Decisions, decisions

It's the impact I'm most interested in when it comes to decisions. On me. On those around me. On my time. On their time.

There have been lots of decisions to make recently about my life and our life. Even when you need to make a personal decision, you are a fool if you don't consider the nearest and dearest. If you share your life with someone, there is no need to include them in the decision over what to have on your toast. But leave them out of other stuff (job, money, health, travel) and your decisions, while very much your own, have an unkempt feel about them.

I know this because I have tried doing it. It came back, bit me right on the arse and I have learnt, that even decisions deemed to be solely yours, have consequences beyond your mental meandering.

Some decisions right now are becoming bolder in my everyday landscape. Some months ago, my friend Maria and I decided to sign up for Cruce de los Andes, a 3-day 100km race through the Andes mountains from Chile to Argentina. It was something that, after our first marathon together, we had set our hearts on. The decision wasn't a difficult one, but it was important that I made it with her. There is no one else I can do this with. No one else who gets me and the importance of this adventure. There is no one else I would, even, do it with and it was a 'now or never' decision that neither of us, I believe, will live to regret.

The race will take place in February. Mentally, it started back with the booking and physically it started once my leg had recovered. Today I ran my first 10km in 8 months and all the while I was thinking about the decision to do this challenge and how it will impact on life from now on; dark nights through the winter, training talk, nutrition and long distance support with Maria, and saying no to things when there are stairs to climb or hills to run.

Another major recent decision has been about my work, and this has really taught me the value of making decisions with those around you. The implications of my doing this or that on our rather topsy-turvy life at the moment is one I had to include. And the basis of the decision was one we both shared: happiness and sanity. As Martín will have decisions to make in the coming months after he flies past interview after interview, so it will be that I help him and consider those important things that aren't just counted in euros or pounds. If not, the decisions become illogical. I can't think of a position and paycheck without thinking about place and person.

I've always found it easy to make decisions and have usually been confident enough to run with them and 'see what happens'. Having consulted more, however, I have a feeling that the ones I have made recently will bear a lot more fruit because my tree is so much more grounded with supporting roots.

I can bend with the wind, but I bounce back.

Up where we don't belong

When I was 11, I wanted to be a pilot. It stayed with me for two years, until I realised I was much better at writing than physics; at talking than flying.

And now, I sit on my couch and watch the new British Airways advert. Goosebumps crawl across my arms. What would it have been like to fly with the wind in your hair? How would it have been training to lift all those tonnes off the ground and into the air? Could I really have become a captain?

I watch that advert and its romance makes me hold my breath. The first time I saw it, I was entranced. From the first scene of the man in that open-topped flying machine, I said to myself, Please be British Airways.

The magic of flying has never left me. It's not just that scientists never really understood how planes got in the air until relatively recently; or how they design those trays of food so everything fits within inches; or the walk of the crew as they stride along with their smart suitcases, imaculate and self-assured.

It's the possibility of the impossible. National Geopgraphic recently ran a front cover, Can we fly? http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2011/09/personal-flight/shute-text The dream will never go away.

I am fortunate enough to have a recurring dream about flying. It comes round about once every year, and it's exactly the same as the first time I dreamt it around the age of seven. I am flying over the estate I used to live on. It's a sunny day and I simply swoop over all the little pacthes of garden and cottages. It's exhilarating.

However, we came from the sea. Some 3.8 billion years ago life began there. Many of us live on islands. We are surrounded. The need to swim is therefore great. I couldn't imagine a life without seeing water, especially the ocean, and want to get wet. It pulses through our bodies, our cells.

And yet; that British Airways advert fills me with the nostalgia of flight. It was even the subject of my first prize winning poem when I was eight (see below).

But we don't belong there. I must keep my feet firmly on the ground. I will never be a British Airways captain.

I'll just keep dreaming.

FLIGHT OF FANCY

One night I was dreaming
I was flying like a concorde.
I could touch the clouds.
I could see the lord.

I said, "Could you pinch me
To see if I'm flying?"
The lord said, "You're dreaming."
I said, "But I'm trying."

"Trying what?" said the lord.
"I'm trying to fly," I said.
When all of a suddent as if by magic
I woke up in my bed.

To view the British Airways advert see: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4JdQi60an0&feature=relmfu

Picture credit: Nic Morrish

Seeing the sea

I am having withdrawal symptoms.

A couple of weeks ago I had spent the whole day at a little beach on the south coast of France. The sea was warmer than the gigantic swimming pool. It was clearer and a lot more interesting. Fish swarmed and swayed with us as we bobbed, heads down, being part of their underwater world.

The beach was a little cove. The same people who had discovered it on previous days had come back. We were all part of the same family. This was our beach.

The sun was hot. The only sounds were the lapping of the waves as they reached the feet of the fat man on the shoreline.

Why does the ocean give us such as sense of peace? Especially as we know the damage it can wreak. I used to live with the sea on my doorstep. It wasn't the azul paradise I've just described. It was the Wash: an often churning brown colour, dark and dismal. And yet, it didn't really matter if it was thrashing at the sea wall, or looking like mirrored glass - a green, flat sheet which stretched between us and Lincolnshire - the sight of it always made my morning. Throwing back the curtains, stepping out on the way to work and seeing its mood was part of lightening mine.

