Month: Aug 2022

A solo tour through anxiety

There have been many times in the past when Mr W has needed to travel for work. North Wales, Hexham, Latvia, Malaga… and I’ve not been able to attend. In February of this year he mentioned that he may have to go up to Birmingham for a trade show and asked if I would like to join him. 

At first I wondered what I’d do for 3 days alone. Mr W would be gone from 8am till 6pm. After two failed attempts at going to Birmingham in 2020 I started to think this would be another missed opportunity.

Throwing caution to the wind, we booked the train tickets. The plan was simple. Spend 2.5 of the 3 days in bed, watching trash tv and napping. A little pamper here. A little shopping there. In fact the biggest draw was the world’s biggest Primark. I wouldn’t have to worry about dragging Mr W around and could go at my own pace. The spark of excitement was beginning. 

As the date for the trip approached I started looking at Birmingham as a new place to explore and found some areas of interest for my daytime walks. Our hotel was right next to Birmingham New Street station so was in the middle of a hub of restaurants, shops and a stone’s throw away from the old town. What could go wrong?

Anxiety. To be exact, an anxiety attack. So spiteful, it left me crumbled as soon as we reached our hotel. After a rather smooth train journey from Euston I started to feel the creeping fear of being in a new place hitting me. Normally travelling does not affect me and I realised it was down to the fact I would be on my own for the first time in years. I realise now that the anxiety started its creep long before we even jumped on the train. It was when we sat waiting for our train in Euston station that I was very aware of the amount of people in the immediate vicinity. It was the first time in two years I’d been in a place so big, crowded and loud. Thanks covid! Emerging from the train to a new and hectic train station did not help and by the time we reached the hotel room I felt sick. I couldn’t do this. How could I even think of doing this alone?

By the time we sat down for dinner that night Mr W knew something was wrong. And there it all spilled out. The fear. The very real fear I had of being alone in a new place. How different I felt about being in cities after the lockdowns of 20/21 and my fear of being around so many people. I sat in that restaurant going to pieces. It was deserted which is probably why I was able to let all those feelings out at once. We sat and talked for hours about how life had changed so slightly and so massively all at once. I decided to not put any pressure on myself to stick to my 3 day plan and see how I felt in the mornings. 

By giving myself the time to adjust the following morning I was able to think of the day ahead with a clearer head. I had an exceptionally long shower and washed the previous 12 hours of fear down the drain. The fact I slept over 10 hours went a long way to reiterate that my mental health had physically exhausted me. Sipping a cup of tea while slowly getting ready and making a simple plan meant that I felt much less nervous about setting out into the city. The day’s plan was clear. 

Shopping. 

I wandered aimlessly around shops and found that nothing took my fancy. It is always the way, money to burn and yet nothing found to buy. The Primark was enormous and yet I realised early on that being with another person would make the experience that much better. The Disney cafe looked great and yet I wanted someone sitting with me. Otherwise it felt like any other store. After leaving I felt a little boost in going alone. Go me!

Not wanting to push my luck with my anxiety I head back to the hotel. Dinner that night was a much calmer experience and I wondered what the next day would bring.

After another soothing lay-in and pamper, I head in the opposite direction of the shopping centre. Birmingham’s old town was calling. I spent some time in the shadow of St Philips Cathedral before winding my way through the streets. I strolled past the Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery and Town Hall, both so beautiful that my intrigue calmed my nerves. My next destination called to me like a beacon. Birmingham library. Was this nerd going to a library? Yes. Was it to see books? Nope!

Birmingham library has a rooftop garden which is free to enter and it may have been the sole reason I had ventured out that day. There is something about an urban rooftop garden’s juxtaposition that I enjoy very much. The paths on the roof wound around pockets of planting that despite the chilly March weather brought the space to life. Semi-circular benches framed the flower beds and I spent a lingering moment sitting in the sunshine. From here I wandered over to the canal that made its way through Gas Street Basin. 

