Inside Voice

001

Jul 23, 2024

The world of words has felt very far away. I have been out, experiencing countries and cultures and food and weather and people. I have since returned to a home that is mine, but not really. I have come to understandings that we cannot own anything, that no one thing belongs to me. From the perspective of control, this has been daunting. From the perspective of gratitude, this has been reassuring. Friends choose each day to be here. Here (our friendship) may not be forever but it is for now, and that is enough. Anyway, I am back in a place that feels enough like home in this temporary way, and I am writing, gradually. Reflecting, always.

The concept of home is one I struggle with: as tied with identity and belonging along the lines of country and culture; as a thing I inhabit, my body. In response to the former, I feel split between England and Australia, living a dual life. Two time zones, two sets of friends, two houses, and so on. At the moment I feel stagnant in both. My life in Australia continues regardless of my presence. Family members grow older, some friendships grow closer, others drift. The same is true of England, but I am less settled. There is both less and more of my history here. I am restless and yet the prospect of leaving the house feels daunting. I am, above everything, really very tired.

Blame it on the vegetarianism, blame it on the low iron. Blame it on what you like. But I read of a theory recently that splits the soul and body (original, but alas), suggesting that the two move at different rates. I cannot for the life of me remember what it was called, but it was mentioned in the novel All Along the Echo by Danny Denton. I read of the theory whilst solo travelling around Greece and it wasn’t until I returned to the UK that I found it to hold some truth. Although my body was back on English soil, it felt as though some part of me was out in the world, trying to find its way back to me. Or maybe not even trying to, simply moving at a different rate. And waiting for myself to return has felt quite exhausting indeed.

Of course, the interim has been witness to much rest. Between foreign languages, public transport systems, airplane journeys, and shuffling time zones, I have found myself feeling rather thrown about. The world is incredible and ginormous and its capacity for joy and love boundless. But it is also filled with people, fit to bursting. At all times, in all places. Living life in so many different ways. Although this fact alleviates certain strains of loneliness, it also highlights what is absent. And so, the return to suburbia and familiarity has felt needed.

I feel we are convinced by our respective cultures that there is one ‘right’ way to live. Western standards teach us to finish school, enter university, get a job, get married, have children, etc. And that narrative feels so prominent that it can be easy to be lost to it. Lose yourself in it. I can tick the first two off my list, very comfortably. I may even return to university at some point. But the ‘what’s next?’ question leaves a lot to be desired. I am grateful that I get to frame this as a question at all. Not a statement, not a defined destination. There is an uncertainty now to the future, because I have done what I have set out to do. In doing so, in living a life attuned to my own desires and not a common narrative, I have no idea where to go from here. And I will say, following this narrative is a brilliant way to live, if and only if that is the way one’s desires lead. I have witnessed too many find themselves in the throes of this narrative, a life they do not desire. But that’s a different story.

In the meantime, I am trying to focus on the now. On writing more, in whatever capacity. On nurturing the relationships that matter. On building a home within myself. This Substack may go out into the void and reap nothing other than allowing me to write for a time. For myself, if no one else. And that is enough for me.

Next week is back to regular programming. Prepare for more poetry to hit your inbox.

I’ll leave you with a quote from Claire Louise-Bennett’s Pond, one of my favourite reads of the year:

‘Not far away, but beyond the way of return.’