Let’s have a show of hands. How many of us would love to give it all up and go and live the dream? I’m guessing if you’re reading this blog, your dream will involve at least something outdoor related. Or perhaps you’re already doing it. If that is the case, kindly tell us how you did it, or sit in the corner smugly while the rest of us despair.
It’s always bloody rotten going back to work after a long weekend. This week has been no different. The weekend was fairly normal, just doing normal stuff, ParkRun, outdoor time, and I surprised myself with a ten mile run on Monday.
I can’t help but think (again) however as I climb onto the early morning branded and mute commuter-packed dream dampener that can only move in two directions, that there’s more I feel I could and should be doing. Meetings alienate me. Conversation with my superiors leave me wary and terrified. As my friend commented about my last blog, and mentioned synchronicity, it’s very apt here to quote from the Police song of the same name;
Every single meeting with his so-called superior is a humiliating kick in the crotch
And man, is my crotch bruised. I exaggerate. My job isn’t humiliating at all. It could easily be if I let it, and saw it as my only reason for existing. You’re only hurt by the things you love and care about the most. I guess I just find the world a little confusing.
So this whole idea of giving up normal life to do something else comes in and out like the tide, getting higher each time. Having a life of contradictory feelings added to the general fear of cutting the supply cord sends me into an insanity loop. There’s the part of me that would happily backpack, who then gets beaten up and left for dead by the part of me that wants to get back on the property ladder.
In many ways my life is changing. I feel I’m either on the cusp of greatness or a complete breakdown. It feels like I’m sat in a deep woodland, and in the distance I can hear a roaring river but have no idea where it is. Wandering about aimlessly in a dreamlike state proves fruitless, and yet somewhere there’s a door in the trees that leads to the river and who knows where.