The truth

I think its fair to say I’ve always been an over thinker. My mum used to say I was searching for “the truth”. Some kind of colossal truth about the universe and life and our purpose that greater minds had overlooked. And 21 years on, I think its safe to say I’m still looking.

I used to want to know it all. What we were made of and were we came from and if god was real and if aliens were and what happened when we died. It took a long time for me to realise that I should probably focus on life first and deal with death after. That I should probably think about my purpose before I worried about lifes. But how do you find the answer to a question you don’t know. And the truth is, i don’t know. The truth is that sometimes I feel further away from finding it than that neurotic six year old girl. The truth is the amount i still don’t know or understand about life paralyzes my brain so much that I’ve stopped asking, I’ve stopped searching. The truth is I can’t handle it.

In a way everything I’ve ever done has been part of this search. Every passion was a potential purpose, an answer to that unanswerable question. I searched in new houses and new boyfriends and new friends and every time it led me right back to the beginning. And yet in all of them, I found some truth. Some piece of the puzzle I’ve been building my whole life, still too unclear to read.

In 12 days I will officially be a social worker and the truth is, I don’t know if I’m ready. The truth is I don’t know what to do without my pre set plan. The truth is I don’t know if  I want to grow up yet, or if I can. And the truth is, I don’t know if it was the right choice.

The truth is I’ve never felt closer to the truth than when I’m writing. Even if what I’m writing is useless. Even if nobody ever reads it. And sometimes, I feel like writing might be that truth.

All I can really be sure of is that whatever I’m looking for, it isn’t in my past. And yet again life pushes me forwards, onto new things. New homes, new adventures, new loves.. And for the first time, I intend to embrace that.

The truth is, I owe that much to the truth.

Bon voyage Liverpool.

 

A photo of Liverpool the day of my Social Work Interview at Hope

2011

Here comes the summer

I can still remember that day as clear as ever. Taking the ferry from the North Fork to Shelter Island for the first time. I wore a white top and denim shorts, had a cowboy hat on and sunglasses which always hurt the sides of my head. Like they were begging me not to miss that moment. I’ve played it again and again in my head. I had my feet perched up against the glove compartment, resting neatly in place of the steering wheel.

We were strangers then, all of us but somehow the silence never felt awkward. Would it have scared me then to know how attached I would one day become. Would I have regretted the constant inscription of you etched around my right ankle, almost as real as the sound of your voice across a crowded dining hall. This is the problem with travelling you see, it doesn’t just broaden your mind, it stretches your soul. It leaves pieces of it scattered under the coconut trees in puerto rico, or buried below the sand at K-rock with our old cigarette butts.

If I knew then how much I stood to gain and lose on that tiny island, would I have turned back. Would I have rewinded it back to my first night, drinking cocktails in your back garden, arguing with your dad that true love exists. That I’d felt it, I’d lived it. Or back to the night we skinny dipped at k-rock, back to them nights on the roof watching the sun come up. So free. So free it was almost frightening.

Or maybe back to the first night at camp. Would I be willing to give up this me for an easier ride. Would I be able to say no, say I’d meet you another time, down by the waterfront or at the drinks machine queue. Would I place my hand over yours, close that gap on the sofa, fast forward the inevitable. Would I take the bus out with you to chase that thunderstorm, you always were braver than me friend. Or maybe I would just get drunk with some friends, watch a girl in cowboy boots get sloppy. Enjoy the details my mind may someday not remember.

This is our first summer since that day apart. Sure we’ll see eachother but it won’t be the same. It won’t ever be that first day. It won’t ever be that first ferry ride, silently gazing across the still water. So unsure about what this adventure would hold. So unaware of the effects of that small patch of land on our lives and so ignorant of the potential a group of “20 something year old kids” might hold.

ps Bryan, this ones for you..