the area surrounding our home,
where we feel comfortable to be,
a zone that we feel fearless in.
I remember when I had moved out of home, after high school, I moved from one country town to another. I lived with three other girls and I remember our one condition on finding ‘the right’ rental was to get a place that was within 10 minutes walk of the main drag, because, that’s where the night clubs were. Priorities!
We did just that. It was awesome, we only had to walk to the end of the main street, over the railway bridge, a block or two and we were home.
And we did just that, for a couple of years.
Most of the time we walked together, or we’d have extra people staying with us, so there was usually someone to walk with. But occasionally, you’d wonder home by yourself, because, it was comfy street. No biggy, a route you’d done a million times before.
I’ll never forget the day our landlord (a lovely family) called us girls to make sure we were OK. The night before, a night we’d all walked home, a girl had been murdered. She was a good girl, walking from one pub to the next opting to leave her car behind.
She could have been any one of us.
And that was in the country!
Moving forward a few years and I moved to Melbourne, the big smoke. I thought I would have been more diligent, more responsible. I lived on Fitzroy Street in St Kilda and that became my comfy zone.
It didn’t matter that seedy men where trawling the back streets looking for prostitutes, or loads of alcohol fueled people were wandering the streets. Hell I was one of them. Drinking more than I needed, wandering home, often by myself. I mean I only lived at the end of the street.
It really doesn’t matter where you are. We hear awful stories from all over the world and still think it’s not going to happen in our comfy zone.
But it can.
Just because we walk a road a million times
Just because we can walk home with our eyes closed
Doesn’t mean we should.
We don’t go out and party on our own, let’s not go home by ourselves either.