I knew I was going to be a solicitor from a very young age. My grandfather had been a magistrate in Bourke and when we used to visit him, I’d dress up in his robes and wigs and preside over imaginary trials. Often it would be my parents on trial, for not allowing me to have an icy pole; or my older sister, Rachael, for riding my bike without asking. If no one was willing to humour me and put themselves in the dock, that didn’t matter – Bunty, my dog-eared much loved cuddly bunny rabbit or my cuddly dog Snoopy, who now only has one ear after an accident with the lawn mower, would suffice. I’d play the role of defender, prosecutor and judge, pacing up and down the study in over-sized flowing robes despite the often searing heat of outback New South Wales.
Throughout school I studied hard and, after graduating as Dux, was rewarded with a place at Sydney University. Graduation Day was without doubt the proudest moment of my life. All of those years of sacrifice – of missing parties, trips away, afternoons at the footy – had finally paid off. With a First Class Honours degree under my belt, a prestigious career beckoned and I was on the first rung of the career ladder, having accepted a role on the graduate trainee program at Blake Dawson Waldron in George Street.
Working for one of the most prestigious law firms in the country was better than I could have imagined. I positively relished going into work every single day. My alarm would go off at 5.45am and I’d be stepping off the Jet Cat at Circular Quay a little over an hour later. I lived off the buzz in the office and worked hard. The joke around the office was I’d turn the lights on in the morning and also turn them off again at night.
An average week saw me working 65 hours. I rarely did the usual Friday night drinks, preferring instead to finish a brief or do some research. But I didn’t mind. I wanted to make Partner in record time. My rise to the top was swift, meteoric perhaps. And 8 years, 4 months and 11 days after joining I became the firm’s 6th female partner and the youngest. I’d done it. Mission Accomplished.
I celebrated by taking a well-deserved overseas holiday – my first in 4 years. After doing some research, I settle on the Malaysian island of Langkawi. 8 days of relaxation and pampering at The Andaman lay ahead. Settling into my plush Malaysian Airlines Business Class seat, I looked down at the dry red interior of the Great Southern Land I called home. Sipping on my champagne, I could feel myself slowly slipping into holiday mode and resolved to banish all thoughts of work from my mind for the next week.
The flight passsed uneventfully and some 11 hours later, my taxi pulled up outside my home for the next 8 days. Nestling on the North coast of Langkawi, the hotel has magnificent views out over the bay towards the Straits of Malacca and I’d chosen it specifically for its quiet location and spa facilities. I was looking forward to being treated like royalty and being pampered. Beauty treatments were the order of the day – deep tissue massages, hot stone massages, pedicures, manicures, facials, reiki – I pretty much availed myself of every option on the menu.
While the mornings were spent cocooned in the spa, the afternoons were spent on the beach or around the pool. I’d find a secluded spot under a palm tree or an umbrella and would either read or simply take delight in looking out over the azure blue waters of Datai Bay. After three days of healthy eating and 10 hours sleep a night, I was beginning to feel human. What was even more amazing was the thought of work hadn’t even crossed my mind.
I’d hardly spoken to a soul since I’d arrived. In truth the only interaction I’d had was with the friendly local waitresses at breakfast and the beauticians in the spa. On the fourth evening I decided to eat in one of the restaurants rather than order room service which I’d done the previous 3 evenings. So, I put on a light blue dress, slipped my newly buffed feet into a pair of silver sandals and wandered down to the bar. As it was early, there were a lot of free tables so I chose a table for two overlooking the pool and ordered a Ginger Margarita from the waitress. A pianist was playing some soothing music and I slowly sipped my drink, more than content to just sit and listen to the soft key strokes and the sound of the tropics in the background.
Halfway through my drink I was interrupted by a woman’s voice. ‘Do you mind if I sit here?’ she enquired.
‘No, not at all. Please, sit down’ I replied. The waitress appeared promptly to take the woman’s order.
Looking at me she said ‘So, what would you recommend?’
‘Well’, I replied, “This Ginger Margarita’s going down very nicely. You could try that!’
‘Sounds good. Another one?” she enquired.
‘Why not? I’m on holiday, after all’
Turning to the waitress she asked for two more Margarita’s and a bowl of olives and settled herself in the chair next to me.
Turning to face me she introduced herself as Emma Waddle and put out her arm in a form of greeting. Shaking her hand awkwardly as I was sitting down I said ‘I’m Kate Lawrence. Pleased to meet you.’
‘Hope I’m not interrupting you’, she continued. ‘It’s just I’m here on my own. I’ve been here for 3 days and, in truth, I’m going a bit stir crazy.’
‘Same as me, I guess’, I laughed.
The waitress appeared with our drinks and we continued to chat – exchanging stories on our jobs, where we lived, our families. She was from Adelaide, married with two kids and was an optometrist. She and her husband had an agreement where, each year, they took two weeks out to do their own thing. Hers usually entailed a tropical holiday whereas her husband, Michael, would take off on his Ducati. Probably five or so years older than me, she was very easy to talk to and soon we were walking along the beach to one of the hotel’s restaurants and spent the next few hours enjoying teppanyaki and being entertained by the Japanese chefs. A quick night cap and we decided to call it a night but made plans to meet again the following evening.
