Journey Of A Broken Heart!

About 8 years ago, I was looking for a new place to live. Where I had been living for the first 12 years of my time in Melbourne, had become ridiculously over-priced in Brunswick East. I was working, at the time, in Kensington, and so I thought I would find somewhere in the area would be handy, especially for avoiding traffic. One of the places that I inspected was in Footscray, on Ballarat Rd. I knew pretty well as soon as I walked through the place that it wasn’t for me, but I kept on looking around, because one of the other rent-seekers was looking kind of hot, and even more to my surprise, occasionally looked back. However, me being me, missed the opportunity (or that’s what I thought, at the time).

One year down the track, I’d found my new home in Ascot Vale Road, and was visiting a local beat, when a sexy looking fella happened to show up. We played for a bit before he suggested going back to his place where we could have more fun in greater comfort. He gave me the address. I had a few things to do before I could arrive, and told him I would be there in an hour or so. When I arrived at the address, I realised it was the same place that I had looked at a year previously. Then it dawned on me: he was the same hot fella that had also been looking at it! That day, and well into the night, we had some great fun, and appeared to connect on more than just a physical level, as we both loved movies, especially science fiction. For a year, off more than on, I would drop by every now and again where, more often than not, we would just talk and watch movies, but on a couple of occasions, we would play … okay, fuck! On just about every occasion after the first few, I indicated that I was interested in more. I was never encouraged into thinking that there was more on offer, but then neither was I discouraged. I wasn’t told that it was just a sex thing, because it there had only been sex twice in that year. So, naturally, it wasn’t really a relationship of any kind, just an acquaintanceship with benefits. So it was my own fault that I began imagining and hoping for something that wasn’t there, and when I happen to run into him at the beat, almost a year to the day, and suggest that we go back to his place, he just came out and said, “I can’t do this anymore!” It was never made clear what ‘it’ was, but I never got to see him anymore. I was devastated. My heart was broken!

To be fair, though, he had a few things that he was going through. He was interested in someone else, who from the sounds of it, had been stringing him along whilst being in an ‘on-again/off-again’ relationship, and there were health issues that he had to deal with. Unfortunately, he chose to go after the other fella, who was playing him, rather than me, who would have loved him.

But I didn’t give up hope! There were a few online sites (smart phones and apps weren’t really a thing at this stage), that I knew he was on. Every six to eight months, I would send a couple of messages, hoping that all was well with him and that life was treating him well. Never a reply, but to be honest, I wasn’t really expecting one, let alone for him to come running back into my arms, realising the mistake he had made in letting me go.

About 3 or 4 years later, I was at Highpoint Shopping Centre and thought I saw a familiar face. I did my best stalker imitation (which can be REALLY good when I have my sights set on someone … maybe TOO good??) and followed him for a few seconds to confirm if I was right. I was. I approached and said g’day. Went in for the hug and immediately noticed how much weight he had lost. Regardless of that, I still found him to be very sexy. It’s something about his eyes, his smile and his face. He’s one of those people that just draws people to him, regardless of if they are good or bad for him. It was only a one minute re-connect, if that, but it put a smile on my face for the rest of the day. (I think at this stage, you’re probably thinking that I am beyond hopeless romantic, and just plain mental!)

That then brings us up to last year. It was about that time, around July, that I happened to notice that he was on the same website that I had known him to be on all that time ago. I sent a message, hoping that all was well, and if he was interested, maybe we could catch up for a coffee sometime, to which I meant … catch up for a coffee and chat. For those that don’t know (and I’m not sure if it is the case these days, I’m so not in the game … that I really think I was ever in it!), but ‘catching up for a coffee’ on these kinds of sites generally meant a hook-up for sex. Much to my surprise, he responded and said it would be great. But even with this reconnection, he still took a month to finally come around, still having a few medical issues, and drama in his life with his then flatmate. And then it happened. He came over to my place and stayed overnight, and it was good. I didn’t sleep much: not because of hours of sex, but just being unused to having someone else in my bed. It had been more than a decade since I had had someone sleeping with me overnight (not to say that I hadn’t had any sex in that time, I had, but very little of it at home, and none that stayed over). On September 11, we exchanged “I Love You!”. For me it had been 8 years in the making, and he said it first because he felt that I deserved to hear it first. I’m not sure if the date was portentous, but time was soon to tell.