The calming nature of water washed over me as I walked along the bricked bank of the canal and started to thoroughly enjoy myself. Barges were moored up one by one and the restaurants and pubs that lined the walkways were quietly waiting for their first customers of the day.  I walked around the buildings of Brindleyplace and found corners of greenery in the vast expanses of stone and tarmac. 

Arriving back at the hotel I found I felt more relaxed than I had for days. Estimating the time Mr W would disembark his train, I walked to the train station and looked for him coming through the turnstiles. Unable to see me through the crowds I was able to follow him as he headed to where he thought I would be waiting. I was able to follow him straight into the hotel foyer where he turned wondering who was behind him. It took him at least 3 seconds to recognise me and I laughed freely at the ruse. 

The next day was our last in Birmingham and he had to work. I had over five hours to lose while waiting for our train departure. So for the first time in my life I went to the cinema on my own. I wondered if people would think I was weird. I wondered about a lot of things. In total, there were 5 people in that screening and after the film I realised being alone isn’t something to be scared of. 

I took the train to meet Mr W so we could head home. Meeting him on that platform I felt a wave of calm wash over me and I sat in quiet contemplation for the first hour of our journey home. I started forgiving myself for the times in the last 3 days that I had beaten myself up. 

The last two years have been hard for everyone in multiple ways and when it came to being kind to ourselves I fell short of doing so. 

So what if it took me all morning to leave the hotel to go shopping.

So what if I needed to take refuge from a new city in the shadows.

And so what if I cried at the thought of being alone. 

The pandemic pushed us so far out of our comfort zones that it will take time to repair our mental health. All at once is not going to work. In fact, as I found out on that first evening in Birmingham, jumping in at the deep end was such a shock to the system that I just crashed and shut down. That anxiety attack was the biggest indicator of how the pandemic affected my mental health. 

I’ve learned a lot since then. I’m able to vocalise when my anxiety is starting to take over. And even though I may not know why I feel so bad, I give myself the time to pass through it rather than try and skirt around the issue. Being kind to ourselves doesn’t necessarily mean solving a problem to continue on with our day but giving ourselves the same comfort as others we would stop and help. To listen rather than give answers and advice. To guide through and know there is another side to the story. Though the path may be dark, if we continue to move forward we’ll find the light along the way. 

Denial

She thought moving on would be hard. Thinking of him turns to thinking of him with disdain not longing. The songs that remind her of him are just songs now. Their lyrics are something to sing along to, rather than analyse word by word. Sad songs are relaxing, not threatening and the song he loved to dance to, well she hated it before anyway. The guy in the crowd that looks like him is just another guy. The potential sighting makes her dart and duck behind the person in front for fear of being seen. In fact, now that she is moving on, she sees that the guy in the crowd is cute. The shirts he wore. The cologne she loved. His side of the bed. Lazy Sundays. All gone. Pushed to the back of her now, not fragile, but resolute mind and replaced by hope and excitement for the future. It’s easy, in fact, how did she really know she loved him? Or was it just infatuation? Hundreds of guys smell of that cologne. Hell, walk too close to the counter at The Perfume Shop and so will anyone for a week. Pssst Givenchy. No thanks. The bed is now hers, a kingdom of fluffy pillows, soft duvets and all the stretching out space in the world. Aces! Denial. What a rip off. Only when she is truly in it will she feel happy and even then she won’t know about it. But times like these when the excuses are just that, excuses, does she realise she isn’t happy moving on. She is not happy in the big scary world. The truth is, she knows it’s not easy. And she knows it won’t be solved in a day. However she also notices the lies and excuses she made up for his shortcomings. They are now replaced by the ones to help her move on. Which in the end kicks denials arse! Hi- Yah!!

I hope anyone going through a patch of denial finds comfort in the fact that it does not last forever. It did for the lady in this piece. I got better.

