Pashminas and planning
After much ‘covisolation,’ I am starting to feel a lot better. Improved but still breathless and tired. Early in the morning I sound a bit like a Gauloise smoking Kathleen Turner.
Shexy.
The best thing about a stint in solitary is the giddy appreciation you experience, when released back into the wild. Since leaving captivity I have been out for my postponed birthday dinner, with three friends, at my local 17th century tavern. (Just to be clear, there was no time travel involved.) Everyone was in exuberant transmit only mode, as there was so much to catch up on. No idea what they said, or how they are, though I am pretty certain everything I reported was utterly fascinating. It does make you wonder if the act of talking with fellow women, that it’s just the act we need, not the content of what we say. I do remember the odd break in the conversation, briefly when we had to draw breath or swig wine and also when we stopped to squeal, when lovely L gave us the most luxurious pashminas, as gifts from her stay in Thailand. Such a treat, I’ve hardly taken it off since. There was almost a bit of a bun fight over who had “asked for the navy one.” I’m happy to report it ended diplomatically but I daresay pashminagate may just be brought up, once or twice in the future. (J has a good memory for things like that — I promise I’ll never move my chair to the other end of a table, ever again)
It was so good to have a visit from my young niece with my brother and his wife, there is something so grounding about having a child in the house, especially into this old empty nest. A five year old very much lives in the present, with added optimism, a lesson I really needed reminding of.
I went shopping with a friend in St Andrews — real shops, they still have them you know, you can try clothes on, touch things and buy them, without clicking! Shopping has never been a passion of mine, but after the two years we have had, this seemed so pleasurable.
Pittenweem fish and chips with friends; another simple treat, not just the meal but the sharing of food in fun company, then helping them get ready for an open village art weekend. Not online, not virtual, real people coming to see art ‘in the flesh.’
All of the above, are examples of events that I wholeheartedly, previously took for granted. These moments have conspired in me, a desire for more real life experiences, it’s almost as I had become brainwashed into accepting less. Living with low expectations, thinking this hermit existence was all we were allowed to have, since the twenty twenties began. I also started to see, that despite mostly hating life alone, there is a silver lining: That having no ties, was in itself, a gift.
With a more positive slant, it dawned on me that: I have no partner now, my children are grown up, living independent lives, I have no grandkids (yet,) no dog (yet.) I am 55, young enough and healthy enough to do those things that I alone really want to do. When (if…) I reach retirement age (though being self employed I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to retire!) won’t I be less able? More tired and with less energy to enjoy retirement?
The upshot of all this introspection is, I am now planning a year, a GAP YEAR. I don’t care if that term usually applies to twenty-somethings, straight out of university, it’s my plan, there’s no one to disagree with me here, *takes quick scan of the room* nope! The silver lining is, I decide, only me. (Okay, maybe me and a wee chat with the bank manager…)
Currently, I am at the bottom of an internet rabbit hole, filled with of endless possibilities; destinations, tropical beaches, adventure travel, volunteering projects, bootcamps, hill treks, flights to visit friends across the globe, wellbeing retreats, writing workshops… I just need to find that lost five thousand pound note, in a long forgotten, jacket pocket.
Captivity behind me, it’s so good to be out.
