Wanderlusty

the long road home

Wanderlust is a wanderfully lusty affair. I can go from sleepy to wanderlusty in a matter of seconds, if the conditions are right.

I had a wanderlusty episode at the weekend, actually. 
Long story short, He and I went camping in Bagnole-en-forest (un petit village super joli) and the following day, after a lengthy breakfast, we cycled about an hour to St Aygulf to go air all our parts on the ‘plage naturiste’. 

(If I may just interject here regarding a common misconception about naked beaches. 95% of titty-wobblers and willy-waglers on a naked beach just want to liberate their most captive parts to the elements. It’s natural. It’s nice. It’s normal. You’re as nude as a new born, free from thoughts, just resting in feelings, mostly of freedom. S’lovely

Or, to offer a more conventional analogy, it’s like pulling everything out of the airing cupboard to let it breathe. Giving all the contents a good shake, to slough off the dust and loose hairs. Giving the door a bit of a waft, to get some air in there. And after a couple of hours or so re-housing it all, deftly folding lengths of fabric, following the habitual lines and folds, returning it all to the temperate, familiar darkness that it’s accustomed to.)

But back to the wanderlusty weekend…
It was 6.30pm and He and I extracted ourselves from the beach to retrace our tracks back to the car. Google Maps/cycle route was employed to safeguard our deliverance, but instead it decided to take us somewhere else, somewhere un-cyclable, in-accessible and completely off-track. Much cursing followed. After discussing we agreed that with less than half our (electric) bike battery juice, less than half our phone battery juice and less and less daylight juice neither of us was going to make the uphill slog back to the car, given the distance. So we hatched a cunning plan. Quite simple really. He relieved me of my bike battery believing that two half-depleted juice boxes should get him back to the car. In the mean time I would push my bike, sans batterie but avec pannier, uphill towards Bagnole. 

Oh I so love a good calamity! It invigorates the heck out of me. What are we going to do? How are we going to do it? What are the options? This is exciting isn’t it! 

AND THEN THERE WAS ONE
And so I was left to adjust to a new rhythm, one of walking, bike pushing, alone along an ascending sinewy mountain road. 

Dusk was putting the mountains to bed and I was feeling free and happy, so I did what I always do when I feel free and happy; I *sing. I sang into the vast, beautiful void that was dimming around me and that I was disappearing into. I felt like an ant lullabying the herculean mountains with soothing sonics, assuring them that all was well and they could safely slip into the darkness. 
For an ant I felt huge, and the mountains felt like children under my care,
‘nite nite. sleep tight. don’t let the wilder-bugs bite.’

And so I continued, one foot in-front of the other, singing like a Hari Krishna devotee, wheels turning, limbs pumping, thoughts wandering.... 

I had a ‘déclic’ (the french word for an ‘insight’) 
I noticed how happy and free I felt
at home 
singing into the void
in the descending darkness
alone on the mountain
taking my time

I thought,
‘that’s so interesting.... I have no doubt at all that this is going to work out fine.’ 
Even though I could create scenarios where it all goes disastrously wrong and turns into a complete nightmare, with someone crying, someone stressed, angry, anxious, terrified. But none of that was present. I only felt 100% confident that it would all turn out fine. That we would succeed, and, that an adventure would have been had.

And then I noticed, 
‘hmmm! I definitely don’t feel like that in all areas of my life. This sense of poised self assurance and gay abandon.’ 

Like my writing ambitions for example. I often feel incompetent, and as silly as a child. But why?! That’s crazy! I write well enough, and I LOVE writing. And writing LOVES writing with me. We have all kinds of fun together. You’d think I’d feel braver and more self assured. But I don’t. 

Thoughts flit around like a school of fish glittering through the waves.
I say: I want to gather a collection of the flash-fictiony-kind-of-stuff I seem to like writing. Produce something real in the world. Something I can look at and hold in both hands. However: the task of writing, collecting and producing it all derails me into inertia and bewilderment.
There’s a paradox among my glitterfish.

