The Five Little Ducks Blog

I was always a dreamer. As a child my imagination was easily captured, and I couldn’t take a road trip without falling in love with one setting or another. I always had a dream on the go or a story in my head, and I filled scrap books with my thoughts; dream home designs and fantasy land maps, plotting out how I would create the next “Sea Change” level TV phenomenon or Narnia style book series. I wasn’t shy about sharing my goals with people; the whole extended family knew that when I grew up I wanted to become a teacher and move to Tilba, to the point that I would get asked in my early adulthood if that was still what I wanted… I was completely optimistic. These habits continued throughout my teenage years, and even as an adult, if you were to ask me, “what are you dreaming about today?” I could probably describe a story or blog entry that I am mentally plotting, or a direction that I would like to take in my future. 

If you read my blog entries over the past six years, you would know that I was naive when taking in our nieces. Fostering or adopting was something that my husband and I had often dreamed about; we were naturals with kids, and had loads of love to give, so we assumed that we would make great foster parents. Knowing that we had nieces in foster care, two little girls that we had held on the days that they were born, it felt like it was meant to be. I plotted and pursued and DREAMED SO HARD about taking them in. To be honest, I felt smug about how good we were going to be at this fostering gig. Sure, it was meant to be really, really hard to become a foster parent, but with love, purpose, determination and youth on our side, we would make it work. Of course you all know how things worked out…

Over the past several years, we stopped dreaming. Life became about day to day survival, and just dragging our family through one week to the next. About three times my husband applied for rural teaching positions, but each time he was rejected it didn’t take long for my disappointment to be replaced by relief. Our family was struggling, how could we possibly consider moving away from our support network of family, friends, church and school? Besides- moving to the country was a childhood dream of mine, and I had already developed the belief that when your dreams come true, they cause disappointment and suffering. So I stopped pushing my husband to apply for new jobs, even when listings came up in my top fantasy locations.

Half a year has passed since Miss A and Miss L moved out, and to be blunt, my family is no longer struggling. Our finances are tight, but we live comfortably, and now that I am studying secondary teaching I expect to someday contribute to our income. My kids argue, but they forgive quickly. Our family schedule can be overloaded at times, but things don’t feel chaotic. My kids stress me out some days with all of their feelings and needs, but they make me laugh and I just love being their mum. I no longer feel that life is without hope, yet I am more anxious than ever. 

Now that we have been in Lockdown for a few weeks, I have been reflecting daily on my dream of swapping Sydney for somewhere more rural or coastal. A place full of trees, parks and open spaces, country lanes, quiet streets, a simple life. A place with affordable housing where my husband and I can realise our deep-seated dream of home ownership. It would be an adventure, a fresh start for our family, a life of our own making.

Not seeing my family and friends has solidified my understanding that the only reason that we still live in Sydney is for our relationships- family, friends, church and school. So many people right now are suffering; they are out of work, they are overwhelmed, they are lonely.  We are so fortunate- my husband has a job and we rent a house for a comfortable price. It seems ungrateful and selfish to long for something more, something that might just be a pipe dream. 

My mind tessellates constantly between dreaming and doubting. “Wouldn’t it be nice..?” daydreams are interrupted by doubts jutting in snarkily. 

Forty percent of new teachers quit in the first five years. What’s so special about you?

What if you move somewhere and it’s populated by drug addicts and bogans?

What if your kids hate it and get bullied at their new school? What if their peers are a bad influence?

What if you spend all your savings on the moving costs?

What if you can’t make any new friends?

What if the churches are dead?

What if you end up in a dust-bowl town?

What if you miss your family too much and get FOMO every time they have a party without you?

What if you get jealous every time you see your friends on Facebook moving on?

What if the houses are cheap because the groceries are expensive and limited, and you need to drive for two hours to see a doctor?

What if owning a house isn’t all you dreamt of?

What if it’s a mistake?

What if your life now is the best it’s gonna get?

You weren’t cut out for fostering, what makes you think you are cut out for country living?

Whenever I start to dream, I am taken back to the last time I felt so optimistic- myself at 24, completely unaware of the world of hurt she and her family were about to go through for 5 years as a foster family. And I shrivel inside. My family is mostly happy and stable now. I am afraid that any change will upset the delicate balance and send us into new painful territory. But I am also concerned that if we never leave Sydney, that I will regret never again trying something new and our dream of home ownership will remain unfulfilled. I don’t trust my judgement anymore. Is this anxiety, or is it the wisdom of outgrowing childish notions that the grass is greener on the other side? Of realising that whatever side you are on, the grass is just grass and maybe the bindies look different? A big chunk of my heart wants to take the leap, just to try living in the country for a couple of years so that I don’t have to worry about regrets and what ifs. But if we don’t, I need to make peace with where I am, and count my many blessings. 

Maybe the dream is better than the reality. But what if it isn’t?

And on it goes.