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  • Writer's picturematilde tomat

reserv·ātiō /12

I find it fascinating how nothing changes and at the same time everything changes. Between yesterday afternoon, last night, and this morning nothing has actually changed. My house is still the same, my sofa is still green and comfortable, my kitchen still confusing and crowded with papers, pencils, and colours; my bed is still in my bedroom covered in pillows, a duvet and cats. My food is always in the freezer. The colours are the same. The volumes haven't changed. I listen to the same music, I am surrounded by the same books. My laptop has the same passwords and tabs open. My phone number hasn't changed.

And still...

And still, my awareness and feeling has completely shifted.

I am scared. I am sitting here wondering what the future will bring, and how I will cope with bills coming in and no money or a job. I feel cold. I have retreated inside like a snail, recoiled in, half-breathing, half-living, half-existing. There is part of me that is aware of the outside, another that is highly aware of what goes on the inside. There is a version of me who is outside observing and writing this. I can hear the voices I heard so many other times telling me/myself that everything is going to be ok, not to worry, it's only a couple of months before the PhD begins, something will turn up. And still... I have a long list of things I need to do and I can't find the strength or willingness to do them. I have ideas I spend a huge amount of time structuring and jotting down but nothing that becomes concrete. I know I could shift all of this I am feeling now in a second. I know because I have the tools and I have done it before, but this time feels different.

This time I want to stay here and feel. This time I want to sit here and observe. I want to experience where all of this is taking me, hopefully to a root, a strand of chord that connects me to the past, an old mooring line, that is thin, covered in algae and seaweed and buried deep under the sand but still so strong that it keeps me anchored here. I would like to follow this line, pull it out, and see where it takes me. Look at its anchoring point, notice how old it is, who it belongs to. Find the softest and clearest part to cut it. A clean and neat cut. Surgically made and cauterised so as not to create any infection.

Then I can turn and leave. By taking a first step, I will also be able to leave all of this ballast behind and finally move forward.

onwards + upwards > out + about



Date : 16 OCT 2023

Duration : 01:44:40 - 5.17km

Steps: 7,081

Location : Turton and Entwistle Reservoir

Weather : cold & sunny

T : 12°

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