Or, to up-cycle a previous analogy
It’s like saying, I want to go to the nudist beach, but I won’t get out of the airing cupboard. But I want to go to the nudist beach. But I won’t get out of the airing cupboard. Yeah well good luck with that.

I know it's just an old fear-based Gremlin stepping in to save me from revealing myself as stupid and public humiliation. I know that. And although I say to the Gremlin, ‘take a seat Gramps. Have some pie. I’m ok.’ He’s still there yapping away whilst eating his pie, spitting crumbs everywhere. He’s quite comical actually, but soooo annoying.

I decided to stop rolling this big sticky rice-ball of thoughts around in my head, and flicked it off my fingers into the void, with a satisfied smile! Ha!

After a pause a tiny voice pipes up from somewhere. A tiny, soft voice. Maybe it’s the little-big Ant from earlier? It says ‘it sounds like you’ve got a bit of a fixed mindset about your writing capabilities.’
And I give an ‘mmmm’ in agreement.

And then it asked ‘would you like to have more of a growth mindset about your writing capabilities?’
And I say ‘yes please, little-big Ant’

And so I spun off in a new direction within the void.
I can do this. I can develop a growth mindset around my writing capabilities.
If I took the same energy, excitement and enthusiasm from the soul singing, bike pushing, mountain scaling ‘cycle calamity’ and just swapped-in ‘thinking about my writing life’, fantasising about who knows where it’s going, what roads it will take and what cool stuff I’m going to encounter.... 
Yes, I can definitely do that quite easily, I just need to practice doing it. 
’It’s all going to work out fine’ (I need to practice that as well)
It is exciting though, when I think of it like that! 


GROUND CONTROL TO MAJOR TOM
I have no idea how long I was swimming around with these thoughts, but I was reeled at speed back into my body by the sound of twigs cracking and bushes rustling.

I couldn’t see it, which I thought a good sign. 
It must be quite small, I reckon. 
oh hello; it’s on the move....

Two things happened next. 
Groooowling and screeeamming. 
I just about broke my shins trying to get on my bike! 

All thanks to the Universe for having my mortal back whilst I was cartwheeling around the night sky. Riding my Scorpion constellation like a rodeo bull. I had unconsciously pushed myself and my bike to the summit of a hill, so I was perfectly positioned to take flight away from the *beasty, leaving manic squealy laughter in my wake.

Then exactly eight minutes later He passed me in the car!!
It all worked out fine.....


Making dinner the following evening I was reflecting and transcribing this mountainous wanderlusty adventure, listening to music tracks on ‘shuffle’. This long, affirmative track played especially for me in that moment, and I was afloat again. 
In Prince I trust.

And my ‘déclic’ has stayed with me. 
The little-big Ant left me with a parting question, 
‘So, what do you want?’ 
‘Well’ I said ‘I want a collection of my flash-fictiony-kind-of-stuff. I want to write more and have even more fun writing. I know that the more I write the better it gets; it has to be so.’ 
‘Then let it be so’ it said, and I swear, the little-big Ant winked at me! 


THE AFTERMATH 

Just look 
What joy 
Euphoria found 
When elevated off the ground 
It’s in me 
You too 
It’s in everything 
This wanderlust that makes us sing 

NOTE
We finally got home at something-past-eleven in the evening. The 2.5 hour journey taking 5 hours. 
I pushed my bike for 7 kilometres, 6.5 of which was uphill! 
I expanded into the mountains 
And disappeared into time 
It was wanderlusty 

REQUEST
Consider airing your laundry in public. I promise it’ll put a smile on your face.

* The beasty was a Sanglier. A wild boar found plentiful in these hills. 

* I sing incessantly. When I’m happy, sad, po-et-ic, idi-o-tic, lost and found, lusty and wandering. I don’t have a remarkable voice. I sing because I’m a singer. Singing accompanies my habit of breathing. In the same way that I write, because I’m a writer. Writing accompanies my freedom of expression.




Thanks to @bethkempton for leading me astray courtesy of her @SoulCircle. If you are of a wayward disposition, you should take a diversion and check them both out.