THERE WAS A moment, approximately 40 days ago, when I felt borderline euphoric joy.
I was jogging from Ipanema Beach to Copacabana Beach in Rio De Janeiro and, as the sun beamed down on my now sweat-soaked vest, I pulled it off me and tucked it down my shorts.
Almost unfeasibly fucking hot men were everywhere I looked; I was about to overshoot the runway.
In the sun and next to any large body of water, I feel the opposite of calm; I feel energised.
It’s like there’s so much energy inside of me, jogging alone isn’t enough to extract and express it. In those conditions, all music sounds better so, as some banging garage music number from the early 00s (probably Liiiiiiiiisa Mafia - remember she told ya, she’s a soldier!) came through on my ‘Oz jog’ playlist, I started arm-dancing to it and singing along to it above the noise-cancellation of my airpods.
It was, if you’ll permit me the self-indulgence of being momentarily self-referential, peak Gazz.
A pair of young women were walking together on the pavement in the opposite direction and one noticed me. She nudged the other one and discreetly pointed at me. They both started laughing.
Now, on any day my self-esteem was lower (we’ll get there - we always do!), I might’ve thought they were laughing at me and took offence or felt shame and made myself smaller, quieter.
But a consequence of feeling good is you don’t take things the wrong way, you’re less paranoid, less self-conscious and more likely to give the benefit of the doubt to people.
I remembered in that moment something I already know, but often forget: feelings are often contagious. They were catching my joy. So I laughed back. I laughed with them. And I sang a bit louder for them. “LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISA MAFIA!” This made them beam; seeing I’d noticed, one gave me the thumbs up, the other did a fist-pumping dance move and a ‘woop woop.’
It’s both reassuring and alarming to realise that was just over a month ago as, since then, I’ve had more moments when I’ve felt the opposite of that feeling.
That paradox, to get all philosophical, is what adult life’s all about, right? I have to re-tell myself one of my mantras that I already know, but often forget: every feeling is temporary. But every feeling is also important. You can’t dismiss or deny it. You don’t get the light unless you’re willing to travel through the dark; you don’t get Liiiiiiiisa Mafia unless you first listen to a bit of Radiohead.
I don’t think there’s really any such thing as a confident person; confidence is only a fluctuating visitor in anyone’s life. My jogs this week have been quieter, less audacious, more wanting to blend in.
All this is top of mind because I’ve had a series of shades of blues since returning from my trip. Post holiday blues. First winter in four years blues. All the nomads have gone home blues. Post robbery and Google hack blues. I don’t want to rewrite that book chapter I slaved over blues. What am I even doing here blues.
It’s at times like this I have to remember to repeat my back to basics mantras:
Everything feels better after coffee.
Everything feels better after vigorous exercise. Jog the pain away.
Everything feels better after 8+ hours of sleep.
Everything feels better with a fixed date of an event in the very near future to look forward to. Sometimes the looking forward is even more enjoyable than the actual event.
And give up on always trying to feel better all the time. Stop always wanting more. It’s ok to sit in the feeling of being meh. Also something I often forget, but already knew.
During lockdown, me and two of my best mates in Sydney would sometimes hang out. Two of us lived in the same building; the other would cheekily sneak around.
In a classic Gazz move to try to impose some organised fun into the evening, I suggested, given there were just the three of us and we’re already like family to each other, we do some junk science quizzes. I love junk science quizzes. We did the 36 Questions to Fall in Love and I discovered what both their love languages are (there’s gift-giving, touch, acts of service, words of affirmation and quality time. Mine is touch) and possibly even their attachment styles.
There was a little resistance but, a bottle of red down, they gave in to my whining that it’d be such fun.
What I do remember is that we finished by having to say something we liked most about each other. The other Brit in the group moaned hard at this; of course she did.
I told one she was the second-most erudite person I’d ever met (classic back-handed compliment; at least I’m authentic) and the other that she’s the fancy dress and choreography queen, and these things all bring me joy.
Then they got to me. They both said the same thing. They said, if they’d had a shit day and needed cheering up, someone to make them laugh out loud and forget the shitness of their day, I’d be the first person they’d think to message. I loved that. I may not always be the best shoulder to cry on, but I’m the best joker to distract you. I’ll take it.
That person has evaporated somewhat in the last 40 days of repeatedly trying to get back into Google, swearing into the cold wind about how much I forget I hate winters and would happily just have one season, summer, you can keep the fucking rest, and periods of isolation and loneliness now many of the friends I made here have left for warmer climates.
A friend of mine, concerned about me feeling this way, asked: why do you stay there? You could go anywhere in the world. You could go to Sydney or the UK. Come back, she said. Come back to Sydney.
It’s a really good question and I’m glad she asked me as it helped reorganise my thoughts a little.
First reason: all parts of me, including the melancholy and morose parts of me, are valid. Every layer is important and, whilst I love to be and always want to remain the speed dial to your better mood, my own mood will fluctuate anywhere in the world. And that’s ok because all feelings are fleeting and human.
Second reason: people travel for different reasons.
Many understandably travel for comfort and, to feel that, they need some level of familiarity. I totally get that. You work hard all year, you want to relax. You want to experience different food and culture, but not at the expense of your peace of mind. Sometimes I travel for this reason, too.
But mostly, I’m a kid who never took a gap YAR, never took up the opportunity to do a (now defunct thanks to the awesome Brexit) Erasmus European university exchange scheme and only mainly travelled to places where there were few language or cultural barriers.
This travel adventure is different: I wanted the discomfort, the de-familiarity, all the things that’ll make me catch myself next time I complain somewhere has become too samey, too boring, too incestuous or too claustrophobic. I want to want those things again.
Growth only truly happens when muscles tear - and rebuild stronger.