We spent the next 6 months seeing each other and spending time together, more at his place than mine, as his was a much better set up. I’ve still got an old analogue TV that I use just to watch my dvds on (going to have to change that soon, as I just bought a new, but cheap, blu-ray dvd player), and it is only a 24” screen (huge compared to what I had been using previously, and when I bought it … almost 20 years ago!) There were a few times that he mentioned that he was scared of the connection that we had, but couldn’t really explain what was so scary about it. There were the occasional times he would cancel a sleep over or a visit as he was still too much in his time and needed to just have the day to himself. He also explained that during the years that he had been an escort (of which he still did on occasion, just not while his leg was healing) that he had become desensitised to sex, so while he wouldn’t always initiate it, he wasn’t against having it. These things I got, I understood. (There is/was a lot more going with him that I haven’t explained as it would make this even longer than it is, and it’s easier to say that there were still some issues present which I empathised with, if not fully understood.)

On the bright side, we did get to spend all the major days together: both of our birthdays, Christmas, New Year’s, St. Valentine’s Day (but in hindsight, I wonder how genuine that was, or was it perhaps the last genuine time before things came crashing to an end?)

It was on Easter Sunday,April 16, 2017 that I got completely knocked for a six. Being the ‘single’ fella at work, ie. not married and with kids and a family, I was informed that I would be working on the Sunday, but because Monday was a public holiday, I would be able to have that off. My work time was 1530 – 2330. I finished work at 0730 Saturday morning, went home and changed, got a few things together and then went over to his place. We spent the night together, watching movies, cuddling, as per normal. I eventually fell asleep, and he kept on rattling around the house (he’s on a disability pension and has his sleep patterns skewed all over the place!) I made us an Easter breakfast on Sunday morning, having secreted a few Easter gifts around the bedroom when he’d gone to the toilet during the night, hoping that he would be too sleepy to notice them until the morning. I was successful! Then it came time for me to go to work. I left early enough so that I would get there with time to spare (as is my wont), which was easy as it was only a 15-20 minute walk from his place. I finished at 2330 and walked back to his place. He had cooked a roast the previous day, so there were leftovers for me to make a sandwich with when I returned. We lay down to watch some TV, and due to my work schedule which had been in place for a few months, I was feeling pretty knackered (Wed/Thurs: 2130 – 0900, Fri: 2130 – 0730 and normally Monday 0600 – 1230. As I mentioned, this time, however, for the Sunday, it was 1530 – 2300). So, lying back, I was feeling fairly drowsy. He got up to go to the kitchen or the toilet and when he came back, he asked if I could go, as he needed his head space. I asked if he wanted me to sleep in the other room, which he said, “You could sleep in there, but no, I need to be by myself tonight. I need my head space!” So at approximately 0130 – 2000 Easter Monday morning, I was getting dressed, ordering an Uber and leaving like I was some trade that had been picked up and was overstaying their welcome. Even as I was getting dressed, I asked, “Are we breaking up?”, but I wasn’t given a specific answer, just a reiteration of the ‘head space’.   

