One of the things I am worried as I write is that I am drawing on the emotions and experiences inside me and very soon I am going to be bereft of them and will need to replenish them. I don’t travel much anymore. Mainly because I’ve moved out of the kind of jobs that would get me on the road so that I have a routine, so I can now write. Also because I don’t travel on pleasure anymore; well because my trips are largely curtailed as currently I make just enough money to pay my bills; so I can free up mindspace to write. So I make up for this lack of travel by trying to meet more interesting, new people; people,who I wouldn’t normally meet in my daily life, out of my normal circle. And also by going to new places I haven’t discovered yet in this city. So it’s kind of trying to move out of the comfort zone, except when I am in my den writing. In which case I move into unchartered waters inside. At least I am trying to push myself a little further everyday.
So I am also living vicariously through those who travel. Like a friend who spent a year travelling around the world on a much delayed gap year. And then there’s Hugh Howey, who just sailed his boat around the Cape of Good Hope and will be moving onto other adventures soon.
I have always been aware that the appeal of being an author for me is that it allows me to go on many journeys, inside and outside. But as I write I find I am stripping back layers and becoming more ‘me’ in everything I do. So much so that I pretend less and less as time goes on. It does mean then I am beginning to choose places where I don’t have to be something else. I am choosing to be with people with whom I don’t have to pretend to be something I am not. It means not being somewhere, where I don’t want to be.
It’s less about the ‘I have to do this because’ … and more that ‘I am this’
And then as I become more what I am inside, as I strip out the stuff I don’t want to be, I feel lighter. And there is more space, and I want to create new experiences, new memories, new chapters for myself.