A – Page 7 – The Quiet Radical

Lately there’s been something so traumatic about travel. I don’t know what it is, probably just me being stuck in a cosy mossy swamp that is my comfort zone. Probably just this idea of giving up control, and be at the mercy of airlines, railroads, and people I’ll be staying with. Whatever it is, one thing is certain – my flight departs in about 7 hours, so that means that I need to be at the airport in 5, leave in 4, I’ll be gone for two weeks, and not a smidgen, not a modicum, not a stroke of fuck was given about the packing. Granted, I don’t have much to pack. My t-shirts are still drying, my souvenirs are few by the request of recipients, I plan on taking one pair of additional footwear. I could probably stuff all that shit in my ‘personal item’ if I were so willing.

I could be done with it in 10 minutes.

I read somewhere that we procrastinate on shit and self-sabotage ourselves, because it gives us the illusion of control over the outcome. I don’t do anything, so nothing will get done. Bam. This sounds backwards, but this is also very true. The familiar outcome of ‘shit didn’t change’. If shit changes, it will be unfamiliar. If I do something, even if I control the ACTION of DOING IT, the OUTCOME is going to be DIFFERENT from BUGGER ALL CHANGED. And that is terrifying.

But isn’t that what I want? A different outcome to ‘fuck-all happened’.

I’ll think about the gravity of this discovery as I’ll be packing up the three pairs of underwear and DSLR.

In other, yet still related, news – each act of travel has been accompanied by an all-nighter lately. Shouldn’t a traveller be well-rested before their jolly exploration of new places? And I’m not 18 any longer, I can’t run on redbulls and goodwill. I can’t even run on espressos, green smoothies, and a prayer. Like in all the good memes, I need a special pillow and a triple dose of melatonin.

(Which has just reminded me to add medication to the three pairs of underwear and DSLR that I plan on packing.)

Yet here I am. I might just sleep the 2 hours that it takes to arrive in Berlin. Then I might sleep 1 hour on the train to my ultimate destination, though that’s a little bit more dangerous, in more way than one.

It’s 6 o’clock, so it’s official – I need to start packing.

I’d like to have some sort of a column where I would list all the small and basic things that bring me joy in the every day life. I notice them as it is, but I figure sharing would be akin to writing a gratitude list. So here is volume one. My goal is to write these at least twice a month. I’d wager there will also be repeats, as some of the things that bring me joy are systematic. Like, for example…

Nail polish

Mine is a very bright blue this week. I haven’t painted my nails in a long while, so this was a welcome change.

That first sip

Just like the cups say. First sip of a coffee you love is the best. Ah, glamourised addiction.

Potted flowers

I’ve been adding some plant friends to my sills and shelves, and this last one has been keeping me especially cheerful. It’s a begonia, and it looks wonderful. I have to keep it out of the reach of cats, as begonias are poisonous, but thankfully this particular plant enjoys indirect bright light, so I can just keep it on the shelf above my desk where my cats don’t go.

My pink sunglasses

Pink is by far not my favourite colour, but I love these sunglasses. Perhaps because the frame is the most subtle thing about them, and the reflective lenses are more green and yellow than anything else.

A good book

This year has been a decent reading year in terms of volume so far, but not so much in content. My current read is My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She’s Sorry by Fredrik Backman. This book and I had a rocky start, but it gets much better after about 5-6 chapters. I’m really glad I didn’t drop it. You can find this book by Fredrik Backman here on Amazon/ Google Books.

(Yes, I’m wearing HP pyjamas in this photo.) If you’re unfamiliar with the plot of My Grandmother Asked Me To Tell You She’s Sorry – it’s a story of a young girl Elsa whose grandmother dies, and leaves behind a sort of a quest for her granddaughter. It’s a journey of self-discovery and growth for the child, as well as the people around her. The telling is intertwined with a lot of allegory and metaphor from Elsa’s and her grandmother’s personal mythology. As the “quest” progresses, Elsa discovers that a lot of this ‘myth’ is based in reality.

As mentioned, the first couple of chapters didn’t do it for me, but after I moved to chapter 8 or so, this book became the only thing I think about. I hope to finish it this weekend.