Finding Flow in Unexpected Places

The long weekend is here, and we’re heading to the beach. Gerry and I pack up the kids, and now we’re on the road, 621 kilometers to Merimbula. The hum of the car, the rhythmic passing of the trees, and the occasional stir of the kids in their sleep create a kind of stillness I don’t expect.

I thought being away from home would make me feel disconnected from my writing, but here I am, typing away in the car, jotting down thoughts as they come. The movement of the car, the gentle swaying, and the glow of the passing landscape all seem to fuel my creativity. Maybe it’s the excitement of a change in scenery, or perhaps writing finds its way to me no matter where I am.

This weekend, we’re meeting some of Gerry’s gaming friends who have retired in Eden, just 20 kilometers from Merimbula. They have a big property filled with farm animals, a world that always speaks to me. The idea of space, of being so close to the beach yet surrounded by open land, is tempting. But even with the allure of a slower pace, I know I love our home in Melbourne. It’s where I feel grounded, where my writing flows best, or so I think. Sometimes, stepping away casts a new light on everything.

Being on the road with Gerry, away from work and house chores, is refreshing. We talk about everything, the world, our lives, and the subtle shifts that happen when we allow ourselves space to just be. He’s reading Dear Sister now, which makes me feel seen in a way I don’t expect. Hearing him mention Chris and Pete, as if they’re friends of ours, grounds me in my writing journey. It’s a reminder that passion, when shared, becomes more tangible.

As the car moves steadily along the highway, I think about my characters, who they are, what they need, how they’ll grow. And in a way, I realize that’s what this weekend is about for me too, stepping away, seeing things differently, and coming back to what I love with fresh eyes.

Finally, we arrive at our destination, and the apartment we rent is breathtaking. It overlooks the estuary, as if we are perched behind the main beach. We wake up to fishermen and women on the pier or in their little boats, the town stretching across the bridge in the distance. The morning light reflects off the water, painting everything in soft gold.

The babies (nearly 2 and 3 years old) love the beach but hate the waves, and the birds don’t get any fish or chips from us. Surprisingly, the nearly 6-hour journey feels effortless. The babies oversleep, hold off on needing a diaper change until we arrive, and happily eat and drink the whole way. Watching endless episodes of Peppa Pig keeps them content. We make stops for snacks, stretching our legs, and of course, coffee.

I am so grateful that we step outside our normal routine for these three nights. Despite the change in scenery, my writing routine persists. Up at 5 AM, I write on our little balcony, enjoying the view and reconnecting with my characters before the day unfolds into beach and pool time. It feels good to give them a break, too, as we soak in the warmth of summer.

I always feel lucky, or perhaps blessed, with the experiences I have in this lifetime. I get to do exactly what I love, in incredible places, with the people I cherish. Yes, we work hard to earn the mighty money to pay the bills, but I recognize the privilege of living this way. In a world filled with so much chaos, I am grateful that my contributions, through my books, offer a bit of escape, a touch of hope.

Stepping away, seeing beyond our daily grind, and reflecting on what truly matters reminds me that inspiration is everywhere, even on a long drive with sleeping babies and Peppa Pig in the background.

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