Life Swap: Trying On My Neighbour’s Life (Part One)
Swapping lives with my neighbour was my idea. What I didn’t realise was that it might not be exactly an apples-for-apples situation. Although there are some comparables – my neighbour and I were both raised in rural Queensland, both have a fetish for vintage and both enjoy take-two careers. The more I learn about my neighbour Wilamina (Willy to friends and family), the more I realise that I might be a pineapple to her magnificent quince.
Looking back, there were clues from the get-go. At our first informal come-over-to-mine date, Willy warmed my coffee cup before pouring my short black. I could tell this was standard practice for her. She is relentlessly encouraging to her cute but slightly troubled rescue dog, TNT (Two Name Tony) who barks at dogs 10 times his size. She hosts her own radio show and podcast and published a book called Couldn’t Wouldn’t Didn’t about women who never gave birth. She calls her husband, Sean, “my love” and seems to genuinely mean it.
By contrast, there are five of us Mortons (three of us home permanently), spanning ages 11 to 50-plus. We are all so overcommitted we don't have enough space on the calendar for the household’s activities. We work like crazy and are often so hangry that group meals verge on the animalistic.
The day before the swap, our husbands see each other over the fence putting the washing out. I am prepping my life-swap wardrobe, in case I decide to go out a lot. Willy is washing her best bed linen for the guest bed for me. (More proof of her general quince-ness).
I overhear my husband telling hers that it is all going to be okay and that I am a “cool, casual country person”. I reply, “Fuck off, Giles, you know I’m a crazy maniac”, not realising Sean can hear me from my laundry. He laughs nervously, while TNT looks as if he understands exactly what is about to happen.
I’m feeling a tad embarrassed at the monastic colour scheme in my home. Will she understand that I deliberately tone it all down at home so I can rev it up at work? I’m so looking forward to reading her collection of fiction, sitting in her joyously-coloured rooms and walking in her shoes (literally, we both have unusually large feet) that I don't even think about what it will mean to live with her husband. That is, until the afternoon of day one, when he asks me, “Are you okay?”
It’s three in the afternoon and he genuinely wants to know if I am okay, as I have spent all day asleep on their lounge. (Chalk up the exhaustion to three children and three businesses.) During my sleepfest, I’ve missed the dog’s morning walk. TNT is looking at the door with a patient air but must be truly busting. I look out the window and see a chalked footpath sign. Willy and my youngest have written, “Please Don't Kill the Dog” on our shared footpath. Carrying TNT down four flights of stairs, it strikes me how much work it is to have a dog. Having missed his morning walk, I am already in deficit. At least my child walks herself to school.
“I have another flashback. This used to be me, at this very bookshop. Every woman I see sitting at her table-for-one asking for a top-up is me. Some are flicking through fiction, some browsing coffee-table fillers, others are just staring happily at the walls. All are semi-silent and peaceful. Why have I let my busy life stop me from these enriching solo dates? Why have I not made time for myself? ”
My first night, I’m home alone. I can count on one hand the nights I’ve spent solo at home in the past 24 years. I’m torn between staying in with a bowl of Just Right or heading out to have my own progressive dinner party: starters on a bar stool at a beloved wine bar, a main at my favourite sit-down, an affogato in a different suburb altogether. In the end, I take the Just Right option and am happily tucked in bed by 10pm despite my day of rest.
The next morning, I laugh when I think about Willy eating breakfast at my house. Will she even get a word in, or get a go at the coffee machine? Breakfast is peak hour at our house: we eat like truckers using a minimum of two frypans.
I say goodbye to my life-swap husband as he leaves for the office. (Lucky TNT goes with him.) My husband and I live and work together – taking separate transport to work to create a bit of a break – so it’s fun to anticipate Sean’s return tonight, bearing lots of new stories to share.
Home alone now, I clock a true sense of calm. There are books everywhere. Willy’s contrasting colours are a shock to my co-ordination-led brain. Then there is the temperature. My borrowed home is so warm, like Hawaiian temperature. I keep my house a little cold, it keeps me moving and makes us all a little harried. I tell the kids, “It will make your super-warm bed the place to aim for.” It now occurs to me that this ploy is a little controlling, tinged with an edge of mean-spiritedness. I make an appointment for a heating specialist.
I blitz my to-do list, riding on the energy of being in a different, warmer (in every way) space. I flash back to 12 years ago when another mother from school and I used to swap offices (our dinner tables, actually) every Thursday. She was a mathematician doing her PhD and I was battling my first book deadline. We didn’t clean up for one another, we didn’t leave treats, we dropped our kids off and went to one another’s house to tackle a deadline that somehow felt more doable outside our own domestic space.
My second evening is positively wild. Over in my house, Willy has to make dinner, drop off supplies to our son living nearby, do my shoot reccies and join a Tonic meeting on Zoom. Meanwhile, I go to a bookshop that serves wine. I don’t text anyone and let them know when I’m coming back. I don’t arrange meals. It is pure heaven to be alone with other people in a peaceful place.
I have another flashback. This used to be me, at this very bookshop. Every woman I see sitting at her table-for-one asking for a top-up is me. Some are flicking through fiction, some browsing coffee-table fillers, others are just staring happily at the walls. All are semi-silent and peaceful. Why have I let my busy life stop me from these enriching solo dates? Why have I not made time for myself? How long am I going to use my tiredness, my work or my children as my excuse for not giving myself mini-resets? I call friends to hear their thoughts. Ironically, most respond with, “I’m busy, can I call you later?”
Willy and I agree that we will end our life swap with an 8am walk as a foursome, including TNT and my youngest. At 8.20am, I am woken up by the three of them standing over me as I lie in bed. I have slept through my alarm.
I end my life swap vowing to be kinder to myself. To sleep more and to take myself out. Even if it is to the bookshop for a monthly glass of peace.
Megan’s day-after debrief _
What was your first impression of Willy and her life?
Balanced, busy, beautiful.
What did you think you'd enjoy most about her life? How did that play out?
Looking after her dog, TNT. I called the pet adoption agency the morning of our life swap handover to recall my application.
What did you learn about Willy’s life that you'd never have guessed?
There are so many unspoken similarities among women, it’s a real oversight not to try and share perspectives with one another. The older I get, the more women I want in my life.
What struck you most about her home?
She has a pink room with ivy curtain tie-backs, and a dining room where the artwork fights for breathing space. She colour-codes her books (even novels); I file mine alphabetically. I run a house where unauthorised Tupperware is not allowed. We are at maximum storage, so whatever comes into my house, something has to leave. My joy being in her place was palpable.
Best discovery?
1. Warming your coffee cup up is such a simple but powerful act, not just for guests but for yourself!
2. Realising that I want to take on Willy’s zero-judgment approach and loosen up some of my self-imposed rules.
3. I definitely want ivy curtain tie-backs and a musk-stick pink room in my next house.
Which moment brought you joy?
You know when you go home to your childhood home, grab a snack and take over the sofa? Day one felt like this for me.
Any particular challenges?
Shaking off guilt about the amount of travel I do for work. I’m not sure why that hit on my life-swap days, but I will unpack it with my therapist.
Stay Tuned:
Willy will share her side of the story tomorrow in Part Two …
Words_ Megan Morton
Photos_ Daniel Boud, originally featured @objects_in_aspic