***THIS IS A SPONSORED POST. All neurosis are my own.***
Upon reading this you can be forgiven for suspecting that I’m a complete basket case, but I’m going to let you in on a little idiosyncrasy of mine.
Anyone that has known me for a long time will know that I have these little ‘episodes’ whereby the noise in my head becomes so great, and tsunami like, that the only obvious solution to me is to go to India.
More than once I have been caught in the act of actually packing a suitcase, sometimes in tears, and when questioned about what I’m up to whilst frantically tossing clothes into a bag, my response is –
I’m going to India.
I have no idea why India seems like a solution, perhaps it’s my spiritual home because my grandparents were born there, or perhaps it’s because the noise there would surely drown out the noise in my head?
My head is loud, but India is a cacophony unto itself.
Over the years this urge has come at various different times of my life but it’s usually when I wonder what the hell it’s all about.
I mean, what is it really about?
Do you ever wonder, or am I just weird? I’m ok with being weird, I’ve suspected as much for a time.
Sometimes I get that feeling that I’m just a mouse on a wheel, running my little heart out, but I’m not actually going anywhere.
Nowhere is relative, I guess, but does the mouse think it’s going somewhere when its running its little heart out but the view stays the same?
God, this is not a philosophical blog. Sorry about the weird mouse spiel.
A therapeutic sojourn is not even what is used to be for me anyway. Running away with entourage is not quite as romantic.
What was once a backpack with a couple of pair of knickers, a book and a toothbrush (confession : I never really travelled as light as that. Too vain. I may be a backpacker, but I will not be a smelly, un-stylish backpacker) is now one extremely large suitcase shared between myself and two children who find it physically impossible to wear the same outfit two days in a row due to unruly eating habits.
And that’s just me.
Half the damned suitcase is taken up with disposable nappies and a disassembled MiniMicro scooter AND HELMET, so if you really count the bag space once Ratty and baby Doll are stuffed in there it’s 5/8 of two tenths of stuff all.
Then there’s a travel cot, a pram the size of Texas and of course I’d need a quote for travel insurance, in case I lose one of them.
The accoutrement, I’m referring to, not the children.
These days even my getaway plan is flawed.
The thing is I’m doing more, and achieving more and ticking off goals left right and centre, and yet I still feel as though I’m not doing enough.
I guess sometimes we need to kick back and truly ask ourselves
what is enough?
Perhaps because it’s been a mega couple of months, professionally and personally, and because the end of the year is nigh I’m getting a tad reflective. There’s nothing wrong with taking stock, in fact, it’s good to reassess and look at stuff from time to time so you can see where you’re headed.
It’s also important to see where you’ve been.
To see how far you’ve come.
No matter who you are, or what you’re doing, the only thing that you can bank on is things will always be changing. Anything less is stagnant.
I don’t have a point.
I could say I’m going to vow to take it easier, or be kinder to myself in the New Year, but it’s hollow. I won’t.
But I will endeavour to remember to look at how far I’ve come and remember to say –
Dude, you’re anything but stagnant.
Do you have a runaway fantasy when all gets too much?
Where would you go if you could?
Catching up with my fellow floggers for some FYBF action over at With Some Grace. Yo Mama G!
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