Recently my life has been quite turbulent and a lot of big decisions have been at play and it has eroded my sense of self quite dramatically. I have felt absent and a bit overwhelmed quite regularly and ultimately I have as the kids would say ‘straight up not been having a good time’. I think a lot of people my age (and honestly just in general) can probably relate to this, us living in an age of increasing disconnect not just to each other but to nature, to the planet and to ourselves (which is something I hope to write about in more depth in the future).
But this week, completely by chance, I had three experiences that altered my perception not only of what I want but who I want to be. I have spent time with my friends and written, and felt human for the first time in a long time. I felt in touch with myself and felt loved. I have had conversations with new and old friends and it has got me so excited to start travelling in November. I think, without it being a conscious decision, I have not considered any atypical lifestyles outside of getting a job, a family, a house and the security that comes with it. And while all those things are still important to me, I can’t wait to learn more about alternatives to the road most travelled.
Let’s set this story in three acts. The first begins talking to my cousin outside of a holiday let late at night. She was telling me about the way she lives and I don’t think I fully understood how it worked. How can she not have a job? So, it must be universal credit? No? Living on farmland, doing odd jobs around the place to pay for house and board. Studying for a biology degree with emphasis on plant sciences and specifically sustainable farming and regeneration.
Being a part of my creative, brilliant family, these things had always been on my radar. I have dipped my toe in the waters but ultimately I felt such an affinity for the straight and narrow and the idea of having a partner and kids lights me up inside.
To be honest, since uni, I have felt a bit sad about my lack of intelligence and my depleting attention span but my brain never went as far as to suggest anything quite this radical. She was talking about getting up early to listen to the birds. For hours. Walking around the forests without purpose, coming back and learning the accordion while her tea brews and then, finally, sitting down to her course. I was a little dumbstruck.
Two. I’m sitting in the garden of some new but dear friends. The same people who set up the community cafe I have talked about previously. I’m underneath their trapeze setup, sunbathing, talking about kelp and I’m feeling so at ease. I talk to one of them about the wedding we are catering later in the month. Ninety people; the biggest paella pan I’ve ever seen. It’s going to be sweltering. We are laughing about how disorganised the wedding planning is but honestly it sounds like so much fun. I am talking to their lodger, a friend of mine from the cafe days. She is telling me about her life and how she cycled from The UK all the way to Georgia where she lived for a number of years before coming home. I’m listening intently but all the time in the back of my mind I am thinking about her travelling solo through all those countries, meeting all those people that I never will. The life lived in those five months is so very different from anything I have ever done.
Afterwards we take the dogs and their young kids (I don’t know kid ages but they look 3 and 5?? I could be way off) to the woods and go blackberry picking. I am giving the youngest one a piggy back ride and he is feeding me blackberries as we go, smushing them into my face. They’re going to make blackberry jam with these. I am blissfully absent while they talk, mainly focusing on finding the biggest, juiciest blackberries single-mindedly. I think later on how much I adore that life. It is what I have always thought but suddenly it feels like these two disparate ideas: the travelling nomad and the homebody do not necessarily have to be independent ideas. Twenty five feels old now and again but I have to remind myself in the grand scheme it really isn’t. Whatever comes my way, be it my arthritis or other un-expected life altering events, they will happen whether I like it or not. All I can do is live with the hand I have been dealt. And I can rise to meet it, I just have to be contentious and take the opportunities life gives me.
The final act. Last night. Myself and a handful of people I haven’t known for that long but that accepted me into their long standing group with open arms travelled to Hay-on-wye, a pretty town on the Welsh border known for its book festivals and idyllic scenery. We pottered about in central Hay and then all drove up to the hills for a walk, maybe a hike, kind of halfway between. It was a worry at first on my arthritic joints, but I soon realised that my supposed ‘limitations’ were in my head. While it did hurt, I could keep going and although I do have a sneaking feeling that I could do longer term damage to myself if I assume this attitude regularly, it was refreshing to do something I didn’t think I could do and to do it seamlessly. We came down and cooked together. In one of their vans was a full gas canister setup hob, working taps, even an extractor fan! I was suddenly thrown into sous cheffing (if you can call draining the pasta sous cheffing!) Making a beautiful Vongole with clams from an ice box as the sounds of ‘Hozier radio’ drifted off over the hills. All the ingredients he had opted for were up-brand. The good parsley, the good wine, the finishing salt and olive oil. The whole thing was monté -d until the sauce clung to the pasta, a thin film of butter, as decedent as it sounds. We tossed in some finishing touches and served in camping bowls. I spoke to the chef a bit later and he told me how he worked a full-time job he hated years ago in order to afford it all. The kitchen was DECKED (he still managed to forget any tea towels though!)
The next course was a home-made sourdough someone else made in a dutch oven with a scrumptious pulled pork. We had this sitting crosslegged on the floor. Then someone else brought out Bakewell tarts and lemony biscuits they had made on the fly. Everything was made so lovingly. It was a meal between old friends that I had the privilege of being a part of. I watched the sunset go down over the rolling hills and I thought about my last few days. How adventurous each experience had been for me but how very different they all were. I sipped my Campari cocktail (on a mountain, yes) and in my head I was thinking how I could recreate these feelings in my day to day.
This one is a bit all over the place, but I thought I would edit it as little as possible because I like the feeling of authenticity and realness it has to the way that I feel inside my head right now. Thanks for sticking around to the end!