the things we run from and towards
the futility of trying to find escapism in the unknown because your own reflection will always be there waiting for u!!!!!
/ saturday 03.09
I run my hands over my knees and think about how my bones just stopped growing one day without me even noticing. I think about me as a child with small hands and gangly legs: running in the playground/running to race my brother home/running outside the front door in a barefoot rush at the first sound of the ice cream van approaching, The Teddy Bear’s Picnic ringing from speakers and summoning children like some divine call from God.
I run to seek answers online like: ‘How to like London?’ and ‘Are psychedelics a bad idea if you have anxiety?’ and ‘Should I change my name y’know like symbolically? To tell people I am not who I was, I am not where I came from, I am only where I am now and I am making my own blueprint (or at least trying to)? Is this new blueprint of ‘travel’ and ‘art’ and all the things I never had growing up even a good thing if I don’t know where to slot myself in anymore?’ But then I worry that maybe all changing a name does is show people that you are being more defined by the things you are running from than if you just left it alone.
I run for buses because I’m always late and I can’t help it; time just runs away from me.
I run towards wolves disguised as charming men who will kiss my forehead and rest their prickly chin on my shoulder from behind whilst I make tea in the kitchen and chatter excitedly about nothing at all, because these slices of morning together before we hand each other over to the day feel like I have swallowed ten teaspoons of sugar and all the fine white crystals are stirring inside of me and outside the air is so plump with all that sweetness that I think: ‘They must feel it too,’ but sometimes these men are just big bad wolves so they don’t really understand that talking about nothing is actually talking about everything if only they knew how to listen close enough, and before they even find out that my favourite colour is dark green like the green of a pine tree in a big green forest, they are already huffing and puffing and blowing the house down. I am left standing by the remains of a kitchen counter with a teacup in each hand, the tea bags still brewing inside.
I run towards an empty patch of grass at the first glimpse of spring’s promising light in April, but I have read too much online about everything, especially about the Bad Things: like chemicals in our food and radiation from our phones and illnesses, not just of the body but of the mind and soul. I watched a ‘Top 5 Things I’d Never Do as a Doctor’ video and the doctor seemed so scared of the sun, so now I think I should be too. I don’t stay on the grass for long and instead run towards the shade/towards a sense of control - or at least the illusion of it, because we can’t always see what is happening beneath the surface but that doesn’t stop us from trying to change things anyway.
I run to my phone when I am not sure what to say when I am sat on the chair in my Nan’s house and I run to it when I am lost but don’t want to look lost and often I run to it for no reason at all but I especially run to it when it dies right before I get to read the message I was waiting for and if I don’t run to it so I can cradle it right now then maybe I’ll just collapse and die too.
Lately I run for trains to get on flights to be far from the things I’m running from, only to find they follow me there.
// sunday 04.09
Tide calls me on FaceTime and she complains about the weather - she’s in the one place light has forgotten: Scotland.
We flitter between different topics for a while, barely able to verbalise one concise point, and we blame it on TikTok for deteriorating our attention spans. Then we talk about boys, and then we talk about how we shouldn’t waste anymore time talking about boys because boys don’t spend this much time talking about girls, before inadvertently talking about boys some more - we blame this on attachment theory. Then we psychoanalyse our parents and talk about whether it’s possible to grow in a place you’ve outgrown. We talk about booking cheap flights to countries that always feel like August, and about how if life is simply a matter of forward motion and movement then it makes sense that a plane ticket or a change of scenery might make us feel like we are ‘living.’ I’ve had too little sleep to consider if we’re equating escaping with ‘living.’ It doesn’t matter now anyway, I already booked my tickets to Barcelona.
/// monday 05.09
It’s my 26th birthday and I wake up early to go to the airport. My usual seat right in front of the top deck windows is taken, so I sit behind some school kids shrieking about a photo some girl in their year uploaded on Snapchat; I am glad not to be a teenager anymore. To my surprise, I find that my name has been etched into the seat in front, and it feels like a sign of some sort. When I was young there was a God to make sense of things and now I don’t know what forces can explain coincidence, but coincidence for coincidence’s sake doesn’t suffice as an explanation either. All I do know is that these little moments of synchronicity are rare but they matter more than many things.
I booked to go to Barcelona on my birthday because I wanted to feel the quiet satisfaction of making the serious security guards at the border force double-take the date when checking my passport and maybe even give me a little ‘Happy Birthday.’ When they didn’t do anything of the sort, I wished I had booked to fly the day before my birthday because it was actually £15 cheaper.
I arrive in Barcelona and immediately the heat reminds me of Greece. I walk past a stand selling crisps and water and ice cream. The loveliness of everything only makes me more conscious of the uneasy feeling starting in my stomach.