The next four days followed a similar pattern. I’d grown accustomed to spending my mornings in the spa and days by the pool – but evenings saw me dining with Emma instead of room service and lights out by 10.
The day of departure dawned. My tropical sojourn was coming to an end and I had to head back to the reality of Sydney. Sitting at 40000 feet, this time heading South not North, I reflected on the last week or so. I felt rejuvenated and energised. The holiday had been exactly what I had needed and I resolved that it wouldn’t be four years until I took another vacation.
That morning I’d had breakfast with Emma, who still had two more days of her vacation left but we had exchanged contact details and I genuinely hoped we’d stay on touch. We’d made tentative plans to meet in a month’s time when she was in Sydney at a conference which, judging by the last few days, promised to be good fun.
Seven hours later the pilot was lining the 747 up for landing and I caught a glimpse of Sydney’s CBD. It’s such a breathtaking sight – the bridge, the Opera House, the city skyline – but instead of being happy and excited to be home, I felt an unfamiliar knot in my stomach.
The knot was still there the next day when I went back to work. I just put it down to post holiday blues and banished it to the back of my mind as I got up to speed on the cases and briefs I’d been immersed in before I went to Malaysia. But it was still there the next day. And the day after that. And for the rest of the week. I couldn’t concentrate at work and my mind kept drifting back to my carefree days in Langkawi where the most difficult decision of the day was what cocktail to have before dinner.
I resolved to put Langkawi behind me and after giving myself a stern talking to, threw myself headlong into work once again. Things were hectic – I had a huge client workload and had to keep up with my billing. Although I was back working 65 plus hours a week, my heart just wasn’t in. Sure, I was getting through the work and nothing was slipping but it didn’t give me the buzz I’d had before going on holiday. I couldn’t work out what had happened.
Sitting at my desk one Tuesday morning a few weeks later, my phone rang. My Executive Assistant wasn’t in yet so I absentmindedly picked up the phone ‘Kate Lawrence’ I said. It was Emma calling to say she was in Sydney for that conference and we arranged to meet that night at Zeta Bar in the Hilton where she was staying. I arrived a touch after 7pm, scanned the bar and could see her sitting at the end already half way through her drink.
I walked over and she looked up. ‘They don’t do Ginger Margarita’s here so I went for a normal one’ she said by way of a greeting. She got to her feet, we kissed euro-style – one on each cheek – and the barman quickly made up my order of a gin and tonic.
Stirring my drink with my straw, I asked her how the conference was. Expecting a non-committal response, I was surprised when she held her hand out in front of her and said ‘Stop! Never mind that. What about you? You don’t even look like the person I met in Langkawi. What’s happened?’
I opened my mouth to say something but, instead could feel my eyes welling up. Appalled, I reached into my handbag for some tissues but by the time I’d found them the tears were running down my face ruining my newly applied make-up.
I looked up and she was looking at me intently. ‘Talk to me’ she said gently.
And it all came out. I couldn’t stop. How I was unhappy. Hated my job. Felt like I’d wasted my life. My life to date had all been about study or work. No time for fun. Got to get the grades or close the deal. And now here I was aged 30 with no friends, no partner. Just a career. I paused to take breath and couldn’t believe what I had just said. I was saying things I’d never admitted to myself let alone someone I’d only known for three or four days. But I knew the words I was speaking were the truth.
By now the crying had stopped and I took a big slug from my gin and tonic, draining half the glass. I quickly took a look around the bar to see if anyone had witnessed my meltdown but mercifully it was quiet and the people around us seemed engrossed in their own conversations.
‘So’, Emma prompted. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘That, my friend, is the sixty four thousand dollar question. I have no idea. I’ve only just admitted all this to myself.’
‘You know,’ she said gently, ‘You can have it all. It’s a question of balance. It doesn’t have to be all work and no play. You just need to get out there. It’s not easy but you can’t be like this’
I knew she was right. There were people at work, in this bar even, who had what I had just realised I wanted. They all probably had decent jobs. But they also had a social life. Someone special to spend time with. Hobbies. But I also knew it wasn’t going to come to me. I was going to have to go and find it. Suddenly I felt better. I knew what I had to do. And wallowing in self-pity and crying into my gin and tonic wasn’t part of the plan.
‘Right,’ I said emphatically. ‘I think I’ve ruined the evening enough. Let’s go eat!’
She had a quizzical look on her face. “You sure?’ she enquired.
“Yep,’ I nodded and drained my glass. ‘Come on’.
I put $40 on the bar to cover our drinks and we headed off in search of a restaurant. We spent the next few hours chatting and laughing over pasta, garlic bread, salad and a delightful bottle (or two) of Temperanillo.
