30th on the 15th.

I don't think I could have asked for a better way to spend my 30th. It was the culmination of so many things I value, the direction I'm aiming my future, and the most important elements of my present.

We woke early, because Lewis needed to work during the first half of the day. There was a freeing but somewhat melancholy lack of whining coming from the carpet, since Rory had been taken to my Mother-in-law's the night before. Most mornings when Rory is my responsibility, all I want is for him to stop crying and let me get some more sleep. Of course, as is often the way with these things, with his absence, sleep wasn't possible anyway. I was too excited and too aware of Lewis' keenness to finally reveal his birthday presents. After reading a beautiful card, I opened a stunning new Fujifilm mirrorless camera. Lew & I had been talking about buying one to take on our European holiday coming up in January. Lewis had, somehow, gotten the exact model I had my eyes on, without us discussing it. It's as simple as should be for people who aren't capital P Photographers, but fancy enough to be a real delight and stand apart from our phone cameras. His second gift (as if I deserved another!) was a pair of gold earrings made by the same person who made our wedding rings. Just seeing her name and logo made me tear up (Jasmine Fraser, check her out, she's incredible). Lewis knows how to do sentimentality.

After taking myself out for breakfast, buying gooey cheeses to take away with us and Lewis getting home from work, we set off to Barfold Estate. When we were first planning, we wanted to go to the Dandenong Ranges, since we go west all the time. But we were so specific in what we wanted - a place in nature, secluded but not isolated, with a bath big enough for both of us and the right Vibe - the Dandenongs simply did not deliver. Every place that had a bath demanded $600+ a night and/or sat next to a highway. Barfold, on the other hand, ticked every box to the point that we could have happily moved into that cabin and lived every day as luxuriously as our two night stay. An hour and a half's drive from home, on a working farm and winery, Barfold was a total fucking delight. The cabin itself was the perfect intersection of our aesthetic homely tastes. Wood panelled walls for Lew, built in couch for me, mid-century inspired furniture and well-thought out lighting for both of us. I particularly appreciated that the toilet had not one, but two doors separating it from the bedroom and living areas. There's nothing I find worse in supposed "romantic getaway" accommodation than wall-less bathrooms. Just because I'm married to someone does not mean I'm cool with them hearing, smelling or seeing me piss and shit! The man already sees me in my most vulnerable emotional states, please let me retain some dignity!

We spent a lot of time playing with our new camera, trying to figure out the seemingly infinite amount of settings. To our relief, it's almost impossible to take a bad picture on the thing, even with Lewis' preference for terrible "artistic" composition techniques. Having a camera within arms reach is a lot of fun; I'd recommend. There is something very satisfying about having both more and less control than a phone camera. I don't quite understand the psychology of it yet, but we also found that we were happy to take the photos and put the camera away without immediately obsessing over checking how they turned out. We ate a lot of cake, and listened to a lot of music. We took advantage of the fully stocked wine fridge and walked around the vineyard, trying not to sink too deep into the mud. The next day, we climbed up Hanging Rock in the rain, having the place mostly to ourselves as a result. It's an other worldly place, and Lewis couldn't resist his little environmentalist heart, clambering down rocks to pick up a dropped drink bottle at the top.

I particularly enjoyed the second night. With my Big Birthday done, the pressure was off, and we'd settled into the cabin as if it really were our own home. We drank wine, ate cheese and cake and bathed together all the same as we had the night before, but I was feeling much more reflective and grounded in my age and direction that I can ever remember. I was deeply contented with the moment - not in a way that I thought I should feel contented, and therefore I must be, but in that I just was. I had my husband, we have built our relationship to be unimaginably strong and idilic, we had the means to enjoy luxuries such as weeknights away to mark milestones, we had so much to look forward to in the near and distant future without feeling a need to rush towards it, and I felt like I was taking some measure of control over my life that caused a rare bud of hope to grow within my cynical heart (even if I know that control is a total illusion, it feels nice to be deliberate with one's life). Lewis and I spoke about all the same things we always do - politics, society, ourselves, our future, ideas, concepts, our curiosities, things we'd seen or heard online - and I was once again grateful to share my life with someone with whom I never need to hold back from.

