Towards The Bridge

As I walked through the familiar park to work, it dawned upon me that I am walking the last 80 plus days of a life that I've become accustomed to, not just for the past 3 years in Sydney, but the past 12 years of working in the company. It's almost a countdown towards death - death of the old me. A rather frightening thought, leaving behind a familiar cloak of purpose, of routine, of certainty and walking into the unknown, with no idea of how long the hiatus (of sorts) is going to be, in the economic crisis that has taken the world up, in its long-armed sweep.

The fear ebbs. A pensiveness remains because this is life. And although one could argue that this decision to walk this path was one that was within my control and I could have chosen otherwise, one could also argue that it was almost Hobson's choice. It was this or my sanity. A detox was gravely required. This is the price to pay for mental health I guess.

And almost as though to mirror the change in life's direction that will soon come, a physical change will take place even sooner. We spent our last weekend in Surry Hills, snapping pictures of familiar alley ways, favourite cafes, quaint little houses and shops, the people, sights and sounds... I've spent my last 3 years in the neighbourhood and surrounds and have always loved the vibe and everything about the place. To make the move is to leave the old me behind again. Walking into the new me - across the Bridge which represents almost a metaphysical divide between the old and the new.

Towards the new, towards the Bridge.