Letting go of control

When you make a decision and believe it’s the right one, you hope everything will fall nicely into place. But that’s not always how life works, is it? Life is full of wonder, joy, contentment and lots of problems. Like jelly which hasn’t been mixed properly, that which you hope will be smooth will often have some hard bits.

Last year my family relocated to our hometown of New Plymouth after a decade in Auckland. While Taranaki has always been ‘home’, we had established a community for ourselves in North Shore suburbia and I was sad to be leaving it.

But I was surprised at how readily we moved into the slipstream of a welcoming New Plymouth community in all of its facets. I reckon we’re busier in a city of 74,000 than we were in one of 1.5 million, in a fun way.

Your skillsets are more valued in a small city, your presence is more noticed, your efforts more appreciated. Your friendships and relationships are more easily maintained by the simple fact there’s more time to spend together.

People go out of their way to help you and then step aside so you can muck in and join the helpers.

Wherever there’s a need, there’s a team ready to tackle it. From delivering home cooking to families through Take Them a Meal to providing refuge and respite at Taranaki Retreat.

Innovation and conversation can be shared over coffee, pancakes and pastries at the St Mary’s and Bounce breakfast clubs.

And is it possible to walk along the foreshore without anyone saying hello to you?

There’s connectivity in the regions, and this region in particular. It’s one of the many joys of living here.

I also enjoyed the anonymity that came with living in a bigger city. The freedom of heading to the mall in leggings and no makeup and blending into the crowd. Of not being relied on so much.

I liked the weather better in Auckland too, even though the saying of four seasons in one day rings true.

It’s pretty tropical in a city away from hurricane-force winds and a snow-capped mountain.

Last week I rushed about picking up bits of plastic and paper as the recycling bin was knocked over by strong winds again, dressed in an apron while the kids ignored my requests to stay inside.

It was in that moment that an old high school boyfriend drove past and tooted, of course it was, no doubt having a chuckle at my expense. Say hello to life in a goldfish bowl.

Were the hurdles – the time it took us to find a new home, our belongings which got scratched up in the move, the things that needed fixing, the weather – all a sign that we were doing something wrong? Otherwise, why didn’t everything go smoothly?

‘‘That’s life!’’ hubby responded to my niggles in his calm, oil-upon-water fashion.

He’s right. When did I get the notion that life was about working towards perfection and hoping it would chance upon us?

Though some moments in life are perfect. The first week I spent at home as a mother was the epitome of perfection. Nothing else mattered outside my cosy cocoon of new parenthood. I was overwhelmed with the responsibility of protecting my son and trying to figure out what was best for him.

I was afraid that it was all too good to be true, that I didn’t deserve to be so happy.

My husband and I married in the fallout of the global financial crisis (GFC). We had fewer assets at the time so there wasn’t a huge strain on us.

The one asset I brought into the marriage was Mr Limey, a lime-green Toyota Corolla hatchback.

My husband brought a new business and mortgage to the table amongst a few other (calculated) risks. It was brilliant but it freaked me out a little.

There have been many blissful moments cut short by me worrying about the unknown.

You know, the old ‘‘too good to be true’’ feeling? The moment where things are going so well that you hold your breath, waiting for someone to walk up to you and tell you there’s been a mistake and to please hand over all your nice things.

I’ve come from not having a lot and I feel a weighty responsibility to use my time, efforts, money and talents wisely.

I’m one who takes comfort from feeling in control. But the more I learn about life, I’ve realised just how little is in my control.

‘‘Just roll with it,’’ hubby tells me when the unforeseen happens. I’m a way off mastering that, but there’s a scripture I find comforting as it reminds me of my adaptability.

‘‘I know how to be abased and I know how to abound. Everywhere and in all things I have learned both to be full and to be hungry. Both to abound and to suffer need.’’

There’s connectivity in the regions, and this region in particular. It’s one of the many joys of living here.