a drifting thought

Reflecting on our trip, Ithaca comes to mind first. Ithaca had a strange quality to it, that I loved, and was hard to qualify. It was a sense that no one there was all too bothered by outside events and a sense of pride in this fact. Perhaps, coming from the extremely touristy enclave of Fiskardo, this stood out much more than had we come straight from Meganisi. Perhaps part of why we loved Meganisi was a similar feeling. An isolated island feeling, where it’s not all palm trees and warm seas, but just life that is mostly unperturbed by the cliches of trends and has the usual amount of grit: where magical olive tree groves are next to rubbish bins, and the odd luxurious holiday villa is next to the herd of goats. 

It was easy to believe how the concept of the gods in Olympos just above was so powerful. From island to island and peaks to peak, mountains rose in the eye-line in a not impossible way. More a way that gave you a sense that you could, almost, reach the top if you really wanted. And that life was looked on by these peaks. Surrounded by other islands and cloud topped heights, you could feel almost like you are living your life in a bowl, a beautiful shimmering bowl of course. Is there something comforting about feeling encircled? Yet, it does not feel claustrophobic (she says, knowing a few weeks holiday is of course not the same as living there).

 In contrast, London can feel like a puddle of sludge and indeed even the countryside, where you carve out a piece of quiet to rise separate from the tiredness that could otherwise pin you down. It’s the well documented paradox of the busy workers making money to crave the silence in the places where they would not have had the same opportunities perhaps. The ‘toxic’ city lifestyle, enables you to then go and have this vision of rural idyll, that can only exist when you visit in small doses with disposable income and will always bely the honest difficulties living in such a place permanently can bring. But, is this really true? Is this just what we tell ourselves, to convince ourselves that the best approach is to work hard, spend money on holidays (but you would never want to live there always darling…) and do what we think we must. What if we have got it all wrong and. Is growing up realizing that you need to be brave to decide what many hold to be ‘true’ is not the same for yourself. Exercising choice feels increasingly polarised these days.  

Sometimes I can see threads of a new life and possibilities unspooling faster than my imagination can keep up. And it fills me with optimism for how human connection and enterprise could and can be wonderful sources of good. Other times I feel paralysed by the imagined judgement from others. That I would be so ungrateful as to question my privileged london ‘by the book’ life, who do I think I am. That people hate those like me who decamp to their quiet paradises, thinking they are the first to want to ‘escape’ from the city life. Curiosity seems to be a dammed word these days. Admitting you just want to lead a happy life, be happy, seems toxic. You invite the ridicule of how can you imply ‘this’ is not happy. I have my own issues with this due to unresolved trauma from a mentally ill parent: I’ve been conditioned to believe that because I have x y and z in comparison to others, I must do as I am told. But, ignoring this factor, I am not alone in this feeling. I hear glimmers of similar sentiments through many conversations with my friends, through the way travel bloggers now feel they need to justify every air mile, from the way the internet is full of people ready to tear down anyone the second there is a whisper of anything that could be extrapolated to ingratitude and hypocrisy.  The world is an increasingly scary place, with the overabundance of information bringing an overabundance of pros and cons, opinions, to anything you stumble through. The ability to shrug off other’s opinions, or to be confident enough to sit with disapproval, whether that be resenting someone else’s perceived privilege or sitting with feeling bad about your own… is fading fast. 

So as we scootered around the Ionian Islands, planning our year of future travel, my feelings were not straightforward. However ultimately I know I am happy to make the decisions for us to value our lives, to not waste them worrying about others opinions. I just need at time, a lot, of support to get there, and the voice in my mind will not give me an easy ride with this. Mine is hardly a tough burden to bear, and even in writing this disgust is bubbling up that I would voice such anxieties. 

No doubt what is so freeing about visiting places where you can just anonymously live your life, is that freedom from expectations. The laid back and independent experiences we had on Ithaca and Meganisi inspired me to be more assertive with how I want my own life to be. For that reason amongst many others, we were so lucky to spend time there after a 2 year mashup of psychiatric facility briefings, work burn outs and wedding logistics. Time to really think about us, what do we want to do with the rest of our lives and the values to sustain us as a new family unit.