Roots and Routes

A few weeks ago, I had to do a solo run from my main work place in Brisbane to our other big Gold Coast workplace 60-90 minutes away, depending on traffic.

Hardly newsworthy, you say? Well, normally I would have to agree. But this run was notable for a few reasons. 

In the two-and-a-half years since we moved from the icy winters of the Blue Mountains in New South Wales to sub-tropical Brisbane in Queensland, I've barely done any driving. And certainly not of the hour-long kind. We also moved from a relatively rural town where you have to think in 45-minute driving distances before you can even begin to arrive anywhere, to a suburban life edged with warehouses, industrial work, highways and where everything you need is surprisingly, hilariously close. My work, supermarkets, bookshops, pathology labs, fruit and vegie markets, baby supplies warehouses, tyre shops... all within 5-15 minutes of where we live.

In many ways, it's been a welcome shock to the system to realise we no longer have to allocate 90 minutes to getting to and from our destination. After years and years of a daily commute of 90-mins-to 2-hours commute each way, I had become really intolerant and resentfully resistant to the notion of driving anywhere. So having everything really, genuinely locally at our fingertips has been a bewilderingly welcome experience. Even if, on the flip side, I do miss having nature and wide open spaces and fields nearby. But you can't have both, and right now, if the short commutes are accompanied by a garden with a magic tree, and other nearby places with snippets of green, that's enough. 

All this not-much driving has meant that my knowledge of my new city is painfully localised. I still only have a vague sense of the city's geography, of the different areas, their names, and what they're meant to be like. When you're so distinctly transplanted, it's hard to feel a sense of genuinely being at home. It all takes time. But at moments like this, I feel it especially strongly. 

And so, this is why last week's 60-90 minute drive down to the Gold Coast was such a big milestone for me. One, a solo run. And two, with fiendishly confusing arteries at either end of the long highway. There was much studying of google maps, writing down of directions and attempted troubleshooting of Kate, our temperamental car GPS which decided to do this trip voiceless (thanks, Kate).

So, with the Bluey soundtrack playing gently in the background (the only CD in the car!), there was also a lot of taking in of the road, which I don't really get to do as a passenger who's invariably distracted by my LittleOne. 

It's funny to realise just how much of the highway between Brisbane and the Gold Coast is characterised by sweeps of natural bush which get interspersed with warehouses, the occasional industrial office block, domineering billboards, touristy theme parks, random strip malls which frequently seem to feature dog salons - all built in trendy steel and colourbond metals, shiny tinted glass, blunt brick and concrete, and garish colours. Usually baking under a hot Queensland sun, even in winter.  

The long, unvarying concrete highway is parted in the middle by grey concrete dividers which hold streetlights of matching grey steel. The sun shines hard on the scurrying cars, and even harder when the cars turn into car parks at regular internals during rush hour times. 

There are some gentle swells of hills especially those still covered in bush of dark, olive and light green standing close and hugging as they embrace the sun and smile. But somehow they fall into the backdrop and in my memory, they retreat behind a long, straight concrete drive without curves, bends or swells.

I don't quite have all the words to describe this kind of a landscape. It's part strange, soulless, unimaginative, matter-of-fact and flat, usually under a stark sun. A kind of brash brutalist take on a modern world, where concrete and right angles dominate. It's not pretty. Not inspired or inspiring. 

I guess, what I'm trying to say is, even years later, it all feels strongly the opposite of familiar or home. It's a strange feeling. Not unusual, but strange.

But I know it's all roots and routes and all that. There are big and small roots and routes, shallow and deep ones, and there always will be. And I also know that you always have to start local and shallow, and if you stay there long enough, they will build and grow deeper. And the things that are strange now, will one day be strange no more. 

C'est la vie 😊

Here's to the routes and roots in this journey - and in all our journeys 🙌✨