It's October.
No, seriously, it's OCTOBER.
Where did the summer go? Where has the warmth gone? Why is the sun suddenly deciding to set at 6pm? I didn't have enough time! All of these thoughts fly around my brain at this time of year, I feel winter creeping up on me like a pressing weight on my chest - I'm never ready for it. In the short 20 years I have spent on this planet, I have learned that I really really don't like winter. I briefly enjoy the vibrant displays that the trees put on for us (If I can ignore the fact that this means they will be dropping soon.) The bright orange pumpkins and explosions of colour across the night sky on Bonfire Night go some way to console me, and Halloween is me in my creepy, witchy element but THAT IS IT. That's all over by mid-November and then I find myself thoroughly miserable until about May.
I don't go all gooey eyed over Christmas and I find it excrutiating when you're innocently doing your shopping, having a nice browse and WHAM, Michael Buble is cranked up and suddenly everyone is jolly and bells and whistles about Christmas - NO! It's cold, it's raining, it's depressing. Fair enough if we could all expect a thick blanket of white sparkling snow, and for the general public of the UK to actually not freak out about it, but I just feel that the UK is not the place to be at Christmas time.
So, i'm getting sidetracked by Christmas (see! it's on the brain!) when really this post is about Winter in general. I belong in the summer, where my feet are bare and my skin is brown. Where my glasses don't steam up the second i'm greeted by the whoosh of hot air from inside, where nobody has the flu. Summer is all about long hot days and blue open skies and winter is all about getting fat, depressed and staying indoors. I feel trapped at wintertime, like a puppy that hasn't had it's vaccinations and can't go outside. This is probably all very melodramatic but I can't explain what it does to me, I hate the thought of the sun setting and not really rising properly again for months.
My spirit soars under the sun, under a clear sky that stretches from blue, into pink, then into burning oranges and reds at 9.00pm, and doesn't go any darker than a deep purple until dawn at 4.30am. Winter means that the night is as black as hell and the lights are only on from about 9 till 4. Winter means damp, cold, condensation and grey days, just like this one.
I hate to be so pessimistic about it but I felt like this vent was blog worthy - just don't be offended if I choose to console myself by knocking your PSL out of your hands or strangling you with your tinsel.
Friday, 7 October 2016
Sunday, 18 September 2016
The Places We Run To
Sometimes the greatest days aren't the days we make memories, they are the days we have to waste. The days where we have no commitments, no lunches to get to, no washing to get done - the days where I can just be a girl walking a dog in a forest, or across a beach, or taking a swim in the wide open sea. The days where our identity and troubles leave us and we just become a soul in a body, surrounded by nothing but nature. The days where I can sit and stare and contemplate nothing but how I am feeling in that exact moment - where I'm not worrying about what is to come or what has been done. Living in the moment isn't always the easiest or the right thing to do, but in order to stay sane in this messed up world, it's necessary.
Spending time alone is the closest thing we can get to pressing pause, to be left alone is to find comfort and clarity in our own minds, to breathe in air that is only ours.
My instinct is often the need to retreat when things get heavy, and I find solace in three places, the forest, the coast and the open road. I like to get to higher ground, to feel like I'm physically on top of everything that could possibly be weighing down on me - that might sound stupid but for me it works.
In the forest, it's the stillness that speaks to me, with nothing but the occasional bristling of branches with a passing breeze, or the busy twitter of unseen birds. The density of the trees blocks out all the noise of life and lets in what we need most - rays of sunlight, hope shining down on us in the purest form.
The coast, however, gives me everything. It gives me chaos when I feel angry, crashing tides and howling winds to contend with my rage. It gives me the serene sunrise on the still horizon when I am content, it gives me crystal clear waters to bathe in when I need clarity. The relationship I have with the ocean is eternal - it will forever be where i run to in order to seek sanity. It leaves me with salt on my skin and balance in my mind.
Finally, the open road for obvious reasons - it is endless and I'm (usually) concentrating on driving rather than getting distracted by petty worries. On the road you can go anywhere, you could be anyone, you can just keep going. As long as you have gas in the tank (*and a half decent car*) the escape never needs to stop.
The places we run to could be anywhere, but they are important.
Thursday, 15 September 2016
The big old L.
Since this breakup, all the thinking has made me realise - you know what is never found or lost at the right time?
Love.
Like an Arriva bus, love turns up when you least expect it, ploughing into you and splashing you with that dirty rain water or blasting you with such a gust of air that ensures everything goes everywhere. Or you lose it gradually when you're trying your best to hold on to it, running down the street with your shopping bags, red in the face and chasing something that is already gone, desperately trying to get there in time and failing. We are completely out of control as to when these things happen. (If you're a UK resident you will surely appreciate my Arriva reference... Never. On. Time.)
