Post travelling comedown.

So, I’m back on British soil after three weeks of meandering around Europe with nothing but a backpack and a smile on my face.

I’m glad to be back, but the combination of the rain; the flat being a mess of paperwork mixed in with laundry; and, most importantly, being told a relative has got terminal cancer has left me feeling pretty, er, mortal after a summer I’d been wishing for since I was a teenager. Feels like that kind of good stuff comes with a bit of a karmic price tag or something.

Yep, I know, that’s stupid and irrational (not to mention incredibly self-centred; I am completely fine after all). No, I’m not wallowing in a pit of woe or anything, but I am thinking a lot about death. How it changes living beings into objects and then matter. How impersonal that biological process is, but how we as humans imbue it with such a weight of emotion and fear. How different an emotional process it is when you know it’s coming as opposed to it being sudden and violent. It’s such a Big Deal when you’re mortal, and yet in an essentially protestant-based society we tend to hide it away behind closed doors, put on a brave face and half-pretend it isn’t happening. It’s almost embarrassing to us.

I say us, maybe I mean me. Hm.


“My heart has joined the Thousand, for my friend stopped running today.”
― Richard Adams, Watership Down

(image inspired by a short story by Sarah Logan –



One response to “Post travelling comedown.

  1. Grief is one of those things that my badly wired brain is comparatively good at dealing with. Comprehending a personal state of nonexistence is as straightforward as remembering that you didn’t exist for around 14 billion years, and once you die you’ll just continue to do just that. It’s not exactly comforting, but at least it silences those niggling questions that always nip at the borders of my brain every time the subject of death comes up.

    For what it’s worth, I hope things get brighter again for you soon. In the mean time, treat yourself to good company, a cup of tea and some form of baked product. My therapist is Mr Kipling.

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