2020 Is...

 2020 Is....

Fill this space up. 

It would be wise to give space to this year that has given so much in the means of time, and the understanding of the fragility of everything. How easy it is to feel tethered by gossamer threads, ideas, hopes, and dreams, the mighty PLANS that evaporate into nothing. I am still here.

I wonder, in these moments, what truly is the purpose of living. My hopes of finding a job and finding some sense of financial security and independence seem to have hopeful buds that get smashed onto the ground. I am one of the lucky ones. Inevitably, many will say, this wasn't that bad, the generations before us had it worse, global wars, famine, hunger, the pandemics of the past were even worse. Yet, somehow this year has felt like an attack on the mental reserves, and a true understanding of what this beast of modernity we live in. 

I am not saying that this is worse, I am just saying as an experiment in existentialism, it works. It provides just enough of the comforts of life for individuals to feel complacent and safe, yet it strips the sense of security that leaves an ebbing pull towards an anxious and frustrated soul. 

Today I went on a run, and it may have been the first time I've smiled in a long time. Not the social gatherings and people I've seen, but pure radiant joy. I used to have those bouts of wonder more often, and yet it seems hard to recall. How many others like myself sit trying to feel like the space between waking up and going to sleep was filled with things they can cross off as calling 'achievements'? 

What sort of gratification or satisfaction am I looking for? One that ties into capitalist modes of productivity? I partly feel I've answered my own question. To meditate, to maintain positivity, to be happy, to be kind, to what ends does this serve? Myself? Or does it enable a higher power to carry on doing exactly what they have been doing all along. Where is the source of global malaise? 

Day one or two, I'm not sure when I officially started...

(This was meant to be published yesterday)

Today I said good bye to my dear parents, my mum couldn't help herself. She cried , she does that a lot, but I couldn't help myself either, soon my tears started flowing too. 

There is something so sad about saying good bye to my parents,  maybe now I realise more and more that our time together is finite and that's what makes every experience all the more touching and wonderful. They set me on the path and now I feel less nervous and lost than four days ago before I started doing this whole thing. Metaphorically I guess you could say this walk is like my life and my parents did the best they could in preparing me, consoling my fears, providing me with love and support, but now it's time for me to walk alone. I wouldn't learn if I didn't do such a thing you see. 

Many people have walked this before, I am not the first and nor do I think I will be the last. What's beautiful about it all is that people keep returning to do this, again and again, like a cross generational human ritual. In a way it poses some interesting insight to the way human beings work, maybe, how life might even work? We keep returning to the same things, the same paths, the same journeys, but we all have to do them, it's some form of affirmation of us as human beings, a reminder that for this brief moment, I am alive, and I'll be dammed if I don't show it by being sore down to my bones. So yes, this is my little moment to remind myself that Coltrane McDowell is alive, he has two A class parents that have set him on a splendid course through his life, and now it's time for him to go alone. To smile at the beautiful sunny day (it is going to be a good one today), and to walk and keep walking, and eventually, I don't know, we shall see when I get there, or maybe I never do and this is some form of perpetual walk, a perpetual destination. This journey doesn't end at the end of Spain, it keeps going...

Anyhow, I will retract myself from the deep end of thought and concentrate on the bus I need to take in 20 minutes. I am going through the fragments of Spanish I need to conjure up and rebate if someone speaks to me. It's a game of chess and I am preparing my idiomatic moves, be prepared spainiards, I shall be one of you soon! 

All the best to anyone reading this, and dear mum and dad, I love you. 

-Coltrane

Dear Grandma,

Dear Grandma, I am growing old. I understood this because I recently cried in frustration. It wasn’t necessarily tears of pain or sadness, just helplessness. I wanted more than anything to pause… moments to stand still. I kept running so that I could keep up with the sun but it darted too quickly below the hill. Now I am running in the dark…again. I guess I feel old because now I realise I continue to play the same old game. My ball of wool is only behind the chair; my kitten paws have realised there is no magic besides that of my owners arm maliciously toying with my youth.

Oh please would you stop being a brute and just let me have the damn thing already?

Alas, life is not as easy as a kitten playing with a spool of wool, but it like you have taught me many things about myself that I will not numerate here. While my head banged and clambered with names dates and fictions of a person I do not know who I am meant to be, I finally had enough, and with good timing because my degree was over. The marathon finished. My muscles are sore and my jaw aches from the numerous moments of small talk, the countless days of repeating the mantra, be better, pursue your future, be the change you want to see in the world. It’s really all so heavy, surely Atlas did not feel nearly as much pressure as a young man trying to set out his course from his youth? There is too much pressed into me, I won’t point fingers because it comes from all places at once, from myself most of all.

That is why I decided to go for a walk. 

It’s a rather long walk, a little over 800 kilometres or so, but not nearly as audacious as others. I read somewhere that as a medieval pilgrimage it is not nearly as pretentious as the pilgrimages to Rome or Jerusalem where the journey really is about the destination. No…as I gather the way to Santiago de Compostela is all about the walk, the people you meet, and the moments you have to reflect, maybe some form of spiritual transcendence…I am yet to believe. I am not a medieval pilgrim nor do I feel all that religious. That being said, I wanted to embark on a walk because the joy of walking is you can only go as fast as your own two feet; you are limited by yourself, but my how much freedom that gives you!

You mentioned before I left you last that you wanted me to start a blog to keep you updated on my life, my comings and goings and everything in between. I am notoriously terrible at keeping in touch with anyone, it does not mean I do not love you, nor do I not wish to see you; it just means I am still diligently playing the same game of chasing after the sun. Hoping to find one more drop of existence to settle my belly on a cold night. I will attempt to keep this blog updated as thoughtfully as I can, I know I will have a lot of time each day to muse over each post and I sincerely hope you enjoy it.

All the best grandma, and you know, you are getting younger by the minute!

With love from Coltrane