plays poems protests
How I felt about my future last Autumn in doodle form with Scottish shells and pottery (working at Blackwell’s, hence the paper). It seemed like a wasteland ahead then. Now it seems like several appealing doors are slowly creaking open…
Hello, Neverland blog, it’s been a while. I’ve come to blow away the cobwebs and figure out where you fit in with my new situation. Things have gone sunny-side up; I have a challenging job, a cosy flat shared with my favourite human (soon to be joined by 2 baby rats), I live a couple of streets from the sea and there are some fragile future opportunities opening up to me in London.
As my job involves writing for the web and stuff is happening now, there’s no way I can blog as often as I was before. But I’m determined this blog will evolve and continue - things are only just beginning.
My throwaway philosophy of the day - go out and do something which scares you, break your routine. We’re creatures of habit, still we can always choose to change our ways.
If you haven’t seen this mad art installation already, check it out. It reminds me of The Wizard of Oz somehow.
Sorry for lack of posts lately, new job and new flat and no internet yet. Neverland will be back soon, once I’ve made my mind up about the employment I’ve fallen into…
The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.
At some point in life, you were planning for this moment right now.
You were saving for this time period, you were educating yourself, or you were investing in something that you hoped would pay off by now.
We have a tendency to get ourselves in a constant state of preparation, and we often forget that we were once looking forward to today. Take time to fall out of planning mode for a bit, and reap the benefits of the work you’ve done to get yourself to where you are right now. Otherwise, what’s the point of it all?
Here’s to living in the moment.
Death Cab For Cutie: “I think that it’s brainless to assume that making changes to your window view will give a new perspective…”
So where are you from? We all hear this question a lot, as if a postcode can give an idea of someone despite it’s random allocation at birth. It just makes it easier to give a person some context; in this vast incomprehensible planet we see them in their particular corner with all its associations. How much does where you call home change you?
As I’m caught in the bureaucratic process of trying to move into a flat near my new job, it’s occurred to me just how much importance I assign physical places. As a student I used all my overdraft on travelling because I thought it would make me a better person - I made pilgrimages to certain cities and destinations because of all the second-hand knowledge and myths that surround them. From visiting a space as complex (yet insular) as New York City to the flat inches which constitute the original Mona Lisa painting. I live in the future, and location is everything to me.
My long-term life plan involves relocating to some great Pacific city like San Francisco, Vancouver or Auckland. I’m still hazy on the other details (with who? what’s my occupation? how to get the visa? what next?) but it’s so comforting to assume that if you live somewhere interesting that happiness will be automatic. It probably comes from being miserable in my teens and keeping myself going with fantasies of my life at university and beyond - I associated my home town with all my problems. You can leave a lot behind you with a change of address, but not your emotional baggage.
This has all occurred to me very recently…my escapist illusions have started coming apart at the seams. I choose my uni simply because it was in the unknown North and had echoes of the Romantic Poets nearby along with some picturesque architecture. In retrospect this seems ludicrous. Once I tired of student life I transferred the mystique to Edinburgh, even further North and a Gothic hub of culture. I lived there quite happily for a few months, failed to find a permanent job and the dream fell apart as soon as my money ran out.
I complain all the time to my long-suffering friends about how much I hate England and that I’ll be getting out any day now. It turns out it’s not as simple as just wanting to be somewhere - you need funds and visas and work and security. You actually have very little choice in anything once you’ve run out of courses to study; a job comes up eventually, so you take it.
Still, I hold onto my obsession with distant places. It gives you hope when you find yourself in a shitty situation. My latest address dictated by the new job was chosen on a whim; a vague idea of the Yorkshire Moors and Wuthering Heights and living by the sea. We’ll see if it works out. Forgive me in advance if posts are intermittent or lazy reblogging for a while as I let real life take priority. I’m leaving this imagined island for the next destination…