That’s what I’ve always thought about Sydney. During the day it can kind of look like a hot mess. The city, anyway. Construction EVERYWHERE. Horrifyingly new, sterile buildings to replace the old ones full of character and no easy fixes. But at night it is beautiful. All of that falls into the shadow of lights and reflective water.
I have a fondness for the bridge. Not the tourist bridge. Although they look remarkable like the same thing. Not the structure that sits there over the water for people to remind themselves that they have been to Sydney. The functional bridge. The one that took me to my first university, my first real job and served as my greatest test of driving – to navigate back and forth across the thing in suicide lane.
I am possibly more fond of it now that I am gone, in a typically fickle sort of way. I was probably never enough of a city person for it. On my long runs, when I don’t have to get up too much before the sun I can run around the backroads of vineyards and cow paddocks and open spaces. That feels like home to me. When I visit Sydney now though I can appreciate my ability to get lost in it just as if it were wilderness. It seems more vast now than it ever did before. It’s a lot easier to visit a place, than to live there.
If I lived there I might have to think about the way people look you up and down without wanting to see you, or the astronomical rent or the never ending suburbia hemming you in.
But I don’t live there. So I can just disappear into the beautiful hot mess for awhile, vanish like wallpaper, get lost and come back home again.