For the next week, I didn’t see him, but we were texting relatively as per usual. No phone calls, but texts. He expressed gratitude to being given the space and we arranged to catch up again the following Sunday. This we did, and it was then that the official break up happened. Easter Sunday was the technical breakup (I’m yet to know when the actual break up happened, but I’m hoping that I’ll be able to get some questions answered soon.) It didn’t come as surprise, but it still hurt like hell. He told me that with all that was going on with his family at the moment, and his health issues at the moment (currently they are listed as: a shoulder surgery that should have occurred in March still has to happen, a haematoma on his left foot, a fractured tibia and meniscus tear on the right leg, and just recently being told that he has a cataract in his left eye that isn’t covered by his Health Insurance and will cost $3,000 for private, or over a year waiting on the public health system, so yeah, I did get that he had these issues) he needed this space. He then went on to tell me that he wasn’t sure that he could really do relationships, that he was more of a loner, that he had been in bad 6 month relationships and a bad 6-year relationship that should have only lasted months. Of course, there were tears, mainly from me, but at least his eyes welled up a little, so there may have been some feeling there. To rub it in, he said that I was still the kindest man he’d ever met.

I don’t know about you, but I left there feeling hurt (read: wrecked!) and confused. There were questions that I should have asked, but wasn’t in the right mind (any mind!) to be able to formulate them, let alone ask them. It took a few days, but I was able to put them down in an email. I didn’t send it straight away, as I wanted to get it right, but on the other hand, I didn’t want to wait too long and tinker with it too much, as I wanted it to be as honest, forthright and accurate as I could. I knew if I waited too long, my mind would reshape the memories (for better or worse) and it would less clear. I sent the email 3 weeks ago, and sent a text to as a heads up, letting him know that it wasn’t sent out of vindictiveness, attempted guilt-tripping or anger … just as a desire to know. He said he would read it and get back with a timely reply as soon as he could. Throughout the ensuing time, I was checking my emails, of course, but also checking out the site that we were both on. I noticed that his activity on it was becoming more frequent until this weekend passed, he was on it for most of the weekend.

Today, May 16, he was supposed to go to the Fracture Clinic for a check up on his knee. After receiving the official break-up, I had asked if he would still like me to come to his next appointment with him. His reply was, “If you want to.” It wasn’t a no, it was up to me. I’d been with him through this since the start, so of course I was interested to see how his leg was progressing and what the latest prognosis was. I was also aware that this would probably be the last time that I would be going to his appointments.

I realised from the start that I was setting myself up for a good deal of hurt, but it had to be done, as part of my closure. I didn’t remind him that I was coming over for the doctor’s appointment, mainly so that I could arrive and see if there was someone else there, but also, I didn’t want to give him the chance to say no. My thinking was that should there not be anyone there, then at least we could have a talk so that I could know that if there was something I had done wrong, what it was, so that I could at least not make the same mistake/s in the future. I caught the bus, disembarked at the appropriate stop and walked to his house. I knocked on the window, as was the norm because he kept his screen door locked and he spent most of his time in the bedroom anyway. I waited at the front door and then heard the bedroom door open. He opened the front door, but not the screen door (which anyone on the outside can’t see through). He told me that he had someone over and that we would talk later. I asked him if he had his appointment today, but he said that he had called and rescheduled … and then some other stuff, but I wasn’t really hearing it at that stage. He thanked me, and I left. I’ve sent a message hoping that we can sit down and have an honest, face-to-face talk so that I can get some closure, find out what went wrong, what did I do wrong? I told a friend that I was sure that he would be seeing someone within two months of us breaking up, maybe not in a relationship sense, but seeing someone, because, as mentioned earlier, he has this aura about him that draws people to him.

The questions I hope to have answered are:

• ·         At what point did the relationship go south? If he truly meant what he wrote in the Valentine’s Card, what happened between February 14 and April 16 for things to break down. What did I do? What didn’t I do?
• ·         When he said that he didn’t think he could do relationships and that he was desensitised to sex, was that in general, or just in my case?

And, of course there are the other questions like was he seeing anyone else while we were together (I understood that he still needed to do escorting to raise extra cash to live on, and I was fine with that). Was it the fact that I had said that, outside of the escorting, I hoped for a monogamous relationship, but I did ask what he wanted. I can’t recall what exactly he said (something about so long as his man came home to him, I think), but he never really said any more than that, one way or the other.