When you're single, settled and have managed to put off the urge to buy 50 cats and hole yourself up in a castle in Scotland, nothing comes, no spark, no electricity, nothing. But when your life is as complicated as it can possibly get, and there are so many doors of opportunity open to you, BOOM, there goes the fireworks, the whole bloody shebang, that love is there, that person, that being, that aura is yours - but it is never yours for the taking because the timing isn't right.
What does this lead to? Obviously you would say heartbreak, confusion, missing out on an opportunity because you were chasing something that was transparent? But what if this wasn't the case, what if the risk was worth taking and the gamble paid off, making you happier than you have ever been? What if the timing is only wrong because we tell ourselves that? When is it ever a good time to fall in love? Well I'm an incredibly overenthusiastic romanticist and I say when is it a goddamn BAD time to fall in love? Love is beautiful and amazing and shouldn't be taken for granted or pushed aside, it should be embraced and shared and we should all be dancing and singing and celebrating love because it is what outweighs everything else. Love overrides looks, money, war, time, circumstances, even death.
And what about lust? When does sex turn into making love? Is there a reasonable time scale for this or can it happen overnight? Can a whirlwind romance stand the test of time? I would like to think so. I've got an old head - whilst I appreciate that it's good for some people to sleep around and experience things, I am a firm believer in fate and honestly I have so far lived a life like a movie, a tear jerker, a tragedy, a horror and a comedy but I can truly say the best part is the romance because it is unpredictable and surprises me every time. I'm not of the era where I desire to have multiple sexual partners and dates, I love the idea of keeping my numbers low and finding the one early so that I can spend more years with them and look into their eyes years from now and feel the same electricity as the first time they met. This idea is regarded as outdated and old fashioned but I believe in it.
Whilst we are on the topic - Without wanting to sound like a John Green/ Nicholas Sparks novel, What can we do, when we feel like we aren't good enough for the love that someone gives us?
When someone amazing enters your life and you feel utterly incapable of giving them the love they deserve. Someone inspiring, strong, selfless and amazing bursts into your life like colour into a sepia picture and you are completely at a loss - sure you give them what you can, what you think they need and want, but somehow it still doesn't feel enough. This doesn't always have to be wth sexual relationships either, recently in my friendships I have felt that I am undeserving of such attention, patience and unconditional love.
I guess this is when we don't feel worthy of someone because they are so above us, so we try our best to give them absolutely everything. When someone this amazing comes into your life, I think it's important that instead of stressing over what we can't give them, we should cherish every second with them, linger with every kiss and listen closely to every laugh and heartbeat, because we are lucky enough to have found such love. We are only a speck of dust on a tiny planet in a greater scheme of things, so when something truly amazing comes by, shouldn't we embrace it and feel it?
Love.
Like an Arriva bus, love turns up when you least expect it, ploughing into you and splashing you with that dirty rain water or blasting you with such a gust of air that ensures everything goes everywhere. Or you lose it gradually when you're trying your best to hold on to it, running down the street with your shopping bags, red in the face and chasing something that is already gone, desperately trying to get there in time and failing. We are completely out of control as to when these things happen. (If you're a UK resident you will surely appreciate my Arriva reference... Never. On. Time.)
When you're single, settled and have managed to put off the urge to buy 50 cats and hole yourself up in a castle in Scotland, nothing comes, no spark, no electricity, nothing. But when your life is as complicated as it can possibly get, and there are so many doors of opportunity open to you, BOOM, there goes the fireworks, the whole bloody shebang, that love is there, that person, that being, that aura is yours - but it is never yours for the taking because the timing isn't right.
What does this lead to? Obviously you would say heartbreak, confusion, missing out on an opportunity because you were chasing something that was transparent? But what if this wasn't the case, what if the risk was worth taking and the gamble paid off, making you happier than you have ever been? What if the timing is only wrong because we tell ourselves that? When is it ever a good time to fall in love? Well I'm an incredibly overenthusiastic romanticist and I say when is it a goddamn BAD time to fall in love? Love is beautiful and amazing and shouldn't be taken for granted or pushed aside, it should be embraced and shared and we should all be dancing and singing and celebrating love because it is what outweighs everything else. Love overrides looks, money, war, time, circumstances, even death.
And what about lust? When does sex turn into making love? Is there a reasonable time scale for this or can it happen overnight? Can a whirlwind romance stand the test of time? I would like to think so. I've got an old head - whilst I appreciate that it's good for some people to sleep around and experience things, I am a firm believer in fate and honestly I have so far lived a life like a movie, a tear jerker, a tragedy, a horror and a comedy but I can truly say the best part is the romance because it is unpredictable and surprises me every time. I'm not of the era where I desire to have multiple sexual partners and dates, I love the idea of keeping my numbers low and finding the one early so that I can spend more years with them and look into their eyes years from now and feel the same electricity as the first time they met. This idea is regarded as outdated and old fashioned but I believe in it.
