Getting to The Place to Be

If you asked me to tick the boxes for what's true in my life on New Year's Eve, 2008...well...at age 39, I'm temporarily homeless, unemployed and living in Melbourne, Australia. I have pink striped hair, emerald painted toenails, a sore neck, sunburned shoulders and a purple ankle that's recovering from a sting ray/sailboat collision. My hysterical, brilliant, thoughtful, adorable husband and I perform ritual dances with peacock feathers at major turning points in life.

Today we found an apartment with peacock feather murals in the lobby and a view of what feels like the whole world. The building does not, in fact, have a hot tub, but a swimming pool that's kept at a hot tub-esque temperature. Most days, after, say, my second cup of coffee and before too many sugary snacks, I feel extremely grateful that I get to be me. Other days, we have to call the international money transfer people for the umpteenth time and it's all I can do not to throw my shoes.

How did I get here? Literally, the state of Victoria (or as their license plates read "The Place to Be"), but more rhetorically, what were the choices involved in my current "being"? In looking for a video clip of 'The Peacock Feather Dance' we borrowed from the movie Darjeeling Limited, I found this (somewhat long) piece that speaks to our journey a little bit. The symbolism at the end is tragically overt - I love it.