I don’t get out on the scene much, as even when I did, I never really felt that I fit in. As far as the apps and sites go, I gave them a try, 10 years or so ago, but in the gay world, when you are an average looking fella (I’m not ugly but I’m not handsome/attractive … the most common word used for me is ‘nice’) and approaching 50, the odds are significantly reduced. Due to my work hours (Hospitality previously and overnight call centre now) I’ve never been able to enjoy a regular social life and be able to join groups to meet people. I know that’s partly my issue and it’s not all to blame on the ‘scene’, the ‘community’, etc. Even before we re-connected, I’d been thinking that if I was going to ever have a shot at a relationship, it would be with him, but now that that is been shot down in flames, I can’t see it happening. I’ve been in Melbourne for 20 years this coming November, and in that time, I’ve had 5, now, affairs? encounters? flings? that have lasted no more than 6 months. That’s basically one every 4 years, and with a couple of them, I’d met them previously and didn’t actually get to connect until years later. I’ve had no such connection of late to hang my hopes on.  And if his previous relationships have been anything to go by, apparently, I need to become a self-centred, abusive prick to be successful. I know that if I really try, I can be a bit of a prick sometimes, but definitely not abusive and hopefully no more self-centred than most people.

This has been my journey through the rubble of a broken heart!

A 'Gay' Week!

It's been a 'gay' week, this week just gone. Or should I say gayer?

It started with me seeing Holding The Man, the film adaptation of Timothy Conigrave's award winning memoir of the same name. I'd only just discovered that the film had been made less than a week previously. While I wasn't disappointed with the film, the performances and portrayals were beautifully and starkly presented, I did feel that I didn't have the emotional response that I was expecting to have. I remember, vaguely, being more touched by the book, but then that was 20 years ago, not long after it was published, so maybe time had tainted my recall. I decided to re-read the book, to see what, if any, difference I found this time around. I'd actually bought the book (Holding The Man, as well as Christo Tsiolkas Loaded) a few months previously so that I had them in my collection (the copies I'd read belonged to my ex, shortly after they had been published).

As I read (Monday night through to Thursday night, and then Loaded Thursday night through to Saturday morning), I decided to re-watch a few of the gay movies I have (no, NOT porn!). As is my wont, when I start something with a pattern to it, I need to see the sequence all the way through (I won't just buy a book in a series, I need to buy the whole series!)

The movies that I have, and watched, are as follows, in viewing order: The Birdcage; Priscilla, Queen of the Desert; The Rocky Horror Picture Show (okay, not so much gay, but definitely adventurous!); Jeffrey; Beginners; East Side Story; The Men Next Door; We Were Here; The Visitor; Sexual Tension: Volatile; Bad Boy Street; From Beginning To End; Ciao; Eating Out: The Open Weekend; Eating out Drama Camp; Eating Out; Eating Out 2: Sloppy Seconds; Eating Out: All You Can Eat; I Do; Violet Tendencies; The Broken Hearts Club; Weekend; Dog Tags; The Falls; Absent; August; The Kids Are Alright; Milk; Mulligans; A Single Man; Philadelphia; and, Were The World Mine. About two thirds of the way through I started remembering others I had and needed to watch. I think that the list would 'officially' ended at around Absent otherwise.

A few years back, I also bought a book called Out Plays which has 10 classic GLBTI plays. I started reading that this morning. The first play: The Boys In The Band. (First performed in 1968, and some things haven't changed!) I've decided that my Gay Week will officially end tomorrow morning when I go to see Holding The Man again, and see if/how it affects me any differently.

I'm not sure what I hoped to achieve by this immersion into gay film, literature and plays. Was it just a theme that I followed through? A subconscious need to try and (re?)connect with the gay community? Or a need to try and fill the perceived hole in my heart, for some romance, or just an alternative to the many rom-coms in my dvd collection? Or maybe a little bit of each.