Whilst we are on the topic - Without wanting to sound like a John Green/ Nicholas Sparks novel, What can we do, when we feel like we aren't good enough for the love that someone gives us?
When someone amazing enters your life and you feel utterly incapable of giving them the love they deserve. Someone inspiring, strong, selfless and amazing bursts into your life like colour into a sepia picture and you are completely at a loss - sure you give them what you can, what you think they need and want, but somehow it still doesn't feel enough. This doesn't always have to be wth sexual relationships either, recently in my friendships I have felt that I am undeserving of such attention, patience and unconditional love.
I guess this is when we don't feel worthy of someone because they are so above us, so we try our best to give them absolutely everything. When someone this amazing comes into your life, I think it's important that instead of stressing over what we can't give them, we should cherish every second with them, linger with every kiss and listen closely to every laugh and heartbeat, because we are lucky enough to have found such love. We are only a speck of dust on a tiny planet in a greater scheme of things, so when something truly amazing comes by, shouldn't we embrace it and feel it?
15th September
Today is the day of my Nanny's birthday, my kindred spirit who I lost last year. I always feel a confusing mixture of all consuming grief and intense happiness when I think about her. I miss her more than anyone but yet I know she is somewhere amazing, smiling down on me, reunited with the people she loved and lost. She lost a lot of people that she loved far too early on in life and I think she spent the rest of it knowing that one day she would see them again.
My Nanny had an ethereal aura and nature was her solace when things got tough. She could make anything grow and bloom beautifully, now I'm just left here wishing she could have been around long enough to watch me fully grow and hopefully one day bloom with her help.
Today is all about remembering her and the things she loved. The birds seem to sing sweeter today, the sky holds warmth and hazy sunlight. She loved the outdoors, being as closely connected to the natural world as possible. She loved music, singing, dancing, wildly enjoying the moments in life that won't come again. She enjoyed spending time with her family, and I have never seen someone's eyes glow so fiercely with love as did hers when she looked at me, my sister or my mum. She loved colourful, floaty clothes and dainty floral perfumes. She was forever young and beautiful and smiling - she fought cancer right up until the end with painted light pink nails and a touch of lipstick and a smile.
When we lose someone who is so closely connected to us, I don't think they really ever leave. I feel my Nanny everywhere I go, I feel her taking in the sights I'm seeing, spurring me on, laughing at me or tutting with a smile when I would do something wrong. I know that wherever I go and whatever I do she will be watching it, and that's why I intend to travel far and wide, to experience things that she never got to, just so she can see it through my eyes.
That's why I choose to celebrate on the 15th of September, in a similar way to how she would, to walk barefoot on the grass, to dance, to laugh and to remind my family of how much I love them. Instead of being awash with grief or anger, I try to be greatful that this incredible soul was one that nurtured me.
My Nanny had an ethereal aura and nature was her solace when things got tough. She could make anything grow and bloom beautifully, now I'm just left here wishing she could have been around long enough to watch me fully grow and hopefully one day bloom with her help.
Today is all about remembering her and the things she loved. The birds seem to sing sweeter today, the sky holds warmth and hazy sunlight. She loved the outdoors, being as closely connected to the natural world as possible. She loved music, singing, dancing, wildly enjoying the moments in life that won't come again. She enjoyed spending time with her family, and I have never seen someone's eyes glow so fiercely with love as did hers when she looked at me, my sister or my mum. She loved colourful, floaty clothes and dainty floral perfumes. She was forever young and beautiful and smiling - she fought cancer right up until the end with painted light pink nails and a touch of lipstick and a smile.
When we lose someone who is so closely connected to us, I don't think they really ever leave. I feel my Nanny everywhere I go, I feel her taking in the sights I'm seeing, spurring me on, laughing at me or tutting with a smile when I would do something wrong. I know that wherever I go and whatever I do she will be watching it, and that's why I intend to travel far and wide, to experience things that she never got to, just so she can see it through my eyes.
That's why I choose to celebrate on the 15th of September, in a similar way to how she would, to walk barefoot on the grass, to dance, to laugh and to remind my family of how much I love them. Instead of being awash with grief or anger, I try to be greatful that this incredible soul was one that nurtured me.
Tuesday, 13 September 2016
The Good Gone Bad
So, when I started this blog - I promised you it would include all of my ups, downs and in-betweens. Currently, I'm on a rollercoaster that is throwing me all over the shop from natural turns in events.