Steps that count

44,162 steps – Northumberland – 3.5 days

14,878 steps – Greenwich – 1 day

Unknown steps – Tunisia – 1 week

Before the pandemic and certainly before Mr W, holidays were spent either walking around New York, pacing out the heavily padded itinerary or on a sunlounger on the beach. It was either ALL the walking possible or none at all. 

Since Mr W and I have travelled together there have been the odd holidays that we’ve sat down, maybe 2 in 9 years, and I couldn’t say for sure that that is. It seems we have an inability to sit still. 

Our first trip together was in October 2013. Tunisia was not a place that I’d ever thought to travel to but was cheap enough and still warm enough that late in the year that it ticked enough boxes for a short week away. The ticked boxes from the travel agent were proven correct with hot sunny days followed by balmy nights. I was looking forward to sitting by the pool with a plus one for the first time in my life. And I’ll say it, I wanted to show our relationship off to the world. I was happy and wanted to shout it from the rooftops. We spent hours in the pool, swimming, playing and laughing. One lady swam past us sighing, saying ‘It’s so nice to see a couple having fun’. I practically skipped back to the lounger. 

I foresaw the rest of our days in Tunisia playing out similarly. Sun, lounger, pool, book, naps and love. On maybe the 3rd day, we dragged ourselves out of bed quite late and made our way down to the secluded pool where it seemed only adults ventured. Book and bag in hand, I layed down in the dappled shade and set myself up for a day of warm breezes and the latest storyline of my new book. In my peripheral vision, I could see Mr W, he wasn’t lying down or grabbing his book. He was sitting as you would do while you wait for a bus. I asked him what was up. He said ‘Do you want to go and explore the local area?’. With all my being I wanted to scream, NO! I’ve literally just sat down! And yet we did go out, we walked to the local market. The next day we took a train to the next town along. The day after we took a little tourist road train to another town. It wasn’t until we were reaching the end of the week when we finally ventured onto the beach and I again attempted to surf the beach sofa. Soon his static body entered my peripheral vision and his boredom and utter dislike of being there had us moving somewhere else. 

Do I think that’s where the busy holidays started? No. 

Do I think that’s where the lazy holidays ended? Quite possibly. 

We’ve spent time with family in Majorcan villas but did we sit still for longer than half a day? Also no. 

When the pandemic hit and we moved our Italy trip to the autumn from spring, we felt that we were insanely lucky to even travel. The week travelling from Florence to Venice without too much interruption from the covid laws felt like the deepest breath we had taken in 6 months. We wanted to make every step count. Every single minute of those six days felt magical. Every plan fell into place. Every smile fell naturally onto our lips. Regardless of how busy we were, there was no moaning about tired feet, only an appreciation for the freedom to travel. We didn’t want to waste a single second. 

Now, almost two years later, we have spent three long weekends hiking and pushing ourselves past our once thought of limits. The trips have been eye-opening in so many ways and we have such a new passion for countryside vacations and our limits will be pushed furthermore when we go to Scotland and try wild swimming and even longer hikes. 

When I used to pound the sidewalks of New York from 8am to 8pm I wouldn’t stop to think how many miles I had walked. To be fair, I didn’t have the technology to count the mileage/steps. I can only hazard a guess that I walked upwards of 9 miles a day. So why am I now seeing 5 miles a day as such a big deal? Maybe because it’s brought to my attention by watches and apps that notify you before you ask them to. Or because I still find it amusing that some place, like Northumberland, I once saw as inferior to New York, is now on the same level when it comes to awe-inspiring. I never would have guessed that I would choose to walk and hike the UK with as much gusto as I did exploring abroad. Times have certainly changed!

We have been talking recently, Mr W and I, about taking a vacation somewhere warm, with a pool. A villa break for just us. It has come to our attention that we need some time to stop. We need to jump in the pool and only emerge from it because of pruney fingertips. We need to start and finish the book we haven’t got time for at home. The afternoon naps. The late mornings. The step count being in the hundreds rather than the thousands. 