Definitely A Moment ... But 'Defining'?

A few weeks ago, I came off my pushbike. This wouldn’t normally be considered an unusual occurrence, but as the people who know me would readily agree, I’m no Crusty Demon of the pedal-power persuasion.  As the fibre damage to the acromioclavicular ligament, the hairline fracture at the shoulder end of the collarbone and the many scrapes and bruises continue to heal, my mind wondered, as it has a tendency to do while I’m in the shower. I began to ponder what possible complications this might produce for me, later in life. It led me to question: In years to come, would I look back and consider this a defining moment? A defining moment! That moment, (or moments, if you are really lucky), when a seemingly innocuous event occurs, only to have repercussion which radiate out into your life, rippling change, usually for the better … but not always.

And then the core question popped into my mind: because I had identified this moment, shone a spotlight on it, would it be capable of being a defining moment? Like cutting Sampson’s hair, had my acknowledging it robbed it of the power of its potential, regardless of that potential being good or bad? I guess it all depends on if you (or I) subscribe to the whole multi-verse theory, in which case it would not be a case of was it still to be a defining moment, but more a case of how have the repercussions changed due to my acknowledging it. And if it comes to only postulating what could be the possible results of the ripples, then my mind can become a freshly tilled garden-bed of imagination ready to propagate a blooming display of alternative outcomes.

The obvious, and negative, horticulturally horrible outcome is that I’ll be plagued with every increasing and aggravating joint and muscular issues that will cause pain and restriction in years to come. Other possible flowering fates could be that in an effort to stave off these future agonies, a renewed and inspired interest in the gym could grow, bearing such flavoursome fruits as a buffed and lean harvest of a muscled me, or researching foods which aid the speedy recovery of muscular and ligament injuries. Maybe a massage business for the fibre fractured. Or perhaps the development of a concept sling for the single, live alone injured.

Of course, like the pharmaceutical companies, that’s just addressing the symptoms: what about the cause? Maybe I could design bike frames with air-bags; automatic steering correction for tram-track detection; self-inflating impact clothing; shape-shifting bicycle tyres?

Or maybe it isn’t the defining moment I’ve imagined … and in multi-verse terms, what implications could THAT have?

So can defining moments be recognized as such when they happen and their outcome predicted? Or can a moment only be classified as ‘defining’ once time has passed and a series of consequences come to bear? Can I see my bike accident as a defining moment now, or sometime in the future? Or will the scars on my shoulder just remind me of “That time when …”? We’ll just have to see.

My Fishy Flaws of Life

So, I was in the shower this morning, when I had a thought. (It’s funny how I have many great … and not so great … thoughts in the shower!) I guess you can’t really determine what, where, who or when will be for your muse. Actually, it wasn’t so much as a thought, as a concern. I felt, and still do, like I am floundering, probably in both sense of the word: I’m a bit like a landed flounder, out of water, flipping and flopping around, but not really achieving anything, going nowhere and getting all the more exhausted for the ‘effort’. Which is more like the intended meaning of the word, where I’m feeling bogged down, stagnant and in a definite state of ‘non-progress’.

Unfortunately, this is not the first time I’ve been exposed to, engulfed by and generally immersed in this sense of helplessness. I’m aware that there are people out there living in far greater dire circumstances than I am, but I’m not living their lives, I’m living mine. And that’s part of the problem: AM I living my life? And if I was to honestly answer that question, I would have to say, “No!”

Apart from feeling like I am floundering, other questions that bubbled to the surface of my mind as the water washed over me were (and I hate to say that these questions, also, are not new to me): do I know how to live? Do I know how to love? Do I know how to have fun? And I supposed, even to a degree, do I REALLY know how to be me? (Of course, the whole, “Who is me?” question is an entirely different and other entry, and probably WELL over 500 words!)