However, on Saturday night, a particularly nasty event occurred which was all at the hands of another person, Kai - my ex - was up in Glasgow for the weekend visiting his Uncle. He had told me this plan earlier and I thought it was good, I'd rather him be surrounded by people that care about him than be by himself any time soon.
I thought we had ended things pretty amicably, despite the circumstances. So WHY did his 40-year old uncle feel the need to act like a complete juvenile and post a picture of Kai with another girl (who, by the way, looks completely out of both of our leagues) and the caption 'First hit and he strikes gold!' - Actually he made a typo and put 'he's strikes gold' but let's ignore that - I was surprised because I didn't get the lurching sick feeling in my stomach at the sight of him with another female, I just felt incredibly, incredibly pissed off. I thought there was going to be a much higher level of mutual respect? Did the 3 years really mean nothing? What had I done to deserve to be made to feel so worthless?
It wasn't as if I had been posting pictures of me with other men on social media or slutting it up around town, I've actually been practically living at work trying (and failing) to dig myself out of my overdraft. The ironic thing is, earlier that day, I had actually began to miss Kai for the first time in a long time, but the post soon put a stop to that.
And now I realise, this is a natural (albeit unnecessary) part of the break-up process. Of course, on Saturday night, I wanted to retaliate, I wanted to go out and sleep with 15 people and send Kai and his Uncle a lovely documentary of the entire thing, but ultimately, I can use this situation to be the bigger person here and walk away from it all, but that doesn't mean it hurts any less or that I am any less angry. In order to move on, the love that we felt for that person must turn to hate, briefly, so that we can detach ourselves from them and find something in someone else. I just didn't expect something so nasty and childish from someone who has only ever treated me with respect and love, but I guess we all go through phases and changes. I also HATE how in every breakup, social media is used to compete with each other, who can move on first, who can go on the most nights out, who can get the most attractive rebound shag - the only reason you're doing it is because you're still so wrapped up in what the other person is doing and thinking - it's the opposite of moving on, put the phone DOWN and go spend some time with yourself!!
Maybe this is karma for things I did in previous relationships, but I refuse to rise to someone's petty insults and snipes, I'd rather take a step back, breathe, and carry on moving on. But now I'm faced with the absolute dilemma of knowing that I have to spend 6 months in the same ski resort as Kai - when this ski season is supposed to be my getaway from everything. From his recent behaviour I'm guessing he mustn't be thrilled at the prospect either, but I guess we will find out as it goes on.
Is anybody going to ask for the film rights to my life yet or shall I keep going?
However, on Saturday night, a particularly nasty event occurred which was all at the hands of another person, Kai - my ex - was up in Glasgow for the weekend visiting his Uncle. He had told me this plan earlier and I thought it was good, I'd rather him be surrounded by people that care about him than be by himself any time soon.
I thought we had ended things pretty amicably, despite the circumstances. So WHY did his 40-year old uncle feel the need to act like a complete juvenile and post a picture of Kai with another girl (who, by the way, looks completely out of both of our leagues) and the caption 'First hit and he strikes gold!' - Actually he made a typo and put 'he's strikes gold' but let's ignore that - I was surprised because I didn't get the lurching sick feeling in my stomach at the sight of him with another female, I just felt incredibly, incredibly pissed off. I thought there was going to be a much higher level of mutual respect? Did the 3 years really mean nothing? What had I done to deserve to be made to feel so worthless?
It wasn't as if I had been posting pictures of me with other men on social media or slutting it up around town, I've actually been practically living at work trying (and failing) to dig myself out of my overdraft. The ironic thing is, earlier that day, I had actually began to miss Kai for the first time in a long time, but the post soon put a stop to that.
And now I realise, this is a natural (albeit unnecessary) part of the break-up process. Of course, on Saturday night, I wanted to retaliate, I wanted to go out and sleep with 15 people and send Kai and his Uncle a lovely documentary of the entire thing, but ultimately, I can use this situation to be the bigger person here and walk away from it all, but that doesn't mean it hurts any less or that I am any less angry. In order to move on, the love that we felt for that person must turn to hate, briefly, so that we can detach ourselves from them and find something in someone else. I just didn't expect something so nasty and childish from someone who has only ever treated me with respect and love, but I guess we all go through phases and changes. I also HATE how in every breakup, social media is used to compete with each other, who can move on first, who can go on the most nights out, who can get the most attractive rebound shag - the only reason you're doing it is because you're still so wrapped up in what the other person is doing and thinking - it's the opposite of moving on, put the phone DOWN and go spend some time with yourself!!
