For those of you who’ve followed us since the beginning you’ll remember that our reasons for leaving the UK were numerous. We wrote these reasons on post-its and stuck them on the wall of our bedroom in south east London before we decided to up stix and get the hell out of dodge. The reasons included: spend more time with Alula, be healthy, swim everyday, no commute, no working 9-5 ever again, live a 4 hour work week and of course, HOT SUN.
Hence Bali. Hence the fact that can we live here turned into, hell yes we can live here and then into oh, look we are living here (I just didn’t want to buy all those different URLs).
We’re lucky, I managed to get a really good book deal whilst we were still travelling and John being the super talented designer that he is hustled his butt off in Singapore, set up his own company and has not stopped working since. We both work pretty much full time (so much for the ‘work a four hour week’ post-it – but we both love our jobs so that’s cool) and admittedly I work beside the pool a lot. And I can stop to watch episodes of Buffy and / or decide that I need a three week break by the sea to recharge my brain whenever I like. We’re lucky and we’re oh so grateful for the way life has panned out.
Up until now John’s been spending about 2 days a week in Singapore but now he’s been offered a job at probably the best design company in the world. A permanent job that is.
Excuse me whilst I tear up the post-its which said ‘no 9-5’ and ‘no commute.’
Now to me, the idea of ever working again for anyone else sends me into such a panic that my throat closes over in much the same way it does when someone with a peanut allergy eats a snickers bar.
Recently I did my birth chart and discovered that I should never, ever work for anyone because ‘I don’t respond well to being managed.’
If only I’d known that ten years ago. Could have saved a lot of my ex bosses a lot of heartache and stress.
But no point looking back. And thank God I’ve discovered a way of working that doesn’t involve a boss. I mean I have an editor but it doesn’t feel like she’s my boss. It feels like she’s Willy Wonka and she’s giving me the keys to the chocolate factory of my dreams (no oompah loompahs on my factory line, only clones of Alex Skarsgard naked swimming in the chocolate lake…sorry I digress).
Anyway for John this role is like gold dust. It’s a career high, a once in a lifetime offer that will really open doors– potentially to places we might want to move at some point (sagittarius remember?). But as I write this my bottom lip is sliding up and out. I’m pouting I realize, in a way that even Alula would be envious of.
We’ve come this far just to slip back into a similar routine to the one we had in London only replacing Starbucks with coconuts and south eastern trains with Air Asia. And replacing the child minder with well, um, me. Hang on. This doesn’t feel right.
Ok, so the childcare thing isn’t so bad, especially as Kadek is there to make pancakes. We can hang out at the pool as opposed to Croydon Rec, and there’s no waiting around for trains at London Bridge panicking at whether I’ll make it back in time to pick Alula up. But what does this mean for us if John takes the job?
What does it mean for our relationship? For my sanity as a part time single mother? For Alula? What does it mean for our dream? We haven’t compromised on anything thus far, other than not living in the same time zone as fashion, I’m not sure I want to start now.
