It’s my view, whether you like it or not
Growing up, the view from my window was an outside dunny. And the orange tree, of course.
Hardly inspiring. Daunting in the colder months, knowing I would start the day rushing across the icy backyard concrete path.
At that time, the richest person I knew lived on the water. Her dad was the local bank manager, and the job came with a waterfront house.
They woke up looking across the Bay. Not an external crapper in sight.
When I mentioned the difference in our outlooks, my friend’s reply surprised me. Instead of gloating, she told me that the view never changed. It was the same every morning. No big deal.
The great league coach Jack Gibson echoed her thoughts years later, when asked whether he flew first class.
Nope, said Big Jack. No need. The view doesn’t change, and everyone arrives at the same time.
When we built our house, I was excited that we would have a view from the balcony. Across rooftops and trees, far from the bright lights.
It was the same spot I would sit with the girls, as summer storms swept through. When they got sick of such spectacles, I would marvel at the power of nature alone. Possibly with a cool drink.
The view has changed now. When I rise and shake off the cobwebs each morning, I’m lucky enough to look down a glorious river. And despite what my young friend once told me, it’s different every day.
At night, it’s even more spectacular. The pulsating city off to the left. Cliffs to the right. And all manner of marine craft jostling for spots down the middle.
For me, the highlight is the bridge. Our most recognisable structure, lit up beautifully each evening. As I work on these scribblings, it is glowing pink. And it looks a treat.
There is something about sharing a tipple at the end of the day and taking in the view. Conversation flows freely. The problems of the world can be solved with ease. Laughs are plentiful. Silence is that much more enjoyable.
I find myself drawn to my favourite chair out there, and just sitting. Watching, and thinking, and listening.
Ah, the serenity. There is something calming, listening to the buzz of a bustling city down below. Go figure.
You will have your own peaceful spot. If you have a chair outside, and something to look at, you’re halfway there. As long as it doesn’t involve flushing.