Maybe this is karma for things I did in previous relationships, but I refuse to rise to someone's petty insults and snipes, I'd rather take a step back, breathe, and carry on moving on. But now I'm faced with the absolute dilemma of knowing that I have to spend 6 months in the same ski resort as Kai - when this ski season is supposed to be my getaway from everything. From his recent behaviour I'm guessing he mustn't be thrilled at the prospect either, but I guess we will find out as it goes on.
Is anybody going to ask for the film rights to my life yet or shall I keep going?
Monday, 5 September 2016
The Human Race
What does it mean - when we willingly embark on a path to self destruction?
When I spend 3 years building the foundations of my house, my future, just to take a sledgehammer to it and then dance on top of the rubble in a confused daze of dust?
When I purposely light up a cigarette and suck out all of its poison with no one to witness but the stars and the sky?
When I break somebody's heart and my own in the process?
Does it mean I am a total, unfeeling bitch?
Or does it mean I'm human, and on the edge of a great change?
I didn't know this was going to happen, I didn't expect it, it crept up on me like the dark creeps up on the sun, slowly chasing it until the golden light is devoured by black. I've been distant, cold and confused for months. I found myself no longer seeing things the same way, or feeling the same way, but when the odd off day turns into an off 6 months, you know it's time for a change.
I didn't want to end my relationship - but I felt like I had to. Kai is still my soulmate on many levels, and maybe when we are both older we can perhaps come back to this more travelled, aged and wiser and pick it up again. Of course I'm devastated, heartbroken and confused but I also know it was the right decision.
The worst part of all of this is the changing involved. I thought the whole awkward adjustment period occurs during teenage years but I was wrong. A good friend told me that her dad gave her some sound advice that 16, 18, 21 and 30 are the years to look out for, and it's safe to say I'm now dreading hitting 30 more than ever. I hate nothing more than being unsure of myself, out of control, the feeling of free falling and spiralling into something unfamiliar is not something that sits well with me, but at the same time, I hate routine, I hate normality and conformity - I hate being bored and comfortable.
I'm not saying I got bored in my relationship but we definitely took each other for granted, perhaps me more so than him. I keep rewinding it all in my mind - wondering where the happiness got turned off but I can't find it - it was gradual and like I said, crept up on me. I never once wanted or intended my feelings to change because I was convinced that this was the man I was going to marry, have children with & grow old with. Where there once was an absolute bonfire of passion now flickers a warm glow of gratitude and respect.
So now I'm single, for the first time since the age of 14, with the desire to stand alone for a good while, and probably not enter into another relationship until I'm 80. I have a sense of loneliness and weirdness, sure I do, but I also have a sense of complete contentment - I've always been happy in my own company and for anyone who knows me, even just the sound of the phone ringing has been known to enrage me. I'm taking this change as a sign that I need to be alone for a while, to put myself first and prioritise what I want to do - to be selfish and careless and maybe slightly idiotic.
I was thinking - (something I've been doing a lot of lately) - about the term 'The Human Race' and I actually think that some eccentric crackpot had a right laugh when they coined the expression. Forget the connotations of ethnicity or skin colour and concentrate on what it literally means. We are all humans and we are all racing - through life, work, relationships - to our death. It's called a race because we are all so caught up with the concept of time - its time for me to get a job, its time for me to settle down and get married, its time for bed, its time to eat. We restrict our lives because of time when that's the one thing we shouldn't do with it. Time is short, time is precious, time is always running out, time isn't actually ever reachable, because when you get there, it's already gone. The Human Race is racing towards something that we don't even know exists - so what's wrong with hitting the big red button and saying 'fuck it'? because really, at the age of 20, time is still mine to play around with, and I intend to be very selfish with it.
When I spend 3 years building the foundations of my house, my future, just to take a sledgehammer to it and then dance on top of the rubble in a confused daze of dust?
When I purposely light up a cigarette and suck out all of its poison with no one to witness but the stars and the sky?
When I break somebody's heart and my own in the process?
Does it mean I am a total, unfeeling bitch?
Or does it mean I'm human, and on the edge of a great change?
I didn't know this was going to happen, I didn't expect it, it crept up on me like the dark creeps up on the sun, slowly chasing it until the golden light is devoured by black. I've been distant, cold and confused for months. I found myself no longer seeing things the same way, or feeling the same way, but when the odd off day turns into an off 6 months, you know it's time for a change.
I didn't want to end my relationship - but I felt like I had to. Kai is still my soulmate on many levels, and maybe when we are both older we can perhaps come back to this more travelled, aged and wiser and pick it up again. Of course I'm devastated, heartbroken and confused but I also know it was the right decision.
