The timing was a complete fluke.
The day we drove away from Sydney - the city I have lived in for a little over half my life - was the day Sydney closed down. And she still isn't quite open.
But then, nor is where we've moved to, a couple of hours south of the city, a town that's near the country and near the beach, the kind of place that smells of cows and coffee. The kind that has silos and sourdough. The kind of place, in short, that basic city-dwellers like me dream of moving to, to fulfill our tree-changing fantasies.
Watch: First Date with Holly Wainwright. Post continues below.
The timing was a fluke, but that day had been coming for years. And years. And years.
My 'shall we move to the country?' ponderings had become so tedious, so predictable, and so circular over almost a decade that it had become a banned topic of conversation at most social occasions.
Nobody ever thought it would happen.
And then, all of a sudden, it did.
The looming deadline of Year Seven applied the necessary 'now or never' pressure, we got lucky on a rental app, and we... jumped.
And now it's been three months. The strangest three months we could have chosen.
Our city clanged its ring of steel closed behind us on June 26th and every plan - to commute to the office a couple of times a week, to still see friends, to keep the kids connected - was cut off with it.
Like absolutely everyone else, we set fire to our 'the way it was meant to be' plan for 2021, and just went with the way it was.
Three months is nothing.
This is not a story that's going to declare any absolutes about how our new life is going. It will take far longer than a quarter - and a slightly more 'normal' world - to answer that question. But, here's what we know so far.