‘We could be happy here’: The lies we tell ourselves on weekend getaways

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It only took me two hours and three glasses of wine to consider uprooting my entire life and starting fresh in Mudgee.

“We could be happy here,” I said to my wife. We were sitting at a winery, and it’s hard to be unhappy at a winery, but I genuinely believed in the dream I was peddling. “Just think about it, I could get a job, you could join the CWA, we could open a Bed’n’Breakfast!”

Part of my dream life involves me on a forklift pushing around a giant bunch of grapes.Credit: Marija Ercegovac

As was so often the case, our recent weekend trip had quickly transformed from a relaxing getaway to a thorough interrogation of every life choice we’ve ever made, followed by a public announcement that change was in the air. (And what beautiful country air it is out here, so clear, so crisp.)

My wife is just as delusional as I am, so she didn’t take much convincing, and by the time our third bottle arrived, she was checking house prices while I searched for work opportunities.

A local property was advertising for an enthusiastic and outgoing person to join their team as a Senior Farm Hand and Overseer, with forklift experience listed as “highly regarded but not essential.” Could I drive a forklift? Probably, if pushed.

I had grave concerns about the job description, specifically the bit regarding “general repairs and maintenance to farm equipment” and “feeding, drenching, marking, shearing, and weighing of livestock”.

But the cons paled compared to the pros: “Part of your remuneration includes a charming modernised Heritage three-bedroom house, plus power, internet and a generous meat package.” Generous meat package? Sign me up.

This was not the first time we had sold ourselves on a lie, and it wouldn’t be the last. Throughout our 10-year relationship, we had seriously considered (or at least seriously pretended to consider) throwing it all away on multiple occasions.

From becoming oyster farmers in Merimbula to buying and renovating (ha!) an old pub in the Southern Highlands, the ghosts of lives we almost lived haunted small towns around the country.

It didn’t matter that we lacked the money and skills to follow through with any of these plans (I can’t shuck an oyster, let alone farm one); it felt nice to indulge in the what if?

The smart money says that the people in this stock image are currently discussing how they can complete their move to the country.Credit: Destination NSW

For city dwellers, a weekend away is not just an escape from where you live, but a break from who you are – an opportunity to put your real life on hold in favour of a fantasy.

Of course, many Australians properly commit to the sea and tree change decision, and I take my hat off to them (I always wear a hat in the country, it’s part of my look).

But for the rest of us, it’s enough to dabble in the illusion.

We book our cute farm stays, chat with the locals and marvel at the freshness of the strawberries from a roadside fruit stand. Over a complimentary cheese platter, we begin to daydream.

Who needs a massive mortgage and a tiny apartment when you can have a slightly smaller mortgage and acres of land?

You drive down the comically wide streets, and no one’s in a rush because there’s nowhere to be. Everything is slower (including the internet), but it doesn’t bother you; a friendly face trumps 4G every day of the week.

You delight in the idea of never, ever having to wait for a train to work again, especially when you can drive the forklift.

You step foot through the sliding doors for a moment, and it seems wild that you didn’t do this earlier. Bail on the big smoke for the simple life.

Unfortunately, the problem with daydreaming is that you inevitably wake up, head pounding from too many local Rieslings, and face a sobering reality.

You can’t drive a forklift; you have no idea what an overseer does, and, as it turns out, property in Mudgee isn’t that cheap after all.

Your holiday is over as soon as you discuss what to order from Uber Eats upon your return.Credit: Nina Rousseau

Fast-forward to the final morning of your weekend away, and the car is packed, and so too are your dreams of a new normal, replaced by a sheepish craving for familiar comforts.

The coffee in this place isn’t as good as your local, the Wi-Fi at your Airbnb is patchy – you can’t even send an email – and what’s with everything in town closing so early?

Sitting on the highway in gridlock traffic as you near the city, the conversation has shifted from “We could be happy here” to “We could get Uber Eats for dinner?”

By the time you make it home, you accept that a pretend weekend is a reminder that you’re precisely where you need to be. As for the case of wine in the boot?

Well, bringing a little bit of the dream back with you is always important.

Find more of the author’s work here. Email him at [email protected] or follow him on Instagram at @thomasalexandermitchell and on Twitter @_thmitchell.

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