It’s a question which has been preoccupying me of late. Increasingly so. How selfish — or selfless — should I be?
First, some context.
The primary driver for the question arises from nothing more (nor less!) than the sense of my own mortality, a consideration which is now front-and-centre thanks to my heart scare/condition, something I have been adjusting to and living with for the last twelve months. The consequence of this now ever-present spectre is to wonder — seriously, and for the first time — how many years I have left (or at least, years when I can be ‘effective’). For no other reason that it’s a nice round number, I’ve settled on ten. Well, it’s a place to start even if I could be wildly out… And even if the countdown started last August…
Allied to this preoccupation — and perhaps partly driven because of it — comes a growing sense of intolerance (aka “Grumpy Old Man Syndrome”!). Or perhaps it would be more accurate to describe it as an increasing awareness of what I value, what’s important to me, what I would be happy to proactively expel from my life.
Some examples. Recently we’ve been suffering from late night ‘music’ from a local pub, noise pollution of the worst kind. I don’t see why I should have to be subjected to it. Also, I find myself increasingly disheartened by the urban. We’re currently away on a (disappointing) short break in Lancashire and I’m dismayed by the poverty and decay in some of our post-industrial towns and cities — and struck by a sudden understanding that ‘Politics’ is impotent to resolve many of the issues prevalent in such environments. (But best not get me started on politics…!) Although I don’t currently live in a truly urban environment, the prospect of doing so appals me — and I have lived in some of the UK’s biggest cities: London, Leeds, Bristol, Portsmouth.
I expect there is little of the bucolic — and mythical — rural England left (and only if you can afford it!), but that doesn’t stop me from imaging myself living in an approximation of the same. Part of me hankers after a place in the country, free from noise pollution, near enough to a ‘nice’ town for the necessary amenities (including hospitals!); a place where I am free to try and make the most of the writing talent I have, and to maximise my output while I’m still able to do so. ‘Living the dream’?
I fully expect to fall in love with the splendour of the west of Scotland when we visit in September.
So there’s your context. And the follow-on question is simple: what’s stopping me from fulfilling that dream?
Well, on one level, nothing. There’s all the practical faff involved of course — deciding where to live, finding a place, the buying and selling, the stress of moving — but historically I’ve a degree in the nomadic. Indeed, given what I’ve said before, isn’t there a strong argument for ‘sooner rather than later’?
But joking aside, there’s context part two: commitment to others. I am not a totally independent entity. I have a family I love, commitments to them; they too are on journeys which have their own destinations, ambitions, desires — and fulfilment of some of those relies on me…
So I can’t be that selfish; doing so would be to break something precious (and probably me too in the process). And I’ve always been a consensus kind of an individual. Political democracy may be broken, but it still functions reasonably well in our microcosmic world!
And yet…
So I’ve wondered if there’s a part-way solution; something which ticks the ‘independence’ and ‘writerly’ boxes without destroying the foundations upon which all else is built. Indeed — noise pollution aside — with a few tweaks how close am I to already ‘living the dream’? In the perennial search for greener grass, here are three placebos I’ve considered:
Buying a camper-van and going off on writerly breaks of two or three days, just me and my laptop;
Investing in a little cabin in a forest somewhere not too far away; a writer’s bolthole (a shed in the garden just wouldn’t cut it!);
Jumping on a train every now and then to go and explore new places.
It would be easy enough to sign-up for any of the three above and think you’re done; but then, one way or another, doubt kicks in: 1 - wouldn’t the van end up being a white elephant spending most of its time sitting on the drive? 2 - aren’t the only cabins out there located on depressing caravan or trailer parks? 3 - inevitably these destinations are more likely to be of the urban persuasion, and in general city accommodation isn’t cheap, reliable, enticing etc.
Which brings us back, full circle, to where we started — and the conclusion that there is only one acceptable outcome, but that’s it all a question of timing. And balance. Without the constraints of context two the ‘when’ could easily be ‘tomorrow’; with them, maybe in two or three years…
Or is there another answer I’ve not actively considered? What would you do? What did you do?
And now context three…
I wrote the above in the ‘holiday cottage’ near Burnley. We drove back home this morning. It was not a pleasant drive, particularly the first part through run-down ex-industrial Lancashire towns. And then the M62 wasn’t that great either!
What struck me when we were east of Leeds was the openness of North Lincolnshire; is that representative of the kind of environment I’m after? And then arriving home, to have it reconfirmed that we’ve a really nice house, it fits our needs well, and Lincoln (which is pretty nice as cities go) is within easy reach. Does it matter that Charles Dickens called where we live “the sleepiest town in England” or that there’s the odd ‘bad music night’?
So maybe the moving thing (aka ‘being selfish’) isn’t the problem I started out this post thinking it was — or at least not to the same scale. Maybe the secret (that itch I want to scratch) is in #1, #2 or #3; or in a #4 I just haven’t thought of yet…
To be processed in the background.
Meanwhile I’ve finished the re-edit of that partially finished novel’s 38k words, and now need to plan the remaining sequence of events in more detail — the power of the 5x3 index card!
The thing is that wherever HOME is, there''ll always be the responsibilities and 'chores' to incorporate into the everyday - so even if it's idyllic/bucolic there's still life to run! (We've escaped on a 'road trip' towards Dungeness...) So it's still all about balance I guess. So much easier to say than to live it!
Between a rock and a hard place. I find myself thinking the same lately, though I’m 12 years from retirement. It would be difficult to leave my children (and eventual grandchildren), though finding a quiet retreat is certainly a priority for me. I wish you the best of luck.