It’s a haunting that has been growing stronger inside of me. A feeling that has now manifested as a question I keep asking myself. Where do I belong? Of late my days have had an edge of surrealism to them. A sense of wonder in the magical places I have found myself and the people I have meet. Ordinary places filled with extra ordinary experiences and filled with loving humans.
As I write I am in a cafe in Lismore, a country town in northern New South Wales. It is full of eclectic humans who hive together and make this a special place. People walk the streets here full of creative expression. From aged cowboy with his fedora and double denim to the rainbow-coloured hippy.
The girl who serves me tea wears platform Doc Martens, cargo pants and thick silver chains. Her eyes highlighted by vibrant blue eye shadow. She is beautiful and friendly. Her garb would look as fitting on the pages of Vogue as here in this country café.
I am home amongst this expressive chaos. Everyone so different, and somehow together they are a goulash of creative life. I can feel the pulse of this town and the beats are smooth. My mind tantalised by what it feels here, what it sees, and connected by the rhythm of the hick-town beats. It’s raw and real with no excuses. Salt of the earth meets eclectic creative.
People here seem so fearless, unapologetic of who they are and how that translates into this life. Express as much as you like, you are home here and without judgement amid the cowboy collective. And I am left feeling awe and wonder!
Is belonging a place, or a moment in time that resonates with parts of you needing to be touched, seen or loved. Or is belonging a safe place to be you?! Be it on a bush landing alone with the paper barks or in a country town cafe? Are they one and the same? Coinciding events that when appreciated for their surreal beauty open you up to who you are. The more I notice and honour these moments the more I belong. Locations and people becoming my place, my belonging – if only for a short time.
