…hasn’t it?
I had planned to write about gardening, puffins and the island just three miles out across the water, but then the pandemic struck, and everything changed overnight.
Then I thought, “Hey, I’ll write about living through the pandemic out here.” But I didn’t.
Maybe navigating through the crisis took up all my mental energy; maybe I just took on too many freelance writing jobs. I can’t remember now.
Anyway, I’m back.
“So,” I hear you ask, “what prompted this reemergence? Why now?”
In short, because everything has changed. I’m still here, out on the edge of the world, but almost everything else is different. The best way to describe it is an awakening: I’ve woken up after a long period of dormancy.
For the first time, I feel both alone and capable. Those two feelings would have been incompatible with one another when I was younger. If I felt alone, I’d also feel somewhat lost. Now, I know I can navigate. As the popular meme saying goes (approximately) my track record of survival thus far is 100%. The evidence is irrefutable: I get through stuff.
I’m doing things I haven’t done in years. Painting, for example, and drawing. My old art teacher, Mr Gaskin, would probably be pleased with me — pleased to hear I’d retained the will to create. If I could find him, I’d tell him, but I have no idea where he is now.
It’s been so long.
Oh — sorry — you meant, “What led to you writing this post now?” I went a bit too deep there, didn’t I.
Well, this evening, I came across a folder of old music in an ancient hard disc backup. I used to own most of it on CD and would listen to it while walking miles between jobs each day at the beginning of the millennium.
I burned the candle at both ends in those days, and everywhere I went, I wore earbuds. Music ran through almost every moment of my life.
The music I found flipped a light switch in part of my brain. All of a sudden, there I was, standing inside this large, vital room I’d forgotten in my mind. Dusty objects, books, papers, half-finished creative endeavours were all over the place.
“Shit. How could I have forgotten about this place?”
I’d walked out of there years ago, maybe just to make a cup of tea, and hadn’t returned. Nobody had been in there since. But nothing was missing. Everything was as it had been.
Hello, me. How’ve you been?
So, I’m back. I am unearthed again. It’s an interesting feeling.
You’ll see me much more frequently from now on.