Without a plan, I spoke about realities that I only realised I felt in the same moment that they fell out of my mouth. Mostly, I reflected on feeling like an outsider for as long as I can remember. My complicated childhood causing me to build a wall of defence, and high school being the cut-throat battleground where self esteem goes to die (everyone's experience, to an extent). I realised that I felt like our relationship was almost an extension of this sense of eternal difference between myself and the masses. Lewis and I seem to live our lives and conduct our relationship in a way that surprises other people. I don't mean to sound arrogant, because it's completely unintentional that we do this. (To be fair, we are as confused by other people's relationships as they are by ours.) As just one seemingly insignificant but quite isolating example, we are not Watchers; which is to say we don't really keep ourselves plugged into the latest TV streaming crazes. We do watch things, like we're in the middle of the latest season of The Crown at the moment, but once it's over, we wont feel like there's a void to fill and pick something else. We'll just do something else. Have you seen...? Are you watching...? The latest episode of ... was so good! Every time dinner conversation steers in that direction, we have self-consciously little to contribute. "What do you guys do then?" we get asked. It's difficult to answer. We watch TV, but it's usually stupid shit on YouTube that we eventually tire of and turn off. I read. Lewis writes or listens to music. We have dinner together. We go to bed early and feel rested the next day. Some of my favourite evenings are the ones in which we deliberately choose not to turn on any media at all, and just talk. We've both admitted to being a little afraid of this decision some days - what if we run out of things to talk about? But we never do. I love being married to someone who I can chat to this much, who values what I have to say (even though he's heard it all before), who thinks I have interesting and original thoughts (that I've forgotten I've already told him), and who I believe the same of. Isn't that what being in a relationship is about? Being connected? Not consuming media at the same time? Anyway, I spoke to Lewis about this sense of not only being different from most people myself, but also us being different, but also how, mercifully, my reaction to those perceptions was shifting.

I've never hugely liked being different - I don't know many people who do. People who like being different are actually usually the worst kinds of people. Those who define themselves against others. In my case, I love other people and want nothing more than to feel a sense of community and acceptance. I have spent a lot of time striving to find my place and people without much long term success. There are obvious exceptions and successes, but on the whole it feels like an ongoing quest. The difference is, suddenly, I'm quite comfortable with being the outlier, the odd one out, and the one who others don't quite understand or vibe with. I know that I make decisions other people don't understand sometimes, but increasingly, I am incredibly confident in those choices.

In direct opposition to hustle culture and neo-capitalism, I choose to work less because I don't equate my worth with my work, and it's not what I value. I don't have to pretend to wish for more work, when I have designed my life this way with total deliberateness. There are a myriad of other choices that branch out from this one, including all of my buying and consumption habits. I earn less, so I consume less, so I am naturally (but also consciously) more mindful of what I buy, it's necessity to my life and its long term potential. I only buy what I really need, after needing it for quite some time and its necessity making itself resolutely obvious to me while I save for it. (I do need to note however that I'm so aware of how much of a privilege this "choice" is. I know because it hasn't been an option available to me prior to melding my life with a very traditionally successful, work-oriented and supportive person. In so many ways, it's luck more than choice and is frankly something that can change at a moment's notice with differing circumstances).

I choose not to be on social media, even if it puts me in the 20% of Australian women instead of the 80%. I'm stoked on this choice. It makes my life feel more open somehow. I'm yet to be able to put words on why. I choose to prioritise my relationship. I choose to prioritise reading and learning. I choose to prioritise writing and self reflection. I choose to prioritise things that are in no way conducive to capitalism, profit or money making. I like that I actively try to be tapped out of that trap, even if I know I'll never fully escape it.

I kind of like the ways that I am different. Finally. After 30 years of rallying against them. I like being a deep thinker, and an even deeper feeler. As inconvenient as it often (always) is, I can't imagine being content with a shallower life. I like that I am affectionate and giving. That, as I grow older, I feel more and more maternal. I like that I'm sensitive. I like I'm a talker.

I said all of this to Lewis, while laying naked in front of a fire, drying off after a long bath. He agreed, of course. He likes our differences too, as individuals and as a couple. The confidence of a white man means that it didn't take him quite as long as 30 years to reach the same conclusion, but at least we've reached it together now.