The worst part of all of this is the changing involved. I thought the whole awkward adjustment period occurs during teenage years but I was wrong. A good friend told me that her dad gave her some sound advice that 16, 18, 21 and 30 are the years to look out for, and it's safe to say I'm now dreading hitting 30 more than ever. I hate nothing more than being unsure of myself, out of control, the feeling of free falling and spiralling into something unfamiliar is not something that sits well with me, but at the same time, I hate routine, I hate normality and conformity - I hate being bored and comfortable.
I'm not saying I got bored in my relationship but we definitely took each other for granted, perhaps me more so than him. I keep rewinding it all in my mind - wondering where the happiness got turned off but I can't find it - it was gradual and like I said, crept up on me. I never once wanted or intended my feelings to change because I was convinced that this was the man I was going to marry, have children with & grow old with. Where there once was an absolute bonfire of passion now flickers a warm glow of gratitude and respect.
So now I'm single, for the first time since the age of 14, with the desire to stand alone for a good while, and probably not enter into another relationship until I'm 80. I have a sense of loneliness and weirdness, sure I do, but I also have a sense of complete contentment - I've always been happy in my own company and for anyone who knows me, even just the sound of the phone ringing has been known to enrage me. I'm taking this change as a sign that I need to be alone for a while, to put myself first and prioritise what I want to do - to be selfish and careless and maybe slightly idiotic.
I was thinking - (something I've been doing a lot of lately) - about the term 'The Human Race' and I actually think that some eccentric crackpot had a right laugh when they coined the expression. Forget the connotations of ethnicity or skin colour and concentrate on what it literally means. We are all humans and we are all racing - through life, work, relationships - to our death. It's called a race because we are all so caught up with the concept of time - its time for me to get a job, its time for me to settle down and get married, its time for bed, its time to eat. We restrict our lives because of time when that's the one thing we shouldn't do with it. Time is short, time is precious, time is always running out, time isn't actually ever reachable, because when you get there, it's already gone. The Human Race is racing towards something that we don't even know exists - so what's wrong with hitting the big red button and saying 'fuck it'? because really, at the age of 20, time is still mine to play around with, and I intend to be very selfish with it.
Thursday, 18 August 2016
Wilder Minds
So, you're probably like me and 80% of other people, have Netflix. A while back, whilst browsing late at night (when else do you watch Netflix?), I found myself momentarily intrigued by a film cover. It featured an unkempt looking guy atop a beaten up old bus and it was called 'Into the Wild', I almost went for it, but I was tired and probably chose some light-hearted chick flick featuring Reese Witherspoon and a convertible.
Afterwards, I completely forgot about my late-night moment of wonder. That was until recently, when my friend Ed brought the film up in conversation saying how amazing it was, and then I learned that it was based on a book so naturally, the book was ordered within a day or two.
Well, the book came yesterday and I've read 144 pages out of 205, and nothing has ever resonated with me so deeply. So much so that I feel compelled to spread the word of this book, I want to shout out passages in the street, I want to buy 10 million copies and throw them at people. The author, Jon Krakauer, analyses the incredible story of Chris McCandless, constantly posing the ultimate question of whether what he did was amazing or stupid. He sums up the entire story in the first four lines of his 'author's note' at the beginning of the book:
"In April 1992, a young man from a well-to-do East Coast family hitchhiked to Alaska and walked alone into the wilderness north of Mt. McKinley. Four months later his decomposed body was found by a party of moose hunters."
If you've seen the film, this might shock you - because the film doesn't tell it as a documentary - it follows Chris along his journey and you find yourself rooting for him, heartbroken when he dies from picking the wrong berries and poisoning himself. If this was a spoiler, I'm totally not sorry because you should always read the book before watching the film anyway - duh.
This Jon Krakauer guy, he really seems to get it. He paints Chris out in such a light that I feel like I know him. There are excerpts from Chris' journal to help flesh out the bones of the facts, but you really get the sense that the author is on the same wavelength as his subject. And I am very much on that wavelength too.
Chris hated almost everything about the comfortable American existence. He studied racism, apartheid, starvation and suffering, as well as politics. He spent his Friday nights in the pits of the town, surveying homeless people and prostitutes to truly appreciate the segregation in wealth; he hated any unnecessary show of wealth and turned down his parents' offer to buy him a new car because the beaten-up old one he had ran perfectly fine. He was searching for something deeper, more real, he hitchhiked up and down America for two years, making deep and real connections with those he met on the way, and left an imprint upon those people. I can say that I've never met Chris, and I don't know everything about his amazing story, but he has truly already left an imprint on me too. He gave himself another name, the name of Alexander Supertramp, he burned all his money and forms of identification, he left it all behind.
