Is running away my default?
Wonky has been a word that I’ve used a lot recently to describe how I feel. To describe those deep rooted demons scratching their way to the surface. The bad habits that take energy to resist. It’s fair to say I’ve been silent the past few weeks.
I’m in a place where I’ve lost my resources. Lost those little snippets of normal to get me through and struggling hard to get them back. So I packed my bags and did what I do best. I ran away.
The destination. Back home. To stay with a friend I haven’t seen for a while. To ride the roads I love so much. To see family who constantly tell me to be safe. See friends and old work colleagues. To hear the birds. Feel the crunch of leaves. To smell that infamous aroma of your hometown.
I left work and knew instantly where I was headed. An hour down the M1 and I’ll be there. Knowing the lanes I needed to be in, the shortcuts to miss traffic, it all felt so normal. The dogs running on the field I used to walk. The runner who I always see in shorts whatever the weather. The postman with purple hair.
Out of the town and onto quiet country lanes to head to my weekend home where the potholes are still not covered over and the twists and turns of the road made me feel grounded almost. A familiarity that felt easy. Driving past fields full of cows and sheep. Seeing dog walkers poke out of bridleways at the side of the road. Overtaking cyclists on those hills I knew all too well. It was then that calm turned to excitement. Excitement for my evening. For the rest of the weekend. Excitement to switch off and be in the moment for me.
Friday was the day I’d planned to get on my bike, to visit grandparents that I haven’t seen in a long while. An early-ish start meant I got ‘caught up’ in school traffic. Little village primary schools with children dressed in fancy dress for Friday mufti day. I’d been riding only an hour and I was almost there. Knowing the roads, I didn’t need to look down at my map. Just a quick glance of the surroundings and the odd road sign and I knew where to go.
My quick pit stop ended up being a few hours. I find that grandparents have this unique way of making you stay. The tea becomes seemingly endless and the biscuit supply is on par. Without wanting me to leave on an empty stomach, it was time for lunch which ultimately ended in more pots of tea, and more biscuits for dessert before I was back on the road. Fuller and slower.
I decided I wasn’t quite ready to go back home just yet, so looped round ‘the long way’. Through historic villages, past crooked road signs. Onto narrow, almost traffic free lanes lined with hedgerows of golden gradients. Beautiful orange, red and yellowing leaves. I stopped to take a moment and it was only then that I realised it had been such a long time since I’d heard silence. When all that I could hear was the distinctive rip of grass as the sheep in the field ate away clueless to the rest of the world. I closed my eyes for a quick second and took a deep breath. I needed that moment of solitude. That one tiny glimpse of nothing-ness. Just for a second. But it was time to get back on the bike and make my way home as I looked up to see the clouds becoming darker.
I arrived back just as the dark was setting in, and the rain began to fall. Putting my bike away felt like closing my journal for the day. I was feeling almost sad, but content at the same time. I’d had such an amazing day out on my bike, just allowing my legs to turn the pedals and having a rough direction to head in with no time restraints was bliss. The only thing sending me home was the sun. The only thing ending my ride was the night. But it was time to relax now and get ready for the weekend.
Throughout the week I’d been in contact with a few people I wanted to meet up with while I was back. People I used to work alongside. People that I now call my friends. People that I really miss! Heading out to my local country park for a quick hot chocolate, chat and wander felt comforting. I immersed myself in the wildlife I was seeing, and less in the conversation. Subconsciously I suppose, but becoming more aware of how long it had been since I’d seen a squirrel! There were birds on the water I’d never seen there before, or maybe just never noticed before. As we said our goodbyes, and resisted the urge to hug, I felt a strange feeling of not only sadness, but guilt for having to leave, and for having left it so long. But, yet again, I wasn’t quite ready to head home. So before I did that, I swung by to see a really good friend. An old boss and the one person I miss the most. We caught up. Laughed. Drank tea. Talked about pencils and notebooks. About work gossip and what we were up to. It was such a quick brief moment, but a moment we both needed.
The afternoon was creeping on so I reluctantly headed back. As I was driving out of town and past the ‘thanks for visiting’ signs I felt a bit choked up. This place that has been my home for my entire life, no longer is that. I’ve experienced happiness, but in equal measure utter hurt and heartbreak. It’s full of people that I love, and full of people I wish to forget. How is it possible for one place to contain so much?
As I tumble head first into the depths of winter, with dark mornings and darker nights. I constantly think of escape. Of finding little brief moments of solitude to remember how important silence and stillness is. Does this mean that running away is my default?