So far, we haven’t had the luck of booking the trip. However, even though we now see the value of exploring and travelling more than ever and our new found appreciation for hiking is pushing us beyond boundaries we didn’t know existed, we have come to a bigger realisation. 

It is to stop. Even though it is often said that every step we take when travelling is precious, I think it may be the steps we don’t take that can be just as important. When we start to travel again in the opening world, we are pushed by the memory of being locked away in our homes to go further than ever before and take on personal challenges that we’ve always avoided. 

By doing this, we are pushing ourselves so hard all the time that we will forget what was good about being locked away in the first place. The simplicities of a good lunch in the sunshine. A night watching the stars with a cup of tea. Drawing a blanket up under your chin for an early night’s sleep. A walk in the country to give your lungs a fresh breath. 

These steps count too. Whether they are counted by your watch or listed on an app. 

These are the non-steps that keep you still long enough to save your tired soles for their next big leap into the unknown. 

Step one. Stay still. 

Intrepid explorers

Flashback to New York, December 2015. 

It was time to indulge in Mr W’s interests. A visit to the Intrepid Sea, Air and Space Museum. Docked on the Hudson at Pier 86, the enormous aircraft carrier that fought in World War II is now devoted to showcasing planes, helicopters and space exploration throughout history. 

As we approached the massive vessel I wondered how fast I could speed through the ‘ordeal’ without it looking too obvious. Upon entering the belly of the ship, I found myself utterly transfixed by the huge anchor chains held in place securely and walking back in time when viewing the bunk beds the men used to call home. 

There are large guns on the flight deck that took me by surprise, in a good way, I haven’t been around anything in a military sense before so it was really interesting to see that sort of thing in real life instead of on a television screen. 

From street level on 12th Avenue you only really get a feel for the height of this spectacle, it’s only when on the flight deck do you realise how very enormous it really is. The grey painted deck stretches further than the eye can see and is littered with a vast number of planes. 

Obviously Mr W was in his element as we strolled around in the winter sun, pointing out a Lockheed SR-71 with its sleek black body and a utility military helicopter called ‘Huey’. Meanwhile, I pointed randomly and said, ‘Hey wasn’t that in Forrest Gump?’ and marvelled at just how many I recognised from the big screen movies. It felt like meeting a static, metal celebrity. It was definitely a complex mix of feelings when recognising the pieces on board whilst realising what they had been used for in the past. 

There has only been one other time in my life when I have come eye to eye with a scenario that identifies war, and that was as a young child at the Imperial War Museum in London, and even then I don’t remember much now. In fact, that only part I remember is the very real feeling trench experience, which ended up being both scary and emotional. In a way, both museums brought war and everything that comes with it to the forefront of my mind in a  way no movie or television programme can ever do. On screen you see the helicopters and army vehicles as props that an actor is using as part of a scene. When it’s right in front of you, it’s a different feeling altogether. I would say there is some naivety there and that’s why I believe museums like the Intrepid are really something to consider when you visit a country different from your own. It reminded me that behind the tourism and the glitz and glam of restaurants and the theatre, New York and America as a whole has a huge history and some of it is damn uncomfortable to someone as wide-eyed and innocent in the way of the real world. 

I made sure after my Forrest Gump comment, to keep my voice down, these machines had protected lives, taken lives and the utmost respect was needed in a place like this. 

Our tickets on the day included entrance to the ‘Space’ department on board and it was absolutely surreal to be in the presence of an actual shuttle. Standing on one of the elevated walkways you find yourself almost nose to nose with this vast space vessel. How on earth does something that big reach space? And yet, its size wasn’t that different to an aeroplane. I’m not sure what I was expecting but I found myself once again utterly entranced. Exploration is what any travel minded person hopes for and here was a ship that could travel off of the planet we could only dream of travelling on ourselves. 

