“Great minds think alike,” he said, lifting up an ear of his headphones, trudging past me through the soft sand. “Absolutely” I smiled back, glancing quickly in the direction of the unknown voice, only to return my gaze back towards the water. I’d found myself drawn here because I had writers block, there I said it. There’s a specific spot on Nobbys Beach that you’ll often find me, usually when the walls between my words and me, seem a lot higher than they normally are. Most of the time I can sit down and write away about whatever seems to be churning about in my mind, but for the past week or so, the voices that usually follow me around, have gone quiet. “This is a good thing,” my mother would say, “but not for a writer” would be my reply. As I find myself drifting more and more towards the introverted side of my personality, usually I’m really thrown off by such an interaction. Particularly in this very specific spot on the beach but, today, not so much. I watched this unknown figure trudge down the beach a little more, and do exactly what I was doing. Sink into the sand and proceed to look out into the ocean, searching for… something. Answers perhaps. This was his space too.
I started to think then, about the relationship we share with our space. Particularly in a place like Newcastle. There are so many wonderful nooks and crannies. Metaphorical holes in walls and cracks in pavements. Corners to seek solitude, and places to create time. That’s the way I see it anyway. I wondered why this stranger loved this section of beach so much. It’s not really a spot that’s particularly easy to get to on foot, and especially on a rather chilly day, it doesn’t draw a crowd. Which is why I come here. What made him choose this square of sand, on this particular day, at this particular time? What was he thinking about? Maybe he had writers block too and needed to get out of the house to avoid the debate his housemates were having as to whether or not they should acquire a toaster.
I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but people who grow up here, seldom leave.
Nostalgia is a ridiculously powerful thing. Personally I was drawn to this spot because I fell in love here once. A long time ago, but it still happened. I was blind-sided by that particular emotion and I’m not someone who’s easily impressed or caught off guard. But in this particular place, I was both of those things. Almost the same way I fell for Newcastle. I think as well, I was drawn here because no one really notices, or cares what you do on the beach. It’s as though it’s a completely neutral space, where all sense of judgement and purpose dissolves. It’s a safe space, for those seeking solitude or refuge and nothing but the company of their thoughts beside them. Perhaps that’s what he was thinking also.
This small interaction with the passerby reminded me of just how much, individually, we value our our own special hideaways. We often think of ourselves at the centre of our own universe, and sometimes, this can be true, but a lot of the time, it’s something much bigger then that. I think Novocastrians are particularly passionate about the spaces they love, because of this true sense of nostalgic attachment. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but people who grow up here, seldom leave. Why? Why do we find ourselves returning to the same places, again and again, without ever really breaking routine? I’d love to know.
We care about our town because we have invested so much of ourselves in different pockets.
There’s been a lot of talk about whingers lately. That we as Novocastrians are afraid of moving forward, creatures of habit almost, that we attach ourselves to specific places and inanimate objects and push up against progress just for the sake of it but… I think we have more depth then that. We care about our town because we have invested so much of ourselves in different pockets. And I think it’s so much more then simply growing up in a (not so) small coastal town. Sure you know everyone, you also know the streets like the back of your hand. Maybe even taking this one step further, due to the fact that you haven’t moved house in over 20 years.
What I’m trying to say, is I get it, I really do. I get the underlying reasons as to why we are perhaps slower than others to move forward, and will sometimes butt heads with progress or as some like to call it, whinge. Our nostalgic attachment to specific places has become the backbone to our lives, and we are no where near as transient as our big city neighbours. It’s always been more than just a town to us, and we rely on a sense of community to survive. But ultimately… I think we can do both. I really think we can harness that passionate attachment to view progress as not moving on, but moving forward. Because after all, that’s really what love is all about… right?
