Blinded to what I had, I spent a mad day stalking my younger, hotter self

When the rogue dumper slammed my gasping, half-dacked husband on the Thailand beach in 2018, he took a while to regroup. From the safety of his towel, he scanned for a second Poseidon Adventure-style wave and then for the roving ice-cream seller to take the sting off near-death.

Too rattled to read, Chris started watching a nearby couple. I did too. Late 20s, arguably the best-looking pair I’d ever seen in real life. And I’ve been in the same room as Chris Hemsworth and Elsa Pataky.

It’s easy to become absorbed in the lives of beautiful people like Elsa Pataky and Chris Hemsworth.Credit: AP

They were so beautiful Chris wondered if he’d actually died and these glorious people were his eternal heavenly reward. But they were real. We ate watermelon ice-creams, checked them out. The guy wore only faded boardies – think Robert Irwin’s thirst trap photos – but somehow ... glowing. His girlfriend looked like a French film star crossed with the Caramel Big M girl.

Just when we were discussing adopting them, they left. “Grab your stuff – we’re following them.” Chris was dubious. “Darling, perving’s one thing. Stalking – really?”

Really.

We tailed the couple on our scooter for three or four hours – to a dive shop, a mango smoothie stand – until they disappeared down a side street.

At our hotel’s cocktail hour, Chris and I talked only of what our hotter younger selves were doing. Canoodling and speaking several of their eight languages, we decided. She’d be toying with a turquoise ankle bracelet. We rode off for dinner at a tiny roadside family joint – and the only other patrons were our couple, hoeing into a pad kee mao.

They gave us a wave. Whether it was courtesy or because they recognised us as their sweaty, non-covert spies, we’ll never know.

I’m still not sure what obsessed us about them. The things they had that we didn’t any more? Potential and promise. Youth. Freedom. A careless elan, a la the way her hand rested on his shoulder as they weaved through traffic. A trust things would work out.

For a day, Chris and I were willingly blinded to what we did have, ironic when what we value is tied up in the responsibility and experience we momentarily tried to dodge.

Watching The White Lotus finale reminded me of that weird day. The scene where Chelsea tells Rick, “Stop fixating on the love you didn’t get, and start thinking about the love you have. I’m right here.”

That line won’t leave me. Not just as a romantic clarion call but as a call to stop catastrophising and see the good stuff. To shrug off a mindset that feels like it’s creeping into how we approach everything, including our own federal election.

I worry we’ll make choices based on what we think we’re missing instead of what we actually have. That we’ll do a Rick, not a Chelsea.

It feels like our obsession with lack is entrenched. We always want more, tell ourselves we’d be happy “if only”. We rage about the price of eggs while putting makeup and clothes into online baskets from the comfort of home movie theatres. We value $5 tax cuts over keeping polar ice caps intact.

This has evolved over time, but now when I vote I don’t think about what’s in it for me. I vote based on what it can do for someone who needs more help. I’m awash with great stuff that won’t change much whoever wins: education, house, family, security. Others aren’t. My vote is for them.

For me, that’s the real lesson from my beach-stalking and Chelsea’s wisdom combined. When we’re too busy chasing imagined perfection – impossibly gorgeous strangers or some political fantasy that promises to fix everything – we miss the value of what’s already ours. And we forget about those who genuinely need the spotlight of our attention.

In a mad irony, I’ll be back in Thailand on election day. As I vote, I’m committing to not following strangers on a scooter but following through on the responsibility that comes with abundance.

Because the most attractive thing isn’t youth or beauty or political righteousness. It’s the capacity to see beyond yourself. Something worth stalking for this grateful midlife desperado.

Kate Halfpenny is the founder of Bad Mother Media.

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