Once back in the belly of the Intrepid we found ourselves winding through alleys of grey steel, ducking through hatches and ascending steep stairs clinging to the handles with fear of the climbing angle presented. It wasn’t until we entered one room that we found an actual real person sitting awaiting the next wanderer. Sat upon a simple stool, he waited as we glanced around, his hand resting on a cylindrical piece of machinery with an upright handle. He must have caught my eye as it rested upon it and asked if I knew what it was. I answered quickly, forgetting myself, ‘That’s what they use to tell the engine room what to do.’ He nodded and smiled. And then I blurted out ‘I remember seeing it in Titanic’. The room echoed with his laugh. ‘Yes that is very true.’ It was the Engine Order Telegraph and he said I was correct and I felt myself glow with both embarrassment and pride. This girl was participating in the day. Talking to the man was so lovely. I find that connections which are formed so quickly and over silly little things really make my heart sing. 

When leaving this vast piece of history I found myself grinning. I had entered without any sense of excitement or interest, it was something booked purely for Mr W and yet I left feeling more connected with New York than ever before.  Connecting also to a growing appreciation for the unknown pieces of history I hadn’t taken the time to visit or take an interest before. 

Un-dreaming

Love is a dream. Feelings seem superhuman. Your ‘other half’ is miraculously god-like. And everything is pink, fuzzy and rejoicing at the both of you being together. Furthermore, you are different. Optimistic. Smiley. Bouncing around on clouds that whizz around you in puffy heart shapes. Then you hear the next door neighbours drill. Or a car backfire. Or an overbearing sibling, ‘Yeah, mate, pub 1 o’clock, bring your drinking liver.’ You’re blasted out of the dream before you can say 2 point 4 children and a white picket fence. The outside ‘no duvets allowed’ world is rainy and cold. People don’t look at you like you belong with Zeus and that your smile is perfect to warm this winter’s day. They don’t look at you at all. You’re just another person on this planet getting out of bed. Leaving the dreams behind and stumbling down the stairs, briefly child-like again, learning how to use your legs. Stumbling. Wiping your hand across your eyes to clear the misty waters and sleep that has gathered. Almost as if it had bound your eyes shut for you to enjoy the dream for as long as possible. Awake. Aware. The dream is gone. You’ve moved on. From the dream. From him. You’re learning how to walk again, albeit with help from the bannister. Brushing the endless pink fluffy clouds from your sleepy eyelids. You have learnt that a dream is unnatural and that this is life. Cold, dark and unsmiling. 

You reach the end of your descent. There is a noise in the kitchen. There he is. Making breakfast. Your latest favourite. Poached eggs on toast. The kettle is boiling and he has the radio on. He is here. Outside the dreamworld. 

You walk up behind him. Put your hands on his shoulders. Yep, still real. You slide them down his arms and join them together on his chest. You are on tiptoes to meet his height. He is still, acknowledging your embrace and his hands find yours in their return of the ‘Hey you’. 

Online you have seen that other couples, your friends, have been out for brunch at a well-known, hard-to-get-reservations London restaurant. You have spent the morning in bed, coffee, book, music, lounging in each other’s company. It is already noon. Your brunch will be the eggs that cook in the pan.  This is the dream.

The mundane activities aren’t mundane anymore. Shopping for socks and people watching from the food court. Making the bed because you have forgotten when it was last changed. Talking about your ideas for the next piece of DIY. Watering the garden to nurture what you have sown and grown. The pink clouds are gone from the dreamworld, they have left behind the very real white clouds that you both trace across the sky while you plan your next adventure. Warm, light and full of life.

Travelling the Nc500: the final prep

In roughly 7 weeks we are taking on our biggest trip together ever!

It’ll be the longest trip we’ve taken together and it’ll include 12 hotels, 16 waterfalls, 7 beaches and over 1800 miles driving. There will be days where all we do is eat in the car as we drive from place to place and it’s completely different from all of our other big holidays. 

We. Are. So. Excited.

