Warning! Highly philosophical content! Not for the faint-hearted!
Sooo, not that I count it, but luckily facebook now does have a
function that reminds you of what you have done last summer. Not that
I wouldn't know otherwise: I came here.
And now that we're at it: last week I signed for another year.
This is the part where you're happy for me! It's good! I'll explain
later why it's good.
On the other hand, this is the time of the year when many people
don't sign for another one, and so June and July are all about
people, colleagues, friends and other individuals coming and going. At
this point it's more the going, and it's really interesting to
observe how each one of them copes with whatever is there to cope
with. It's important to note that this come and go is never a
cakewalk. And no, it does not make it any easier that you have done
it twenty-seven times over. It's like the classic dentist's example:
you know what's coming at you. You know it's for the better, and you
know you have to get through it. But you also know the procedure
itself is not going to be particularly pleasant, and that there is
nothing you can do about it.
So I watch them, and keep thinking, there is nothing new under the
sun. I yet have to figure out what makes us the constant vagabond,
drifter, pilgrim, but it doesn't really matter. I have been on both
ends of the come and go, and I can tell you, it's not a tad bit
easier on either end. It is not easier to leave, it is not harder to
stay. I have tried, this time around again, to be understanding and
compassionate, mainly because I strongly remember those last weeks a
year ago, when I no longer had a flat, a car, a life, a rug under my
feet, and all I wanted was for all of it to be over, for me to
finally be let go. I thought, now I'm the one staying, it is hard
enough for everybody else. I will wake up in the same flat next week,
I will probably drink my coffee from the same mug, and the aubergine
in the canteen will keep being too greasy (it's good though...). And
then at some point I decided there is no point in pretending: it is
just as hard for me as it is for anybody else. The person I will not
talk to while drinking my coffee will be a different one, just as the
one I will complain to about the greasy aubergines. So I'm back to
square one, wishing for this all to be over, and everybody who needs
to, be gone.
Because it's also an important piece of the puzzle that even the
rookie vagabond knows when it's time to go. It's a bit like drinking
water on the Camino: you've been thinking about it for a while, that
maybe you should drink, but then you think nah, I'm stronger than
that, I'll drink when I stop, when I have to tie my shoelaces, when
there is a village. Don't do it! If you only drink when you're
already thirsty, it's too late. And it's similar with leaving. When
you first wonder how it could be somewhere else, it's time to brush
off the dust of that suitcase of yours. You will need it soon. In
either case, don't wait until you're about to throw up.
So bottom line: it's hard to leave and sucks to stay, and yet I
say je ne regrette rien. For my fellow pilgrims, Jamie will have a few
words. And notes.