The first passage I highlighted from the book was from a letter written by Chris, sent to an elderly man he met whilst hitchhiking, who formed a deep love for Chris, proposing to adopt him as his Grandson, following Chris' advice to give up his comfortable conventional life and travel round a bit, even when he was into his late 70s/early 80s:
Read that over a couple of times. Do you get it? Do you agree? Does it fill you with a fierce empathy for this long-gone man and his ideas? Because it does for me. I couldn't have worded my inward thoughts more perfectly. I feel like I should have been sat with Chris in that bus, I feel like I should have met him on the road somewhere, and I feel like we could have talked wildly for hours, non-stop, both on a higher level of consciousness, with a wider view of seeing. I feel that there is a palpable loss for this human being in the world, or at least a lack of those who share the same outlook.
Krakauer goes on to talk about other explorers who did a similar thing, He talks about Carl McCunn, a photographer who at the age of 35, chartered a helicopter to a remote lake near Fort Yukon, Alaska, and for some unknown reason, failed to organise his return trip. He'd flown out at the beginning of August, and sometime in late November, killed himself with a bullet to the head. He also talks about a climber, John Waterman, who once spent 145 days alone to climb a mountain. Parallels have been drawn between these people and Chris because, quite simply, does to much time in the wild - make us wild? When the mind is left to wonder and the comfort of conversation isn't available, what do we do? We are left to be our own best friend as well as our own worst enemy; we are left only with our thoughts, and some of us have darker thoughts than others. Chris even said so himself in his final desolate days, with the words "Happiness is only real when shared."
Two other adventurers are compared to Chris also, Gene Rosellini, a.k.a Mayor of Hippie Cove, who despaired at the modern world and devoted more than 10 years of his life to an experiment with the aim of seeing if the modern man could live like a caveman. In a letter to a friend, however, he revealed, "I learned it is not possible for human beings, as we know them, to live off the land." I must say, although I do agree with this observation, the key phrase here is 'as we know them'. The sad truth is, us human beings have advanced so fast and so far that we would find any kind of extreme survival alien. This is why Wall-E depicts us all as fat blobs and this is why the whole Bear Gryll's Island show is exactly what it says on the tin - a TV show - fantasy. As much as I would love us all to return to instinct, like I said in my 'Meat Matter' post, it's entirely impractical and idealistic.
This raises the question - so, what was Chris McCandless trying to prove by going out into the wild completely unprepared? And my honest opinion is that he wasn't trying to prove anything - he wasn't trying to wow us all with some experiment and he clearly wasn't trying to get a big reality TV show contract. He was just living, escaping the cities and the clutches of modern, lazy life.
The other adventurer that Krakauer did his homework on was Everett Ruess. It is Ruess that Krakauer most closely relates Chris too, and it is easy to see why. Ruess got on the road and hitchhiked as soon as he could - after getting his diploma. He wrote letters in abundance and this is where I found myself going crazy with the highlighter.
Afterwards, I completely forgot about my late-night moment of wonder. That was until recently, when my friend Ed brought the film up in conversation saying how amazing it was, and then I learned that it was based on a book so naturally, the book was ordered within a day or two.
Well, the book came yesterday and I've read 144 pages out of 205, and nothing has ever resonated with me so deeply. So much so that I feel compelled to spread the word of this book, I want to shout out passages in the street, I want to buy 10 million copies and throw them at people. The author, Jon Krakauer, analyses the incredible story of Chris McCandless, constantly posing the ultimate question of whether what he did was amazing or stupid. He sums up the entire story in the first four lines of his 'author's note' at the beginning of the book:
"In April 1992, a young man from a well-to-do East Coast family hitchhiked to Alaska and walked alone into the wilderness north of Mt. McKinley. Four months later his decomposed body was found by a party of moose hunters."
If you've seen the film, this might shock you - because the film doesn't tell it as a documentary - it follows Chris along his journey and you find yourself rooting for him, heartbroken when he dies from picking the wrong berries and poisoning himself. If this was a spoiler, I'm totally not sorry because you should always read the book before watching the film anyway - duh.
This Jon Krakauer guy, he really seems to get it. He paints Chris out in such a light that I feel like I know him. There are excerpts from Chris' journal to help flesh out the bones of the facts, but you really get the sense that the author is on the same wavelength as his subject. And I am very much on that wavelength too.
Chris hated almost everything about the comfortable American existence. He studied racism, apartheid, starvation and suffering, as well as politics. He spent his Friday nights in the pits of the town, surveying homeless people and prostitutes to truly appreciate the segregation in wealth; he hated any unnecessary show of wealth and turned down his parents' offer to buy him a new car because the beaten-up old one he had ran perfectly fine. He was searching for something deeper, more real, he hitchhiked up and down America for two years, making deep and real connections with those he met on the way, and left an imprint upon those people. I can say that I've never met Chris, and I don't know everything about his amazing story, but he has truly already left an imprint on me too. He gave himself another name, the name of Alexander Supertramp, he burned all his money and forms of identification, he left it all behind.
