ask Jeanne, referring to Joel's occasional lumberjack look. "I distinctly remember you saying once you would never date a guy that wears flannel."

"I would if it were Joel Houston."

"I can't believe it. You would make an exception to the flannel rule. For Joel."

"He's worth it." Jeanne's got that mischievous half-smile/half-smirk she gets when she gets some kind of delicious idea in her head. Unbelievable.

"I think Joel seems like a cool guy. And I love the lyrics he writes and his heart and personality that comes through onstage. But I wouldn't date him, necessarily," I say.

Jeanne looks at me like I'm crazy. And, then: "Girl, you are crazy."

I revise, slightly backtracking, "Well I'm not saying I would turn Joel DOWN. I just like Smiley Guy better."

"You'd BETTER not turn Joel down. I would kick your ass if you turned him down. I mean, I'd probably kick your ass if you didn't turn him down. But I'm MORE likely to kick your ass if you DID turn him town. It ain't gonna get better than Joel Houston. That's perfection!" Jeanne declares.

Later that night, we are in our kitchen, making chicken parmesan. Once again, we have severely over-estimated the amount of meat necessary to feed a small number of people. We have "chicken for days," as Jeanne likes to say. Or enough to feed a small army. (Not Costa Rica's army though, since they apparently do not have an army, according to Walter).

"Jeanne. Look at all this chicken. We have enough to feed ourselves, our future husbands. And our future kids." I stand, gaping at the array of chicken parmesan before us.

"Hmm, let me see. There's Joel's chicken. And my chicken. And our children's chicken."

"What about Hugh Jackman's chicken?" I have to keep reminding Jeanne of her former passion. It's an uphill climb. "So in one parallel universe, you are married to Hugh Jackman. And that's his chicken. In the other parallel universe, you are married to Joel Houston. And that's his parmesan chicken."

"And in another parallel universe, polygamy is allowed. And I have Hugh Jackman AND Joel Houston."

I used to think we needed Walter to carry on with these kinds of conversations.

Tonight, I am not so sure.

Top Eight Reasons

I've realized that some of my quirks and behavior and instincts have been shaped by this dear friend I have been spending most of my days and weeks with here in Australia. Here I present to you: The Top 8 Reasons I Know I Have Been Hanging Out Way Too Much With Jeanne Cannon.

Reasons I Know I Have Been Hanging out with Jeanne Way Too Much:

1) I now pronounce "insurance" as "IN-surance." Not "inSUrance."

2) I have developed a mild, occasional Southern accent.

3) I regularly snack on chunks of Parmesan cheese. I did not know this was even possible before hanging out with Jeanne.

4) I can now support justification for spending $396 dollars on shoes. And not just any shoes. Manolo Blahniks. (See, I told you).

5) I can now mind control Jeanne to bring me water whenever I'm thirsty without saying a word. I think our thirst glands can mysteriously communicate somehow.

6) When Jeanne tells me about a dream she had the other night, I immediately ask, "Oh, what were we doing?", automatically assuming I was with her in a dream. And it is usually a correct assumption.

7) We can have an entire conversation and not say anything and know exactly what the other one means. Like Rusty and Danny from Ocean's Eleven, i.e. "What do you think about..." "But if we..." "That might be too..." "Yeah, you're right."

8) My instinctual response to everything now is to wonder what Hugh Jackman would do if he were here.

The things we do for church.

This morning, Jeanne and I resolved to go to the Hills campus for church, rather than the City campus of Hillsong Church, which is actually much closer to where we currently live. The Hills campus is a beautiful, 3,000-seat capacity building, but it's tucked away in the Western suburbs, a 40 minute drive from our humble suburb in Sydney.

We scouted out how much of a trek this would be using solely public transportation. We were chagrined to realize it would take a total of 2 and a half hours, if you count the moment we step outside of our front door and make the 10-minute hike it takes to get to the train station from our house.

According to the website, this is what we would have to do to make it to the church by 11 a.m.:

Sunday 11am Service
Getting to church from City via Parramatta Station

Train departs from Central station – 9:21am or 9:36am (intercity platforms 4-15)
Train arrives at Parramatta station – 9:52am or 10:07am
Hillsong bus departs from Parramatta station – 10:15am [outside of Max Brenner Café West side of train station]
Hillsong bus arrives at church – 10:45am

So in this order: walk, train, Hillsong bus, arrive at church.

Unfortunately, we arrived at Central Station to realize the trains for the particular line we needed were completely shut down for the weekend due to trackwork. So we actually had to catch a train to another station, catch a replacement bus in order to catch the original bus to take us to church.

Even with the unexpected detours, we miraculously made it in time, with about 11 minutes to spare.

The service was led by Darlene Zschech and Israel Houghton, and Jentzen Franklin spoke. Suffice it to say, the morning was completely worth the trip out there.

But I certainly am looking forward to having a car once again:)