The landscape I came back to proved stranger than the one I was leaving, mostly because I was trapped in – or tripped into – one of those true resistential episodes where it is not enough that one thing goes wrong; all things conspire to get in your way. Planes are delayed. Luggage is lost. Cars die. Money runs out. Work looms. People disappear. And the appeal of being stuck in a shitty hotel room far away from it all suddenly becomes massive.
In conversation last night I was talking about how I sometimes envy the people whose lives I normally consider to be boring. The ones who follow (and choose to follow) a humdrum pattern of to work, to home, to table, to sleep and have the luxury of not too much thought in between. It is a luxury because taking stock of your life is an exhausting exercise, particularly when the stocktake shows negative returns.
But in the fashion of all things falling at once, when they rise – and from the bottom, they can only rise – it is the most tremendous overhaul, like my car ‘s engine, which now purrs. Humdrum is safe and its security should not be mocked. But damn, I would choose the rollercoaster ride any day. How else can you watch yourself become yourself?