Your words bring back many memories that I discover are just lurking under the surface. University days are certainly informative and not always in a good way. In the 1980s I moved to the flat, grid like city of Christchurch (NZ) to study law because it sounded good when I said it to my friends and family. I had no interest in the study or the place. In truth I was following a boyfriend whom I thought couldn't let go. The first year I hung on his coat tails and made no friends of my own, then when he inevitably dumped me I continued to trail around the places we'd shared hoping to see him and find some solace. I was alone, lonely, fragmented and turned my hatred of my situation on the city itself. It's flatness seemed to mock me. I could never tell which direction I was facing which was the perfect metaphor for how I was feeling. No landmarks, no undulations to offer hope...just a vast viewless collection of one way streets and right angle corners. Since that time I've sought out places to live that are full of hills and valleys, big long views of mountains and meandering rivers. I like to feel held in a landscape, not bobbing about on the surface.
Oh gosh this months entry was so timely, as I sit here in this place I don’t belong and loathe. Your words help me so very much. I always love your writing on place. Thank you.
I was particularly delighted to read of your experience in London and your plans to write a book about place etc. I had a very similar experience to the one you describe, last autumn. Keen to escape for a few days after the rigours of lock-downs etc, I decided to go to the coast for a few days, alone. I know Aberystwyth well, having studied at the university there in the mid-1970s, and I have been back many times since, though always in the company of others. I googled Airbnb for 4 nights self-contained accommodation, and was astonished when what should show up was the tiny house in the harbour quarter that I had lived in during my final year as a student, with a boyfriend, in 1975/6. The pics intimated that the tiny dwelling had been renovated in the interim, but I felt I just had to take it... Well, it turned out to be a psychogeographic adventure par excellence, I can tell you. I had that sensation you describe of walking around with my youthful self at my side, alongside the realisation that indeed, she actually still lies within, somewhere at the heart of all the accumulated layers. I cycled through all kinds of emotions: sadness at the shortcomings of that sometimes arrogant and aloof young woman, who found it hard to commit to anything and who was also at times very lonely there. It was poignant to inhabit her consciousness again for a few days, whilst also now being in possession of the knowledge of what, down the years, was to befall her and 'become' of her. I also took my younger self to task pretty mercilessly in those few days. I had anticipated a few days of idle reminiscence; what actually happened was quite different. I kept a journal; photographed places I had also photographed back then and finally made a tiny altar on the beach, where I gave thanks to that place which had laid the foundations of my interest in literature and art and spirituality, and had fostered all the most significant friendships in my life. The tiny house itself had changed a little in appearance down the intervening years, but over the course of those few days, I realised that some abstract 'essence' within it that I had barely acknowledged back then had remained intact. A fitting metaphor! I look forward to that book you are planning, Sharon!
I love what you’re doing here Sharon - and then smiled to see your Tír na mBan card as I look out at Sliabh na mBan (the mountain of the women) this morning here in Tipperary.
Your words bring back many memories that I discover are just lurking under the surface. University days are certainly informative and not always in a good way. In the 1980s I moved to the flat, grid like city of Christchurch (NZ) to study law because it sounded good when I said it to my friends and family. I had no interest in the study or the place. In truth I was following a boyfriend whom I thought couldn't let go. The first year I hung on his coat tails and made no friends of my own, then when he inevitably dumped me I continued to trail around the places we'd shared hoping to see him and find some solace. I was alone, lonely, fragmented and turned my hatred of my situation on the city itself. It's flatness seemed to mock me. I could never tell which direction I was facing which was the perfect metaphor for how I was feeling. No landmarks, no undulations to offer hope...just a vast viewless collection of one way streets and right angle corners. Since that time I've sought out places to live that are full of hills and valleys, big long views of mountains and meandering rivers. I like to feel held in a landscape, not bobbing about on the surface.
Oh gosh this months entry was so timely, as I sit here in this place I don’t belong and loathe. Your words help me so very much. I always love your writing on place. Thank you.
✨...I’m so excited you’re reading your audio for Hagitude!!!! And really looking forward to the program. Bravo for the oracle cards...✨
I was particularly delighted to read of your experience in London and your plans to write a book about place etc. I had a very similar experience to the one you describe, last autumn. Keen to escape for a few days after the rigours of lock-downs etc, I decided to go to the coast for a few days, alone. I know Aberystwyth well, having studied at the university there in the mid-1970s, and I have been back many times since, though always in the company of others. I googled Airbnb for 4 nights self-contained accommodation, and was astonished when what should show up was the tiny house in the harbour quarter that I had lived in during my final year as a student, with a boyfriend, in 1975/6. The pics intimated that the tiny dwelling had been renovated in the interim, but I felt I just had to take it... Well, it turned out to be a psychogeographic adventure par excellence, I can tell you. I had that sensation you describe of walking around with my youthful self at my side, alongside the realisation that indeed, she actually still lies within, somewhere at the heart of all the accumulated layers. I cycled through all kinds of emotions: sadness at the shortcomings of that sometimes arrogant and aloof young woman, who found it hard to commit to anything and who was also at times very lonely there. It was poignant to inhabit her consciousness again for a few days, whilst also now being in possession of the knowledge of what, down the years, was to befall her and 'become' of her. I also took my younger self to task pretty mercilessly in those few days. I had anticipated a few days of idle reminiscence; what actually happened was quite different. I kept a journal; photographed places I had also photographed back then and finally made a tiny altar on the beach, where I gave thanks to that place which had laid the foundations of my interest in literature and art and spirituality, and had fostered all the most significant friendships in my life. The tiny house itself had changed a little in appearance down the intervening years, but over the course of those few days, I realised that some abstract 'essence' within it that I had barely acknowledged back then had remained intact. A fitting metaphor! I look forward to that book you are planning, Sharon!
I love what you’re doing here Sharon - and then smiled to see your Tír na mBan card as I look out at Sliabh na mBan (the mountain of the women) this morning here in Tipperary.
All of this! But an Oracle deck...yes please! 🙌🏽