Special.

My mama always told me I was special.
That I would do something great. That I would be somebody.
Someone great.
And that was all well and good until I hit the age of 27. Living in a red caravan in Melbourne winter in the backyard of a Northcote share house, with a bunch of boys that chain-smoked bongs, watched day time t.v and as it happened, were starting a sex toy business….. I was still on the dole, still trying to make it as a rockstar, still not famous, and too broke to buy a pair of ugg boots to get me through the winter.
And that’s when it hit me, that’s when I realised that the silver platter wasn’t going to fall out of the sky and that I would have to make a go of it all by myself. Saturn Return darlings.

Yes, it was a rude awakening, a shock to the system, a cold dip in Whim Hoff ice water.
And I was like, damn, maybe im not special like my mama told me, maybe I’m just like all the other plebs, and I would have to make it on my own.

And then the existential crisis began, for the first time in my life I pondered over the big questions- Like why the hell are we all here, what the hell is going on, what is after death, you know those kinds of deep questions that no one really knows the answer too. I know I was a bit late on the uptake. People think about these deep things young, but whatever…..

So I quit my band after 10 years, booked myself into a costume course, convinced a bikey couple to tow my caravan up to Byron Bay for $800 and a bottle of black sambuca. And started my life again, in the tropics.

Not much had changed. I was still on the dole, living in my red caravan, getting high. But, now I was on a pig farm in Byron Bay in the epicentre of spiritual quests and navel-gazers, so I was right at home….

That year I ate the most pig I have ever eaten in my Jewish life- Bacon fat with potatoes, bacon diced with cabbage, pork crackling, boiled pig bones, pork sausages, legs of pigs, you think it, I ate it. My Jewish stomach didn’t know what hit it. My ancestors would be rolling in their graves…. Oi Va Voi, the taste of sweet swine, so delicious and forbidden, salty and fatty and almost human tasting. I ate so much pig I ended up becoming allergic to it. But that’s another story…..

I was only in Byron Bay for a few months when I broke up with my partner of 10 years. I’m not sure why so many couples break up when they move to Byron….Maybe it’s because there are not as many distractions as there is in the city, so when you make the move to paradise, you’re all of a sudden confronted with the fact that you’re in a dysfunctional relationship and you haven’t made love for over 3 weeks, and you don’t wanna make love and your bickering about the toilet seat again, and you’ve heard the same stories over and over, and you’re both over it, and you both can’t be bothered fixing all the broken things…. So we broke up. It was big, but it was mutual, so ce la vie.

I got Farmer M to tow my caravan with his big old tractor to the other side of the pig farm, and boom! I was thrown into singledom.
I wrote my first love song, relished in the loneliness and agony of a broken heart.
Rewatched the whole of Sex and the City and slowly rebuilt myself.

I continued asking the big questions, searched far and wide…. I asked wise elders and young children alike- What is this all about?

Until one day, after years of questioning, I finally got my answer from a 70-year-old dear Scottish man that is eternally young and full of Joi De Vive.

Over a few pints of beer, he told me in his thick Scottish accent.

Be good. Do good and have a fantastic time.

And I think that pretty much covers it. That pretty much sums it up. Doesn’t matter whether your rich or poor, a meerkat or a lion, don’t matter if your ma says your special or not.
Just don’t be a cunt and have a ball.

3 thoughts on “Special.

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