I generally hate birthdays. The attention, the fuss, the expectations, uggh. Something about turning a year older, and realising I’m not exactly where I want to be in life, is just plain depressing. So this year when my husband asked what I wanted for my birthday, I suggested we skip the traditional present ceremonies and just go away somewhere instead.

With the warm, balmy weather, and the sun slowly going down, we strolled through the city, taking it in like tourists. I hadn’t been into the city since before Corona, and walking around that day, it felt as if someone had taken a polishing cloth to the city streets and rubbed away the residue, leaving us with a city that felt new and fresh; untarnished. 

When we got back to our hotel room, I pulled open the curtains and was completely taken by the view. It was nothing short of spectacular. 

 

This photo doesn’t do justice to the way the lights felt so close, close enough to touch, or the way the Yarra looked inky, mysterious and beautiful. 

Perspective is a funny thing. When we are searching for it it’s so hard to find, and other times, it is literally at our fingertips, close enough to touch. That night, it was right there. And all at once, at that precise moment, things felt as if they made sense again. 

My birthday came and went, and I’m another year older, but this time it felt like a celebration I wanted to have. Going away helped me transform my birthday blues into something positive to focus on. I don’t think I’ll ever feel my age — and maybe that’s the secret to a happy life, but I do know that most things in life worth having, are not, in fact, possessions. Gifts are lovely, but memories are enduring and can be taken with you anywhere.