Just another blond girl here, reporting on the daily ups and downs of living in paradise…

I’m just short of four years as an indulgent Manly local. I say indulgent because let’s be honest – we live in a small town, next to one of the grandest cities on Earth safely  embraced by an idealistic bubble of sand, waves and beautiful people.

True Mantown fans will convince you of how magnificent and special our little world next to the beach is and therefore, we rarely find ourselves leaving it.

I think being engrossed in the community for a few years earns me the privilege to shed light on some of the characteristics of this exceptionally conflicted Northern Beaches Hot Spot…

You see, the truth about Manly is that it is, in fact, paradise. Another truth about Manly is that it can be a very difficult place to live. I can’t begin to explain this without an example so I guess I’ll start at the beginning of the week?

Monday.

I had another free Monday afternoon to do whatever I liked (see…indulgent right?!)

I found myself blankly wandering down the same beach-kissed Corso that I wander down almost everyday. My Havaiana flip-flops clopped along the same concrete pathway. I wandered through the same shops; barely able to fake a smile at the same bored overly tanned and barely fed shop clerks.

I paused impatiently at the same stoplight that strictly refuses the same pedestrians from illegally crossing a barely dangerous street all day, everyday. I snubbed the same touristy storefronts and had to make the same decision I make every Monday – Shall I wander down Whistler Street or go to the Wharf?

I had a belly full of the same green smoothie that I make myself each morning after mixing up my same vitamin C supplement drink. I was wearing the same cut-off denim shorts that I wear every weekend – the same shorts that every other blond girl in Manly wears on every weekend. I see the same familiar yet distant faces of people who wander past me over and over again, week after week.

I still ignore them and they still ignore me.

I head over to one of the three same coffee shops that I order my same coffee from every day. I smile impatiently at the same Barista who almost knows my drink by memory but not quite. I wait awkwardly the same way I do every time I order my coffee here. I’m never quite sure where to stand.

I don’t want to seem impatient (although I am), or in the way of the other same patrons who seem relaxed (but aren’t) shuffling between the tables trying desperately not to catch each other’s stares.

Instead, we look at our phones. Yes, that’s safe, let’s check Instagram…

I am rescued by the beep of mine – it’s a message from one of the same four friends that I repeat the same stories to over and over again every day. My friends have been bored with the deep ins and outs of every thought I’ve had since I landed in this charming town.

I wander down the same cobblestone streets, behind the same orange, blue, green and black painted wall, past the same Brazilian man sitting on the bench, past the same daggy bar, ignoring the unsolicited stares of slightly tipsy Australian men.

I head to the ocean. I walk down the same path to the south end of the beach. I stop and sit on one of the same three benches that I usually sit on. I sit and stare out beyond the brilliant aquamarine waves, curvaceous peach beach line and repeating headlands and ponder, why on earth am I unsettled today?

Being just another blond girl in paradise isn’t as easy as it looks.

I know.

I hear it.

The disgusted grunts from ninety-eight percent of the rest of the world’s population who live in a seemingly far less amazing spot than this and I say to them, “Yes! I know what it seems like…just another flaky blond girl, born into privilege, having lived such an overly indulgent life that she can’t even be grateful for her dazzling home. How dare she complain about her life? How dare she complain about anything at all?”

…And I say to them, to people everywhere around the world, in castles and skyscrapers and five star hotels, and snowstorms and unbearable slums and cardboard boxes coated with filth and despair and I say, “Without purpose, we can suffer.” 

Beautiful landscapes and daily Yoga classes and fresh juices don’t excuse me from moments of emptiness. I realise this sounds depressing but we must admit the non-negotiable fact – the human condition proves that wherever there is a human being unfulfilled, there is potential for suffering.

(One may also point out that wherever people gather there is also potential for love and joy and passion).

Well this is absolutely true and I will have lots of those stories to share as well.

So now that I’ve shared a slightly gloomy perspective of life in Manly on those days when we aren’t quite sure where to turn I will get on to the more entertaining observations about this little beach-side town…

Maybe tomorrow?

xx