From a Bird’s Eye View

Sometimes I wonder if it’s dangerous to get attached to things. With my state of my mind of late, it’s dangerous. Over the past week or so, my wanderlust has been creeping up on me. Again.

I keep thinking of the job offer I turned down. The job offer that would have meant chappals, beads and bright colours. It would have meant my hair blowing in the piercing wind of a fast train. It would have meant the limitless possibilities of travel; beaches, art, culture, heritage. I could have immersed myself in literature and theatre and remembered what it felt like to be free.

Ah, but the things. The things that suggest permanence. People scoff and say things dont last forever. They’re trivial and meaningless. But are they really? The cartons of books that sailed towards me from a continent away. Poetry, prose, history, and art – are they meaningless? The bookends the S.O bought me for our house, Ms. R’s pretty boxes and pictures, P’s butterfly candles; the little things that made our house a home. Trivial? The boxes of memories under my desk and bed. Dried autumn leaves, scrapbooks, tattered ties, jewelled pens, handwritten notes, bar napkins. The rush and smell of who I am and who I used to be; temporary?

And yet, I think how easy and how liberating it would be to pack another suitcase and go. Travel by train, drink Kingfisher beer, trace my fingertips over books at Strand, feel the tangy smoothness of the lemon curd tarts at Candies on my tongue. And drown in the heady weightlessness of forgetting the reasons I stayed. The reasons that transcend even the things that tie me to permanence.

I stayed for love, for a career, for all the reasons people eventually grow up and become adults. I stayed because it was the right thing to do.

The right thing to do, the right thing to do, the right thing to do.

I just have to avoid large windows for a while. Blue skies and vast untouchable distances will do little to easing the potency of wanderlust.


5 thoughts on “From a Bird’s Eye View

    1. Ah, my favourite commenter. Mappings welcomes you back into the fold.
      If only we DID dare. Unfortunately, I think only a few of us have it in us.

  1. I’d agree, only a few have it in ’em, but I wouldn’t say ‘unfortunately.’ That’s the way it’s always been, and probably society couldn’t function if every member was a dreamer or doer of oddball things.
    I say celebrate the struggle, celebrate that we may just one day utter a Word worthy of the ages (to be perfectly honest I feel I’m well on my way, with my word that is, as you are with yours.) The real task is to become ever more fully ourselves. Inwardly and outwardly.
    Here’s Miller again, which I’m quoting from his Henry Miller On Writing:
    “Side by side with the human race there runs another race of beings, the inhuman ones, the race of artists who, goaded by unknown impulses, take the lifeless mass of humanity and by the fever and ferment with which they imbue it turn this soggy dough into bread and the bread into wine and the wine into song.”–Tropic Of Cancer

  2. Something I struggle with everyday, something some people feel they need to remind me of regularly; maybe this is a bleak and dismal view, but people don’t last. Emotions, things, little tidbits stolen from scarce meaningfulness; they do last.

    Minerva Mcgonagall, Severus Snape, Henry Tudor and Catherine of Aragon ; THESE people, however, do last. In hearts, in minds, forever.

    Amazing post 😀

  3. People in their physical form don’t last, but their essence certainly does. One person, in particular. While her physical form didn’t last, I feel her whenever I open my closet and find an old shirt she wore that still smells like her. I feel her especially when I communicate with her son, or read the words he creates. So yes, emotions, and tidbits that you give meaning to, most definitely last.

    Also, Henry Tudor will not last in my heart forever. Cruel chut, him. Wife beheader. Not like. The rest on your list, (especially Catherine and Minerva) hooray!

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