The first passage I highlighted from the book was from a letter written by Chris, sent to an elderly man he met whilst hitchhiking, who formed a deep love for Chris, proposing to adopt him as his Grandson, following Chris' advice to give up his comfortable conventional life and travel round a bit, even when he was into his late 70s/early 80s:
"So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity and conservatism, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future."
Read that over a couple of times. Do you get it? Do you agree? Does it fill you with a fierce empathy for this long-gone man and his ideas? Because it does for me. I couldn't have worded my inward thoughts more perfectly. I feel like I should have been sat with Chris in that bus, I feel like I should have met him on the road somewhere, and I feel like we could have talked wildly for hours, non-stop, both on a higher level of consciousness, with a wider view of seeing. I feel that there is a palpable loss for this human being in the world, or at least a lack of those who share the same outlook.
Krakauer goes on to talk about other explorers who did a similar thing, He talks about Carl McCunn, a photographer who at the age of 35, chartered a helicopter to a remote lake near Fort Yukon, Alaska, and for some unknown reason, failed to organise his return trip. He'd flown out at the beginning of August, and sometime in late November, killed himself with a bullet to the head. He also talks about a climber, John Waterman, who once spent 145 days alone to climb a mountain. Parallels have been drawn between these people and Chris because, quite simply, does to much time in the wild - make us wild? When the mind is left to wonder and the comfort of conversation isn't available, what do we do? We are left to be our own best friend as well as our own worst enemy; we are left only with our thoughts, and some of us have darker thoughts than others. Chris even said so himself in his final desolate days, with the words "Happiness is only real when shared."
Two other adventurers are compared to Chris also, Gene Rosellini, a.k.a Mayor of Hippie Cove, who despaired at the modern world and devoted more than 10 years of his life to an experiment with the aim of seeing if the modern man could live like a caveman. In a letter to a friend, however, he revealed, "I learned it is not possible for human beings, as we know them, to live off the land." I must say, although I do agree with this observation, the key phrase here is 'as we know them'. The sad truth is, us human beings have advanced so fast and so far that we would find any kind of extreme survival alien. This is why Wall-E depicts us all as fat blobs and this is why the whole Bear Gryll's Island show is exactly what it says on the tin - a TV show - fantasy. As much as I would love us all to return to instinct, like I said in my 'Meat Matter' post, it's entirely impractical and idealistic.
This raises the question - so, what was Chris McCandless trying to prove by going out into the wild completely unprepared? And my honest opinion is that he wasn't trying to prove anything - he wasn't trying to wow us all with some experiment and he clearly wasn't trying to get a big reality TV show contract. He was just living, escaping the cities and the clutches of modern, lazy life.
The other adventurer that Krakauer did his homework on was Everett Ruess. It is Ruess that Krakauer most closely relates Chris too, and it is easy to see why. Ruess got on the road and hitchhiked as soon as he could - after getting his diploma. He wrote letters in abundance and this is where I found myself going crazy with the highlighter.
"I prefer the saddle to the streetcar and the star-sprinkled sky to a roof, the obscure and difficult trail, leading into the unknown, to any paved highway, and the deep peace of the wild to the discontent bred by cities."
These people, are magicians with words, the wilderness turned them into poets, and I feel it doing the same to me every time I gaze out onto the ocean, every time I tread upon the springy forest floor carpeted with pine needles, every time I breathe in the clear alpine air, blinded by snow and sky. I crave a life on the road - a life that is uncertain, obscure, sometimes lonely and desolate, other times filled with faces and noise and chaos. As Reuss even penned himself; "I have always been unsatisfied with life as most people live it. Always I want to live more intensely and richly."
So, I'm not about to fill my little Herschel backpack with cereal bars and announce that I'm off to fend for myself on Mount Snowdon, but I do feel more full and reassured by the mere existence of these people, by the comfort that their words give to me - I feel a kindred spirit in Chris, and in anybody who appreciates adventure. And so my little part in this is to get out there, like Chris, to LIVE out there, to be wild, to get out there on a ski season this year, to pack my van up next year with Kai and hit the road. I want to shower under sprinklers on private land and be chased off, I want my only source of food to be from natural resources, I want to howl at the moon and survey the stars, I want to come close to death to give me more value to my life, I want to help other people who weren't lucky enough to be born under the same circumstances as me.
I want to embrace my wilder mind.
12.2.68 - August 92
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