I dream that I am on a train.
At first, the train is just a means to an end – I am stuck on it, I am escaping something else – but then my subconscious realises the glorious potential that being on a train can offer.
No more bad weather, failed connections and terrifyingly dark, mostly subterranean and criminal stations. (By the way, is it only my subconscious that discusses marmite sandwiches with chess-playing gangsters?)
Suddenly, being on a train is about vistas, landscapes and wide, open spaces; a whole other type of escape. There is possibility.
I remember how much I used to love to journey.
Today, every leaving of the house is a palaver, a logistical nightmare; is reminiscent of planning an Arctic expedition.
But I still long to travel.
I want to be somewhere, anywhere.
A lot of the time, I crave the excitement, the expectation of going somewhere. I always love to plan, to research.
Oh, the thrill of being somewhere new. A freshness to the eyes.
Neuropathy is not the only itch my feet experience. I am often restless. But perhaps that restlessness comes from being overwhelmed. I want to escape the pressures, the burdens, the stresses of the here and now.
It’s easy to believe that the grass is greener just over there. Keep looking for something better. Perhaps it’s a useful instinct, sometimes, but, boy, can we go into overdrive on it. It can be hard to settle, to be satisfied. Content.
Sometimes I am desperate to get away. But why? And to where? And how? And then what?
We could always live our lives zooming from one thrill to another, one adrenaline rush to another but I’m not sure that it really does us any good. Mongrel Beast, especially. Because after the high? Is the reality. And, unfortunately, that’s where we live.
And perhaps ‘unfortunately’ is just further evidence of that attitude problem. Contentment means peace and that can only be a good thing.
It does mean that I have to accept, make peace with, be at peace with whatever each day’s reality brings. Is there good in everything? It sounds very Pollyanna-ish. Perhaps not in every little thing but perhaps in the bigger picture. I am resting. I am looking after myself. No more adrenaline surges or blood sugar wobblies or constant eating in desperate pursuit of a little energy. I am managing this disease. I am alive and sometimes, even living. There’s a lot to be grateful for, actually. I need to take a deep breath and forget the lure of the novel, the different, the distant. I am here, I am now. I can be content with that.