I run away quite a lot. Never did it as a kid. Never saw the point. Who wants to hide in a park in the rain with nothing but your copy of ‘Look-In!’ magazine and a soggy sandwich for company? As an adult, I ration it out to about three or four times a year.
My brain runs all the time. Yours does too, I hope. It’s momentarily distracted by a funny programme on telly or a nice cake, but the rest of the time it’s thinking of the worst-case scenario and opening doors to battle anxiety backdraught. It made a point of using the British spelling there, as opposed to ‘backdraft’, because erosion of language matters to it. My brain is a dick.
I ran away today. Kissed the cat goodbye, filled the automatic feeder (sometimes what I intend to be a three hour escape turns into four days) and brought the ipod for the car. Running away when you can drive is much better, particularly because the snow started again. It’s not about the hardship. I suppose if you’re eight years old, you’re not doing it through desire to experience winter in a park. It’s about getting away from something, and walking or driving will do it.
There are a couple of fishing villages up the coast that I visit a lot when I feel like this. They’re only about an hour away. One is usually full of tourists, but the impending ice and snow had kept them away today. The other is a little further away, and practically deserted come rain or shine. They are my thinking places, full of natural distractions to shut up the anxious part of my brain. It’s harder to focus on problems and ‘what-ifs’ when the tide crashes against the rocks and the little boats go off on their perilous journeys. Remember those stress relief balls you used to get, that you could squeeze and squeeze until the desire to murder everyone around you disappeared? This is the mental equivalent of that. I sit in my car (or walk the beach when weather permits) and let nature take away the stress. The fact that there’s an award-winning chip shop and ice cream place nearby helps a bit, too.
So today I let the rough seas take my thoughts away. It turned out I only needed to run away for three hours. The wind battered the car at a few points, and the snow on the road made sure my brain had to concentrate. It’s amazing how quickly your troubles fall in with the rank and file of the other hundred things to do.
The final stop on the way back is always a little bay I know. There are hardly any visitors because it’s pretty hard to drive down to, but it’s worth it. You can see for miles on a clear day, and even with the heavy snow blowing through the wind, I still got out of the car and headed down to the little natural harbour.
A huge pile of dried seaweed was washed up on the shore. Shrivelled, unrecognisable. A shadow of its former self. And yet the tide will come again soon, and it will be rejuvenated, and it will continue this pattern for years to come. I’m sure there’s a not-too-hidden lesson in there somewhere, but damned if I know what it is. I’m still here. I’m waiting for the sea to come back. It always does.
Things I Survived Today 