I long to do it. I long for a week (at least) in which to do. Just that. Every drawer, every shelf, every inbox, every scrap of paper, every sketchbook. Sorted. Labelled. Chucked. Or given away. Just to make some space. To make some clarity. So that I can think.
I read at breakfast. I take in snippets. I ingest the words in short bursts, inbetween the up and down of getting things, sorting things. It’s a different form of taking in. I savour what I read, the sentences play out in my head. At the moment I am in Tom Lubbock’s last book. I don’t want it to end. I want to have it in my mouth for a while. To not suck too hard. To not rush it. Every word needs to be considered. Her’s was different. That was urgent, a rush headlong. This is a musing. A slow soak. Of ideas.
I’ve returned. We’ve returned. It always feels longer than it is. Always. And there’s so much adjustment to make, all that re-remembering what to do to keep this life of ours turning. It is down to me. He is more naturally laissez-faire. It is not a criticism. I like him being that way. My way is more restricting, rigid. But he bends to it with his usual grace. And lets me hold us. But I am weary of it at times. Especially after only 4 hours sleep. It is not enough and my body groans. It was good to see the sea. The hills were a challenge.
It is a constant theme these days. This acceptance of one’s lot. And the courage that that takes. I see it. It’s a small thing, a quiet choice. Nothing to be shouted about. And yet. It is brave. It’s a sloughing off all those ego dreams. Of all that one would like to have been. “I’m not going to renew my passport,” she said. She knows that it’s too much. All that wandering and attempts to escape self, the life that limits and yet hold one in place. The other brave one does the same. She will not escape. Cannot. Yes, she can improve a little on her mobility but she is caught there. What courage to accept that and make the best of it. Hats off to both. To all.
I find it fascinating but also slightly excruciating. It is just such an intimate thing, going into other people’s private spaces. Yesterday’s home visit was wonderful. A house full of picture. Every wall space taken up. And all those cats. And a dog. And a squirrel and a pigeon. And then there was the warmth from that Aga. Gorgeous. And now I am waking to another strange house. It takes time to orientate myself. And it smells so unfamiliar. I light candles and open drawers.
Always this fear mixed inextricably with excitement and the thrill of discovery and of taking my capability, my drawing beyond what it already is and knows. Words surface. Words spoken that come to the surface. It’s the fear of becoming banal, she said to me just after I’d finished my presentation. It’s those insights that are so precious. Things that I cannot see because I am so immersed in what comes from me and what I think I see. Such generosity. I am still so touched. And to mention me on Insta out of all of those. What a gift.
It was. It was better than I could ever imagine it would be. A jewel. People were so kind, so open, generous. I felt held. And recognised. I walked lighter afterwards. I’m spent this morning. As is he. He believed in me. He sent me good thoughts. I heard them. x
It’s the publicness of it. And the sense that I don’t belong. That I am not like the others who are there. It is all my imaginings. And he would say so what? So what? What does it matter? What does any of it matter? I think of those in Aber’s cemetery. All long gone. As have all their fears, hopes and ambitions. Small fry. Small stuff. And my stuff is small. Nothing counts. Not really. I need to detach. To put it all in perspective. Just do my best. I am small. So small. Shall I embrace that?
They are rare. The come once in a blue moon. That is not a complaint. Such days are often hard won. And a gentle peaceful line of a day without incident is generally more easily lived. Yesterday was a diamond. The sun shone. I was resigned and yet open. And it opened. People were kind, responsive. As was I. It is enough. Today cannot keep such flow up. I understand that. I am happy for a peacefulness. I wish others the same.
I know travel can be disorientating. And I certainly find it so. I am not at home, I am adrift, unanchored. And yet, I am made alive (once the tiredness abates) by the newness of the placesin which I land. Like now. The city sounds outside are marvellous to me. And then there is today. I am so separate from what it happening to my life. This big thing that I am making, generating and yet I’ve no idea where I am supposed to be and with whom. I cannot get a handle on it. Shall I just yield to this? Allow it to unfold. It will happen, it will pass too. I worry too much about what people think of me, all those imagined judgements. Embrace the strange, E. Embrace the uncertainty. Let it come. In them lie your changing, your metamorphosis. And end.