"It's perfect" declared Connie when we saw it for the first time. "You can cook an egg, boil water for tea and clean the wine glasses - anything more is unnecessary luxury."
After one of our daily shopping expeditions into town Connie and I took a long walk along Hania’s seafront and I told her I thought I must part from her soon and go on to the next phase in my life. I had been worrying about telling her and had saved it inside until I couldn't wait any longer. Travelling with someone is not always fair. It has helped, magnificently, but I’m hardly an enjoyable companion now that I am trying to plan my future and make decisions about what to do next and how to earn the money to pay for it. Connie has been bankrolling me for the last two weeks and I hate it. She says I more than pay for it with cooking and companionship but I can't do this forever. Nor do I want to. I need to be productive, to produce something. The haggard, bearded, limp and straggly travelers who drift for years on end, living on Greece's beaches and towns, is repellant to me, the worst kind of parasite. To my relief Connie flung her arms around me, saying it was the most wonderful thing I could ever say to her and it was about time and that I will become some famous person and she will read about me and be so proud. She said “You’re always fussing with words and maps. You should be a hydrographer, or a cosmographer. (She constantly amazes me. How on earth does she know these words?) And I see you always scribbling down recipes. You must be a good cook. You should include chef in your list of careers. Call me when you do.”I find to my surprise I do have ambition, although for what exactly is still to be revealed. I don’t want to leave room for second rate. As soon as I find out what I want to do, I will do that. And if I want to do more than one thing, I will do that too. For the first time in a long time I am excited about the future.
Mans' life is measured by the work, not days.
No aged sloth but active youth hath praise.
Andrew's death has sent me forth with more inner strength and courage then I ever knew I had. I couldn’t see it before. I didn't really care what happened to me, so long as I could escape the pain of living in familiar locations and being aware of the pain within. Traveling allowed me to focus on external things and cover the agony in my heart with distraction. I know now why I left home for this wandering time. The last thing I wanted was pity, purring words and soulful looks from friends and family and people I didn't even know, sympathy rather than empathy, that would make me well up and feel as if I had to perform some feat of life I was incapable of. Cry without stopping. Lose control. I couldn’t bear being the centre of attention that way.
Let me stride out and think and work my brain. Let me berate the universe while tramping over the earth, tripping and falling occasionally but proceeding. Let me cry a storm and fill myself with honest feelings I don’t hold in for other’s sakes. Let distraction be provided with new places, activities, timetables, understanding new languages, trying new foods. Let me walk and ride and sail and run and drive and fly. I need to move! I never did like spiders, but cobwebs I like even less. And now I’m ready, not just to move, but to move forward.
There was a full moon tonight, and as I went to the bathroom down the hall I caught sight of it through the window. Its light made me catch my breath and I stood there by the open window, breathing in the intoxicating fragrance of night, feeling that tingly pain beauty brings. Life can be good. What it took away from me it also gave me – the grief I feel now is matched by the love I felt before. The joy I have had far outweighs this pain, however impossible it sometimes feels. Time really might be a great healer. Shame it is such a lousy anaesthetist.
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