Last week I set out to research just how many wild swimming spots we could include on our itinerary. There are a lot of rivers, beaches and lochs on the trip but I wanted to work out which ones are safe in the access sense and also safe once in the water. It has opened my eyes majorly to just how particular the precautions are. Keep out of the sea due to the meetings of three currents. Watch out for the depth of the lochs. How cold certain places are. Slippery rocks. Where and when you can’t. The list goes on. And something that kept coming up was COLD WATER. And even though I’m going into this trip with such a big leap of enthusiasm, cold water is a big deciding factor for me. If it is the pool in our garden, I quickly jump in and then into the warm house/sun/shower. It will be an entirely different story in Scotland. The water will be glacial and we’ll need to strip down in the air, dry as much as possible and then jump back into the car for the journey ahead. So raring to go for it, Mr W and I had a chat about wetsuits. Making sure we definitely wanted to try the swimming I searched online for some that would fit our bigger bodies and was surprised to find a site that was selling them for a bargain at 60% off! 

Today, they came and without hesitation Mr W grabbed the bag and headed upstairs to try his one on. After a while I heard him coming back and wondered if the wetsuit had fit or if he needed help. As he reached the final steps, I heard the noise of the neoprene brushing against itself. It’s a peculiar sound. And there he was. Smiling but needing help with the zipper. Ziiiiiip. Up it went. And then the laughter began. The noise is hilarious. Him squatting and twisting was hilarious. All he said was how hot he felt. It is currently 27° in Essex. I wonder why he was hot. Then it was my time. 

I had forgotten how difficult these things are to put on. The last one I wore was 9 years ago in Australia and it was a lot thinner in its material. It was less to do with keeping warm than protecting your skin from jellyfish. This one is thick and less stretchy so wrestling it on, I hoped it would fit and keep me warm in the Scottish waters. After wrangling it onto my legs and body, Mr W zipped it up and it dawned on me just how difficult it’s going to be to do this out in the open. I couldn’t stop laughing. The legs are slightly too long, that’ll be down to me being 5’5”, but it fits which means we are ready to go! No stopping us now. 

Now something that is very daunting is packing. As we are taking our two weeks worth of food you can imagine that it’ll take up quite an amount of space in the car. So when it comes to clothing and other essentials we have to be strict. Currently there are boxes of food in our guest room that have been organised and it all looks very structured. Turning round there is a pile of other bits and pieces that need sorting and I get deflated every time I see it. But it’s there waiting and if Essex ever gets a rainy day, it’s a job I can tackle with some loud music in the background! It is really silly stuff like toiletries, water shoes, zip lock bags for dirty clothing and now, the wetsuits. It needs doing, but it’s just so boring!

The itinerary itself is maybe a day away from being finished. Which is… unreal. 

Something Mr W and I need to do, almost our biggest priority, is to get some real hours of drone flying under our belts. Our initial flight went really well and I surprised myself by really enjoying it, but to be completely confident we need more time. So that will be scheduled in the next few busy weeks. 

Can you believe it? How is that for being prepared? 

Now it’s the time to let the excitement, and a few nerves, to build!

Free

A bright star glints in the dark sky, it doesn’t ask to be shrouded in nothingness; captured and released when and if it pleases at the night’s discretion. Yielding to the night isn’t easy, it kills the beacons’ will from within, every time twilight issues its call. Death is the same every time. Every single time. Like the scheduled appearance of the Sun, the night arrives with its indifference but isn’t always welcome. Make that never. Welcome to only a masochist, perhaps. The star’s will is weak. Its power diminishes with every passing second. Who knows whether the night intends to shroud the star in darkness, trapping it in all it has ever known. The pattern never changes, holding the star back from the world it wishes to shine into. It needs a chance. Just once. To explore other atmospheres. Release itself to others. Others who stand to watch the light flourish and survive its new surroundings. Growing in constant awe of its wish to move away from the known and into the life it always knew would outshine its former darkened self.

I was the light.

Anxiety is the darkness.

I burst from the grasp now and again, heading from nothing and into the unknown.

Finally free.

Photo by Dave Watson
Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com