Friday 1 December 2017

Punch Drunk, Dumb Struck, Empty.

Curse the things that made me strong for so long.

Recurring (and also misremembered) lyrics which kept going through my head as I was struggling my way through some of the worst days of my career. Not immune, apparently, from some good old-fashioned quarter-life crisis it seems! But I suppose it's as good a time as any to really start wondering where exactly it is we go on from here.

At the precipice once again of decisions to be made which will have far-reaching consequences - somewhere to the tune of the next 6 to 10 years, at least - and it's clear I can't afford to make these with quite the same outrageous disregard for the consequences as I've always had in life. Only by God's most undeserved grace could I have found myself where I am now - and I guess at last it's time to grow up and own up to these decisions now.

Cannot muddle through life purely on a hope and a prayer, so reliant on these 5/10 cents "abilities" to get by anymore. So far, I suppose, so good (at least I haven't completely messed everything up. I think.), but this cannot be the way ahead. Almost the latter half of my 20s now and only now am I finally coming to realize this! The things I thought I depended on to get me where I've gotten so far, will not see me through this next stage. I don't have the goods to be complacent, anymore.

Saturday 14 October 2017

The Traveler's Paradox.

So I've had cause to consider, in what shall soon prove to be a most transient October, what the true consequences (if that's even the right word) of travel are. And by consequences I refer to all of it: the objectives/end goal of travelling; the costs incurred (not monetary); the lessons to be learnt.

Context: Spending most of October away, and not by choice. I suppose this is in contrast to other occasions I've been away for a bit, most of which were undertaken voluntarily and with fairly specific objectives and outcomes in mind for myself.

This time it's more a product of circumstance, and most tragically, circumstances as a product of work. In some ways it's the existential lament of: is there really a difference between me being away, and me being home? (what, exactly constitutes "home"?) It's the sneaking suspicion that, quite simply: no one cares. 3 days, one week, the whole month, no matter. That nobody misses a walk-on bit part player who fulfils no vital role in nobody else's lives. The indictment: Not irreplaceable.

Which brings me all the way back to 2010 and the beginnings of the persona so naturally yet purposefully crafted - the hashtag solo hashtag backpacker hashtag traveler. Looking back I cannot help but wonder - what was I doing, and more importantly, why?

At the most fundamental it was this: to prove I could. Who knows why 18 year old kids do what 18 year old kids do, anyway? Perhaps it was the flush of power from coming off my first decent job and a 4-digit paycheck. To prove that no, I did not have to depend on my parents, that here I was at last, come into my own, 18 and ready to conquer the world, or at least survive whatever came my way.

And inadvertently, as my (surely misguided) sense of adulthood was confirmed by the decisions I'd made that year, as the prospect of an education abroad (also the apex of all that I had and could envision for myself, having no concrete plan beyond such an achievement) beckoned, this desire too solidified into a goal very much attainable. Having achieved so little of worth, I had so much to prove - and the only way to prove myself was to do this all alone. Not, clearly, with the help of my family (that tangled, complex knot which hangs over every single of our heads). Nor even, in clear defiance of John and Paul and co., with a little help from my friends.

Without ever quite knowing this was - absolute independence, that is - what I'd set out to pursue, off I went - unmoored, unhinged.

The traveler's paradox: complete freedom and the desire for something (or someone) to go back home to. What do you do after proving to yourself whatever you have to prove? Freedom for freedom's sake is a hollow achievement. At some level, perhaps, everything we have set out to do and achieve cannot merely be for our own sakes. Growth and development and all that good stuff cannot occur in a vacuum - and if you do not have the past (as well as, as much as we hashtag solo types refuse to admit it, people from your past) to benchmark against, then really all this growth and proving yourself is quite meaningless. Perhaps there is some truth to the statement that we are all nothing more than the sum of what we leave behind.

Monday 1 May 2017

Collision Courses.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

- One Art, Elizabeth Bishop


And here we are,
again!
In search of new memories to be created
we rush ever onward,
forward!
into brand new disasters
if only to distance ourselves from old ones.
No matter!
Love, or die trying
we say!