I woke up the next morning slightly hung-over but still made it into work by 7.30. Despite the headache, this was the most energised I’d felt since I got back from holiday. I powered through the morning and around lunch time asked Suzie, my assistant, not to disturb me for half an hour. Opening up internet explorer, I clicked on the google icon and with shaking hands typed ‘Sydney speed dating’ into the search field. Within seconds I was faced with a list of options. I scanned the page and saw the site I wanted. I double clicked and the page opened up…’The Woo Factor.’
I clicked on ‘Upcoming Events’ and saw there was one next Wednesday. Before I had time to think, I had booked a place and was entering my credit card details. Feeling immensely proud I swivelled round in my chair and looked out of the window. I smiled. This was the first step to the New Me.
The next five days passed quickly. Work was busy and I attacked it with a new sense of enthusiasm and vigour. And soon it was Wednesday and I found myself walking to the Establishment which is where the speed dating event was being held. I felt very self-conscious walking in and prayed I wouldn’t see anyone I knew. I’d taken extra care getting ready that morning and had even bought a new dress from Saba for the occasion. I was glad I had as everyone was immaculately dressed. There were lots of furtive glances being traded and you could feel the tension in the room.
I accepted a glass of white wine from a passing waiter, took a deep breath and approached a group of girls standing just to the left of the bar. I introduced myself and started chatting to a girl called Mel and spent the next few minutes talking about the upcoming Manly Food and Wine Festival.
We were interrupted by a voice coming through the speakers. The official part of the evening was clearly about to begin. Our hostess welcomed us, explained the process for the ‘Newbies’, as she referred to us and then asked us all to take a seat.
There was no backing out now so I took a seat at one of the tables and sat nervously waiting for my first date.
‘I’m Jamie’ said a voice. ‘Is this your first time?”
I laughed nervously. “Yes, it is. Is it that obvious?’
‘No really’ said Jamie. ‘It’s just I’ve never seen you before and I’ve become quite the regular of late’
‘I’ve never done anything like this before’ I admitted. ‘And I gotta tell you my knees are shaking and I’m nervous as all hell’
“Well it doesn’t show. You’ll be fine. What do you do?’
And soon we were chatting like we’d known each other for years. The bell rang to indicate the end of our date. We both stood and kissed, albeit a bit awkwardly, on the cheek and Jamie moved off to the left.
Well, I’d survived date number one. Whilst I’d enjoyed the conversation, there’d been no spark and I wasn’t planning on choosing to follow up. Next up was Charlie who seemed bored from the outset. A cabin services director with QANTAS and tall and dark haired, Charlie was far more interested in talking about, well, Charlie and flying and asked me no questions. I could feel myself tuning out as, frankly, the conversation was boring. I was very glad when the bell rang to signify the end of date two. A definite no!
The next hour or so passed quickly and although no one had really taken my fancy I did find I was enjoying myself and starting to feel like an old hand at this speed dating thing. The hostess announced the next date would be the last one.
‘I’m Sam and you are?’
“Oh, I’m Kate. Pleased to meet you. Had a good night?’
This time the conversation was far from boring and we chatted very easily. I soon discovered Sam, originally from Canada, was a Property lawyer with a competitor firm and had just moved to Sydney from Canberra. We had a joke about how disapproving the partners would be if we started a relationship – that was often frowned upon.
Being new to the City, Sam didn’t really know anyone and I admitted that although I was a Sydney girl through and through, I hardly knew anyone either. ‘In fact’ I admitted, “it’s why I’m here. It’s been all work and no play making Kate a dull girl for far too long.’
We spent the rest of our date talking about the benefits of Sydney over Canberra and I was genuinely disappointed when the bell rang. Our hostess announced that we should all now take some time to think about who we wanted to meet again. I didn’t have to think long and put a tick next to Sam’s name leaving the others blank. I handed my form in, left the bar and headed home hoping that Sam had picked me too.
I knew that if Sam was interested in me I’d receive an email that night. I spent the cab ride home wondering if the interest was mutual and wondered where we might go on our first date. I got home, had a shower and was in the kitchen eating a slice of toast when I heard my iPhone beep, signifying I had just received an email. I retrieved it from my bag, glanced at the screen and saw the email was from the Woo Factor.
I took a deep breath, opened the email and a grin spread across my face. Congratulations, the email said. You made an impression! So Sam had picked me after all! The email also contained personal contact details so we could get in touch with each other. Not wanting to appear too keen, I decided not to call that night but made up my mind I would call the next morning.
I switched off the lights in the kitchen and was just about to put my phone back in my bag when it rang. ‘No caller ID’ flashed up on the screen. I looked at the clock and saw it was nearly eleven. It was probably my boss calling from home – he often did that this late – so I swiped the screen to accept the call.
‘Hi Kate’ the voice said. “It’s me, Sam’
‘Oh Hi! I just got the email actually. I was going to call you tomorrow. I’m glad you picked me.’
“And I’m glad you picked me too,’ she said in her slow Canadian drawl.
Who know what will happen with Sam? But put it this way, I’m hopeful.
Stories by Mrs Mac 