I swear, that trumpeting would have blown my wildlife hide right into the ground.
The elephant had your voice, Marley.
I found myself staring at my grubby feet propped on the embroidered shoulder bag in front of me. And then at the polished leather shoes of my companion. I stifled a giggle – we were the odd couple. Stick-on stars decorated my toenails and a tattered red string, given to me by the guy I met in Lukla, hung around my ankle. A romantic keepsake, I told the elephant. You can’t knock that.
‘I’ll come and visit you in Sydney,’ Owl had said as we stumbled out of the Rum Doodle Bar. His teeth shone in the lights from the window and he stroked my arm in a way that almost made me forget that there is more to life than good sex.
I pulled myself together. ‘Better not to try and hang on to something that is wonderful but fleeting.’ A sad sound track started in my head. A romantic ending – Last Tango in Kathmandu. ‘Let’s keep it like this – a perfect memory. You and I’ – I wiped away a tear – ‘are two free spirits who have connected in a very, very, meaningful way.’
He ran his hand down my back as we made our way back to the guesthouse, reminding me of how meaningfully we had connected.
‘Very, very meaningful,’ I repeated, as his hand slid around my waist and his thumb stroked my stomach. I stopped as we reached our guesthouse and put my hand to his cheek. ‘Maybe we’ll meet again in another lifetime and take up where we left off in this one. But for now, I must take the path less travelled, while you’ – I pondered – ‘will also take the path less travelled, but a different one.’ I pressed my hand to his. ‘You are a beautiful, beautiful person and I wish you joy on your path, but I don’t expect it to ever intersect with mine again.’
He did a reasonable job of looking disappointed. Maybe he was.
‘After tonight, I mean,’ I added, as I took out the key to our room and pulled him in after me, almost tripping over his guitar in the process.
Sorry, Marley – too much information.
As the plane took off, I gazed out the window. The Himalayas were glorious as always and the world looked as it always does from on high – exciting and full of possibility. But after two years roaming the globe, this was the sum total of what I knew about life: I was broke, tired and going home.
I close the email.
Shutting my eyes, I imagine the day ahead of me, step by step – I will succeed and impress at every opportunity, I will succeed …
Chapter Two
I ascend the Cone of Certainty
Project: Monday morning routine (continued)
6.25–6.55: Morning yoga (remember to stay in moment, breathe, relax)
6.55–7.15: Breakfast (home-made muesli with low-fat yoghurt, goji berries and chia seeds)
7.15–7.45: Wash and dress (outfit laid out the night before to facilitate this step)
7.45: Walk to Chatswood train station
7.58: Catch train to Town Hall (travel pass pre-purchased to prevent delay). On train: Check and respond to email, Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn and Instagram (remember: one third respond, one third communicate, one third encourage)
8.27: Walk from Town Hall station to office
8.39: Arrive at work, change shoes, brush hair
8.45: Work commences
Total time: 2 hours 30 minutes
Critical events: Leaving home on time / Train arriving on time
Visualisation over, it is time to proceed at a relaxed and orderly pace through my morning routine.
I glance at the clock. Unaccountably, it is 6.50. I am behind schedule; ground must be made up. While I’m much more disciplined than I used to be, I am not as disciplined as Adrian. Adrian’s morning routine always runs to plan. Soon mine will too. I will absorb his effectiveness through osmosis. I will become a better version of myself. I just need to try harder. I leap out of bed, mentally revising my morning routine.
Yoga. I rush through a few half-arsed sun salutes. Check. Adrian does Bikram yoga – the one where you exercise in a room heated to forty degrees. I tried it once but had to crawl out and lie on the cold floor outside after fifteen minutes. To be honest, it wasn’t only the heat; I was psyched out by the bikini girls in the front row next to the wall-length mirror. The contrast between them and me, in my baggy sweat-soaked T-shirt, was stark.
Adrian told me not to come again unless I was going to try harder. I intend to, but every time I think about it I get flashbacks of my face reflected in the mirror – I looked like a sinner in the fires of hell. Adrian tells me it’s all in my mind and I’m sure he’s right. In the near future I will do Bikram regularly in a red bikini which displays my flat and lightly muscled stomach. I have added this to my morning visualisation. Adrian says creating a vision of success is half the battle.
Breakfast. Unfortunately my home-made muesli currently consists of ten unopened packets of ingredients in a shopping bag. I’m not sure how that happened as muesli-making was definitely scheduled for Sunday afternoon. Then I remember – there was that special episode of Dynasty on the box. It’s lucky Adrian didn’t stay for breakfast. I stuff down some cornflakes and instant coffee while re-scheduling muesli-making for my evening project plan. Check.
Some sad lettuce leaves, a hard lump of cheese and an unidentifiable bowl of leftovers greet me as I place the milk back in the fridge. Strangely, my cleaning fetish only extends as far as the surfaces on display. I can’t find the same enthusiasm for the insides of cupboards or for removing dust balls under my bed. I don’t know why that is, but never mind. Once Adrian and I get married and move to our new house, I’m sure this defect will be overcome. I will dust and polish our lovely home in my red bikini and grow a herb garden which is the envy of the neighbourhood. I’m so looking forward to it.
Dress. I glance at my cupboard where today’s outfit hangs on the door handle. After work I’m meeting Adrian for dinner at six-thirty pm. The grey pantsuit will carry me from work to dinner at Le Max. I have a slinky black top to replace the un-slinky work top. I do need to make some effort. It’s the first anniversary of the day we got together and I think tonight he’s going to propose. Pantsuit on, I run a comb through my short hair – so much more practical than those flowing locks. Check.
Departure. 7.45. Check. Yay – I’m back on course.
As I step out the door, something remarkable happens. White flakes drift past my eyes. It’s like I’m in Chamonix again. It’s snowing!
I stretch out my hands and flakes land softly on my palms. I register their warmth. Of course they’re not snowflakes. This is Sydney. It’s ash from a fire in the mountains, carried here by the hot westerly wind. I watch the flakes fall and a stillness comes over me. Closing my eyes, I breathe in the faint scent of smoke. Then a man in a suit brushes past, jabbing my hip with his briefcase. The stillness is gone. I have a train to catch.
On the train, my mind returns to Adrian. Adrian has taught me