//// tuesday 06.09
Even though the city is bursting at the seams with life, it just feels soulless and underwhelming. A part of me knows that this is because I’ve already decided my favourite places in the world based on purely sentimental reasons, turning them into almost-myths that no rationality or logic could infiltrate. Knowing this doesn’t change the way I feel. The rhythm of a city is not enough to make it special.
When we get something that is close to the thing we had before but not quite close enough, all it does is emphasise what’s missing.
///// wednesday 07.09
I go to the beach and lie down on the sand with my left cheek pressed against my forearms, the pale warmth of the sun before it sets flattened against my skin. Soon, everything starts to feel pastel as I drift in and out of a half-sleep, meanwhile a man with a chalky voice shouts from across the beach ‘Mojito! Fresh mojito!’ over and over and getting louder and quieter over and over and over and.
When I open my eyes everything is a little more muted than before - the waves sound like they are coming from inside of me. That familiar knotted feeling in my stomach tightens and wraps around itself until I can’t feel where it begins or ends. I run to the waves even though I can’t swim, stopping as the sea reaches my shoulders; I discover that memories are waterproof because the knot is still there.
Greek has two words for blue: ghalazio (γαλάζιο) for light blue and ble (μπλε) for dark blue. What we are running from and running towards might be two shades of the same thing. Standing in the water before me are both blues: the sea is dark blue and the sky a light blue, the sun starting to tuck itself in-between them both. These colours are the only thing I see - there is nothing left to run towards. I breathe in time with the waves and, just as the waves do, I let my thoughts rise and fall, not trying to fight against the tide, because I’m realising that it might be just as simple as letting it, all of it, come and go.
////// thursday 08.09
The flight back to London was delayed by 4 hours but who am I to complain? I’m always running late. The plane tilts slightly to the left as we start to descend and the reflection of the sun coming through the curved rectangles gives everyone a halo. The pilot announces that we are approximately 8756 feet in the air and then states, more gravely, that he has just received some news from London: The Queen has passed away.
Conversations lower into hushed murmurs, but after a minute or so, voices rise again and the plane rocks slightly and things just keep on going. I overhear a man behind me ordering a ham and cheese sandwich. The young couple next to me lean into each other: the boy is focused on a game on his phone which makes his elbow jolt every few seconds, and the girl, gripping onto his arm and moving in rhythm with his jolts, gazes up at him, doe-eyed and pitiable. I think that maybe all this time I’ve confused seeing for understanding. I think that maybe sometimes we see only what we want to see.
We dip further below the clouds and lightning flashes outside. My index finger stays flattened between the pages of my book and it feels like I would be interrupting something to open it back up again.
/////// friday 09.09
What would happen if I stopped running for a little while? If I just sat here on this bed sideways, legs dangled off the corners, the thin morning light creating silhouettes of the steam rising from the cup of coffee? If I went for a walk to the park behind my house even though I already know what the trees and the grass look like? If I already knew what to expect? I think maybe, if I sat still long enough, I’d be okay, actually. Being still doesn’t mean things are not growing/changing/moving - it might just be less obvious.
////
THANK U SO MUCH FOR READING!!!! i wanna know, what is your usual method of escapism when there are things in your life you’re not facing up to/trying to run from??? ?? tiktok?? travel?? god forbid, BOYS?? let me know below!!!!
p.s. i’ve been really getting back into regina spektor lately - ghost of corporate future is positive psychology in a song.
p.p.s. i’ve also enjoyed using my lil baby lumix camera that i’ve had since i was like 13 years old and exclusively used for ‘edgy’ pics of my side fringe that i’d then upload on bebo. i brought it along to barcelona mostly bc i was too lazy to charge up my proper camera and also cos it's just kinda fun/novel to take pics with something that is sooo tiny.
p.p.p.s. i move to montreal in ONE WEEK from today?!?! ONE WEEK!!! for TWO MONTHS???? i’ve literally been scouring the internet to try and find lidl equivalents in canada and unfortunately i’ve reached a dead end. if anyone knows how i can save money in canada i’d be very très grateful !!!!
p.p.p.p.s. hope to see u here again in 2 weeks. idk if i’ll find much time to write with all the moving that’ll be going on, but i wanna prove to myself that i can be ‘disciplined’ !!!!
I tend to escape from childhood trauma via daydreaming, but I’m trying to get out of my mind and free the emotions stuck in my body now. It really helps to have a mentor or group to hold me as I heal!
I’ve only read two of your newsletters, but each has felt like such an experience! I really enjoy the format of brief memories with a consistent theme. Looking forward to more!
i love this. i have tried moving countries to 'run away', and i felt the same being there as i do at home. i think it provides temporary relief, but nothing substantial