Love thy neighbour, envy her pool

I really wanted to dislike her – my new neighbour and all her polished perfection. Certainly the 8 weeks of noise and driveway blockages and chaotic traffic on our usually quiet, back-of-town street, and the dust - and did I mention noise - whilst the renovations took shape, certainly, that was tedious. And, as I worked from home and tried to write with all the banging and the sawing, I even felt slightly justified in disliking her. In truth, she held a mirror to all my ego stories - the ones I’d told myself about life’s failures and regrets - and mirrors don’t seem to lie. Everything she had were reflections of what I didn’t; reminders of dreams I’d firmly locked away - a family home impeccably designed to match a flourishing design career, a landscaped space for the caravan and surfboards, which meant family holidays to beachside locations, a glorious turquoise pool, paved in sandstone and built in upholstered sunlounge, equalled book reading, leg tanning and happy squealing kids splashing in delight as the Summer humidity bore down - the things I’d held onto as talismans of my success and worth and, till now, had been tucked away in that dark space in my heart reserved especially for shame and disappointment. But living next door to her was like having the blinds suddenly pulled up and windows opened so that all the clutter and dirt could be seen. There was simply nowhere to go to not see or hear or feel.

So instead of working when I should be, I peered out of my bathroom window like the nosy neighbour that I was, and I marvelled at all the whiteness - the oversized pots filled with overflowing, on-trend greenery, the cane love seat which hung on the deck upstairs and matched the pendants which made patterns over the stone kitchen bench at night, and the newly panelled weather boards which now lined the walls - the very same ones I’d circled and Pinned and placed in a file called ‘Dream Home’ - I thought, ‘how ironic that the dream is next door’… It felt like a promised land I would never enter, and like Moses wandering for all those years in the desert, I could only look on.

For a while I let the comparisons eat me up. We each had three daughters. Hers dressed in cool linen outfits, they surfed and skated actively up and down the street, they giggled while they jumped in that glorious swimming pool – and my girls? Well, they whinged about the heat and fought about more screen time and simply refused to wear anything linen. Envy is a climbing weed that won’t be contained in one pot. It strangles everything if you let it. Including your view of those you love.

I really wanted to dislike her because I couldn’t hide, and it was bloody uncomfortable, irritating even. I knew I could justify all the reasons I remained aloof - did I mention the noise - but that pesky voice in my head wouldn’t let me sit and fester. I was compelled instead to open my hands and ask the universe what I had to offer someone like that? Someone, so bloody perfect. And so I baked. Fresh loaves of banana bread and soft doughy cinnamon scrolls. Twice risen and baked in sweet pull-apart rounds. It’s all I had. But, with that little ball of yeasty dough, an enthusiasm, and something akin to delight, grew also.

“Can we come too Mum?!” My girls cried, eager to be part of the giving. In truth they bolstered my courage as I stole myself to face my fear with a smile on my face. After all, what better way to face one’s fear than with the steaming scent of freshly baked dough and cinnamon and sugar. I straightened my back under the black outdoor sconce and let my littlest daughter pound eagerly on the luscious Tasmanian Oak door. Then, there she was in front of me, looking exhausted and wrung out.

“Oh my god, I forgot about the school speeches!” were the first words she said. She looked panicked and wired. And, as we handed over our wares, she pulled me into a huge welcoming hug. “Oh, you gorgeous, gorgeous woman!” she proclaimed... to me?! “I had forgotten to get anything for the girls’ lunch boxes this week. You’ve saved me!”

I felt puffed up with love as all my insecurities and jealousy evaporated... and, even as I spied those stunning white boards leading up the stairs and felt a pang of longing, I knew I could go back to my aging rental, knowing something in my heart had been renovated as well.