All roads lead to the Garden

A garden will never be 'finished' and as a Gardener, when you can finally acknowledge that, it causes equal parts frustration and freedom.

On the plus side, there's room to grow and to blossom into something different as the seasons change. The downside is that all the growing and changing and sometimes stagnating and wilting is incredibly tiring. And that, I suppose, is where Winter comes in.

We slow. The sun is earlier to reminds us to tuck in for the night, or the months ahead. But then Spring arrives, nudging us out, illuminating us and all out flaws and reminding us that we're supposed to be ready to be for the Summer of our lives.

There's the part of me that perpetually believes I should be a complete and finished 'product' or person at any point in time. By age 35, the Eliza Doll should come with (non optional) accessories including

• A neat and tidy, beautifully renovated, architectural masterpiece of a home that also looks immaculate but is lovingly lived in. House includes pool, loads of amenities, appropriate dinnerware for all occasions and a linen press that is scented with lavender and sheets that are completely ordered.

• A finished garden with an obnoxious variety of food and flowers growing - perhaps an aesthetically pleasing and lovingly created roadside honesty box complete with home grown eggs, honey and jam.

• House should be private and in the country, located near a stream and rolling hills but not too far from the beach. It should also snow in Winter and be warmed by an Aga. It should rain heavily at least a few times a week.

• Must be able to house dozens of friends and relatives when they descend upon us for our monthly (professionally catered) soirees - (casual chic dress code).

I should also

• Have my pre- baby, beach ready body and a designer wardrobe to adorn it.

• Be a present and dedicated mother who serves her children beautifully cooked meals, but is also fun enough to include an appropriate amount of home made treats.

• Have children that are quirky but behaved, who sleep well, eat the beautifully cooked meals and don't scream at drop off. They should also read early and often and be gracious and grateful. They'll be sporty and funny and a bit smart. They will spend their pocket money donating to children that might not have as much, but do so in a modest fashion.

• I should also be at the height of a fabulous career that brings joy, but doesn't take too much time away from creating the 'perfect family life'.

Yet- here I am, approaching 36 when it's no longer enough to get by on a dream and a dime and I'm realising, that I too, will never be finished. I am, as the pinterest boards say, still a work in progress.

And so, It seems it's time for some reflection, and for some changing and growing of my own.

When I sat and really thought about what I wanted to fill my days, and my life with- it's drastically different to what I thought I'd be at age 21.

Back then I naively thought, with the steadfastness that only the young possess, that I'd be suit clad and city living. But when I broke down that narrative (that is somehow thrust upon you at some stage in your education due to a random teacher making a judgement of you) I probably knew that wasn't ever going to be, I don't think it ever rang true.

In my early 20's, joy came in different formats but it never came in the shape of a corporate box. Of course there were the usual milestones, parties and friends, who at the time became like family, but over the years, (although some are still dearly loved) have faded into cameo characters who rarely make appearances in the season that is current life.

Joy also came from a feminist boss in my first real job who was fiercely supportive (she made T-shirts with my blog handle on it and her family wore them in public!) and then later on from my colleagues at ABC, who were warm and welcoming. A motley crew of creatives and people who pushed the boundaries and encouraged me to live my truth.

It came from my food blogger and twitter pals, from being part of a burgeoning food scene in Brisbane and feeling like I'd finally found my tribe.

It also came quietly - from the family I nannied for and adored to bits. From my small loft apartment, located above restaurants in a beautiful little pocket of the city. It came from my back terrace which was filled with pots of herbs and the deli I visited multiple times a week to buy sliced porchetta or aged balsamic that blew my entire weekly budget in one go.

I felt alive at the Farmer's market on a Saturday morning and I loved introducing my friends to places to eat- like the 00's cool hidden Valley restaurant where you sipped on $10 cocktails and dined on the floor.

It came from being pretty sure of who I had become and who I thought I was.

But time marches on, and a decade and a bit later, I feel a lot less sure. Lost, even. Stripped bare by marriage and motherhood and mortgages and with no real surety or sense of self and identity that once seemed innate.

The obvious thing, and the thing any inspiring insta celeb will tell you, is to let go of things that no longer serve you. Although not practical, easy or financially sensible, I've said goodbye to corporate working life in a 9-5 that sneakily stole my soul, imagination and vigour bit by bit.

The job was never really 9-5 and I was never going to fit in that particular box. There were some hilarious times along the way, and some great colleagues who have turned into close pals, but wrangling politicians and facing angry community mobs both in person and online is best left to someone with more propensity to deal with muppets on the daily and with significantly less fire and personal investment than I. I'd say there were a few sighs of relief when they received my rather verbose resignation.

The next cliched piece of advice - to find out who you are, you've got to find out who you're not. Knowing me, there will be an unnecessary amount of inner turmoil and existential crisis involved in this- it won't be easy. If anyone wants to tell me who I am or what I will become - you know where to find me. (Psychics and psychologists feel free to apply for the job).

There will be joy in being able to spend endless, unstructured time with my wee ones, but also a little bit of joy in time away from them in order to let them grow.

Parenting is monotonous and my patience has been withered away by lack of sleep so -sometimes sweary -riddled with post natal depression - Mummy has taken over happy, fun, understanding, has an answer for everything and time to explain it- Mummy. That's changing but it hasn't been overnight. Next year they're spending a day or two a week with other people who also love them, growing into bigger little humans, exploring and figuring out what they want to be without their mother a foot away. We can shephed and guide them but they are what they are and we cannot mould or change them, advice I try to live by.

And of course, when in need of some spark in my life, I seem to always find myself wandering out into the garden. All roads, or stone cobbled paths, lead there. It hasn't shown me my future but it has given me a place to sit and contemplate. A place to plan. To rip out and regrow. A place to plant my dreams and watch some of them thrive and some of them die, eaten by a particularly voracious escargatoire of snails. It's a place to understand that we can sow the seeds but to some degree we're all at the mercy of nature- both mother nature and our own natures. There's the joy in what is, what has been and what could be- and I guess that's a starting point for the next iteration of me.

Hopefully you'll find me in the patch, drinking tea (or something harder in the later afternoon) working on whatever I'm planting next.