I adventure in my mind all of the time. I mean all of the time. Someone once said that the best adventures are always inside your head and he was right. Inside an imagination there are no boundaries created by A N Other. Only I can lay them down and I will never do that to stop me moving on, even if moving on is a lunatic idea, which it often is. Inside my mind I am brave, able, strong and the one who dares to defy the odds. However, when a real adventure beckons, and, by real, I mean one for which I need to pack my bag, I am a right ninny.
Today I catch the ferry for the mainland. The air is calm beneath a sky of cloud whitewash. There is no rising gale, no lashing rain to alarm me. All will be well, and, at the end of all that well-being, I have my daughter and her family to smile me into harbour. Three days of shelter, fun and someone’ else’s cooking. But, do I have the right chargers for the right workhorses? Laptop, phone, music speaker, blue tooth headphones for a talking book and so on. Do I take a big jumper or a small one? Shall I make a sandwich for the drive, or buy one en route? In the grand scheme of things, whatever that means, these questions are fretful nonsense. So what if I forget something? It’s 3 days for heaven’s sake.
At Tapselteerie, I adventured absolutely nowhere other than in my head. Oh what stories I spun, what worlds I visited and ventured through! Nothing went wrong, and, if a wraith appeared I could soon lift myself off the page, relegating said wraith to a nothing space which is where wraiths should be all of the time. In the real world, however, it is not quite so easy. For a start, gravity keeps me affixed to the ground, a definite limitation in the case of a wraith encounter. But my mind is strong, or that is what I tell myself, and this wraith of doom isn’t really standing (or floating) in my path. I look at the roadside flowers instead. They sing a much brighter song and I can sing along with them whereas I won’t even try to emulate the menacing shriek of a wraith. I would just end up with a sore throat and might even, inadvertently, call up a few of its friends.
I believe that being well stuck in this caring bubble is what strips me of wildflowers along my banks. It seems to drain my confidence for even the smallest of things and as for the big things, like driving a hundred miles or so with other cars on a wide road with no end of potential dangers lurking in the trees, I find myself ashake. When life pulls in her skirts and keeps a person contained for years, she brings both a prison and the chance to find (or relocate in my case) the rebel spirit. Seems odd, that, to present both. When a woman is contained for long enough, she will eventually grow sharp teeth and claws. It isn’t that she wants to pick a fight with A N Other, but with herself. The wimp must either tag along or leave the page because adventures are the breath of life to her. How she finds her confidence and her feet is by deciding that both have just been asleep for a while. They need waking up and she still has her voice and her imagination. She can do this. If she can fly in her mind, then she can fly out there and love the fizzing buzz of adventure ,wherever it may take her.
I make a sandwich, pack two jumpers and head for the ferry, grabbing my self-confidence as I go.