It is no coincidence that Martín and I have a dream to retire to a small French island in the Atlantic, which by seasons has different relations with the sea. In summer, shining coved beaches host lazy days and crystal clear swims. In winter, the Atlantic rages at the savage coast, thrashing against one side of the island with fury and passion.

Passion is a good word for the sea. People that live near it don't realise their passion for it until it's not there every morning, silent and moody; or when they return from work, coasting gently to greet them.

I definitely need to find a job which allows me to sit on cliffs/beaches/mermaids' beds and do my stuff for most of the day.

The sea is inspiration. It is life. And I miss it.

Love

On 1 September four years ago, I met someone who was to change my life. Indeed, has changed my life. And will probably continue to change my life.

I don't believe that there is one person in the world for everyone. As we reach a world population of 7 billion this year, it is difficult to accept that only one mate exists; that there is only one love for each person. Ever.

Because love can end. Love can change. New loves are born. That's one great thing about love, it's very much like life: neverending circles of highs, lows, births, deaths and births again.

But that can also happen within love. After 10 weeks apart, and just after our fourth anniversary, my boyfriend will be coming back to London in 2 days' time. I am so excited to see him. It seems so much has happened over these past few months, that in some aspects our relationship, our love, will start again somehow. I tingle just thinking about it.

And when I think back to that time four years before and all the things we have done, said and seen, I can only hope and that the love we have now is one that changes, rises, dips and is reborn again and again; but that it does remain that which seems so hard to comprehend - my one true love.

words for london: week of august 6-13 2011

riot. shame. violence. abuse. fear. horror. disorder. flames. unrest. savages. wilderness. confusion. evil. panic. pandemonium. smoke. weakness. problem. danger. loneliness. isolation. ignorance. fire. naivety. mess. attack. darkness. tears. blood. revenge. humiliation. pain. disrespect. rage. anger. death.

loss. questions. disbelief.

hope. cleanliness. light. friendship. stamina. faith. support. strength. smiles. openess. security. calm. defence. punishment. pride. search. tranquility. scars. vigil. rightousness. goodness. clarity. solidarity. peace. vigour. power. depth. respect. dignity. protection. trust. reinforcement. encouragement. community. answers. togetherness. solution. love. life.

love.
life.
london.

Someone else's nicer doorstep?

"That sea is not blue. It is not clear. It is a little green maybe." Mehmet shakes his head. He is the owner of the hotel we are staying in; an amiable, chilled out guy, who loves the quiet life in the country and talking to people who come from all over the world to visit his beautiful spot on the Black Sea.

To us, it is a stunning blue and when we dive into it and still see our feet and the sandy bottom, it is heavenly clear. It's also warmer than Mehmet's swimming pool.

Some days previously, we had been sitting out on the street on a balmy Istanbul night, talking with Sebastian, the owner of the small restaurant, where mezze kept arriving along with the wine.

"It's wonderful, a beautiful city," we answered when he asked what we thought of his home town.

"Really? You like?"

Why are we always surprised to find that visitors take to that which we know so well with more love, wonder and enthusiasm? While Mehmet was comparing the sea on his doorstep to the even hotter climes in southern Turkey, we had come to it from the often brown and muddy Norfolk Wash, where you would  be pushed to see your hand held just under the surface. To us it was paradise.

Sebastian, who every night stands on the street drinking vodka and trying to get punters to pull up a chair and eat his kebabs probably thinks that with our fine dining in London, why would we be happy with a couple of slices of aubergine?

I remember when Señor George, my father-in-law first went into my bedroom at my parents' house, where he would be staying a couple of days during their visit this March.

"Why would you want to leave here to go to Buenos Aires?" he exclaimed.

We laughed it off, but throughout the next two days showing them slices of north-west Norfolk, I tried to see it all through their eyes: the shining yellow fields, the green mermaid's beds, the great Sunny Hunny sunset, my mum's garden and cooking, the dark wooden inside of our local pub with views across the dunes.

They were right, my in laws: my childhood doorstep is stunning.

Back in Turkey, we marvelled at it all: the calling to mosque five times a day, the fresh fish, the colourful markets and curious streets full of bizarre shops, the dolphins, the strong tea and soup for breakfast.

Because that's what you do on someone else's doorstep - you take back the wonders which you know are the reasons they live there.

Even if they don't know it.

Change

A change could do you good.

This is almost always true. I used to think that constant changes, disruptions to the routine, upsetting the flow, were positive, creative and useful. They would stop us becoming grey beings infested with same-dom. Swapping sides of the bed every now and again would relieve the itch; buying a colour completely unsuitable would make you born again; simple changes or big changes, the thing was to change.

And by doing so, you would never be scared of it.

I remember talking to my then fairly new boyfriend about places to live in the world. "Could you live here, here, there, here?" he asked me, reeling off far flung, inhospitably perceived countries. My reply was always the same.

Yeah, I really think I could.

Being flexible, adaptable is always seen as a good thing as well.

But it also means that whenever the new 'new' comes in, it's put on your desk.

And too much change doesn't let you breathe. There can be change for change's sake which is tiresome and exhausting. When change becomes boring, it is kind of defeating the purpose, isn't it?

I need to rest.