I would have to say fear is one of my great anchors. Fear of rejection, fear of being alone, fear of success … to a degree … fear of failure, fear of losing control, fear of being in control. With all this fear, you would think it’s a wonder I can get out the door in the mornings! Luckily, I haven’t become that bad, and I have a gut feeling that I will never get to that stage. At the very least, I enjoy people watching and perving WAAAY too much!

I think I probably look too much for outside sourced to give me my inspiration and motivation. I know I have a tendency to over think things, and suffer from analysis-paralysis. But it’s also a case of passion and desire. Why would I want to commit to something that I only have a lukewarm interest in pursuing. I’m only considering it because it’s basically all I know. I’m not sure if I need to sit down and have a good hard look at myself, or if that’s the problem: I’ve been spending too much time running over it all in my mind.

I’m at the edge of the pool, ready to jump in. I know it’s going to be as cold as hell. But you can’t learn to swim from the blocks.

Motivated ... Or Was He Pushed?

Come next Monday (27/05), at 4:00 PM, I will be enduring the most despised and invasive intrusion known to all Renter-kind: THE PROPERTY INSPECTION!!!!

Alright, so maybe it isn't QUITE that bad. Obviously, if you haven’t been putting your fist, furniture or flatmates through the windows and/or walls; haven’t dug up the carpet to see if you can see what’s happening the floor below you; or tried your mural skills on the ceiling and doors, then you really don’t have that much to worry about. However, I won’t deny that it is kind of like the property equivalent of looking into your rear-view mirror and finding that you have a Police car tailing you: you know you aren't doing anything illegal, because this is how you've always driven … but what if you've subconsciously picked up bad habits that you are unaware of? However, this 500 isn't about subliminal tortures, but motivations.

Anyone that knows me, or has chatted with me over the previous months, knows that I have been in a constant state of intimidation: I've been threatening to give my flat a decent going over and have a massive Spring Clean (either 6 months too early, or six too late … more than likely the latter!) But when I've had the opportunity to, I've simply lacked the motivation, the will, or the desire to jump in and get it done. Whilst I do only live in a one bedroom flat, by myself (no flatmates bouncing off or through the walls for me, mores the pity … or not!), my usual excuse is that it is filled with extraneous goods from my previous flat which was a two bedroom flat, where the second bedroom was more a storage (read: junk) room. Despite all this, it wasn't until I received a two week warning that I was to be subjected to a legal home invasion by the real estate agency. Even then, I still wasted the first week. Of course, last week, I had the full week to myself, only working on the weekends. This week, I've got a full week of work, so can only entomb myself within the task in the late afternoons and evenings.

Unfortunately, this has been a recurring theme for most of my life. I either wait until the last minute before delving into a task (better known as ‘cramming’, when I was at school), or it takes negative motivation to get me moving: said property inspection being a prime case. Other examples include bills and credit cards! Rather than save the money for the sake of saving (and investing) which is such a vague and hazy goal, I'm generally much better if I'm paying down a bill or working on a credit card. There is a definite and ‘real’ end to the budgeting, something that you can fixate on, and that is a tangible conclusion to the period, be it a few months or many years.

As I write this, several solutions have popped into my mind, with the overall gist being: I need to clarify my vagues!

The Brink Of Fingers And Shits.

Of course, the other title I could have given this 500 was, Down To The Wire … Again! But where is the creativity and eye-catching quality of that!

It’s been a good few weeks, if not a month, since I finally got my business necessities together: ABN, Business name registered, business cards and accoutrements. And still I haven’t done anything with it. Still I’m working weekends at a place that I don’t want to be at. Still I’m making not enough money to cover basic bills. And still, this doesn’t seem to be enough to scare the crap out of me into getting my arse into gear!

 I actually spend more time thinking about why I have a problem with taking that first step out into the world to promote myself, than I do of actually taking it! Excuses that run through my mind are that I’m waiting for the right time to approach it (when I know DAMN well that NOW is the right time … the only time!) Or that I need to get everything sorted at home and be neat and tidy where I live before I can be neat and tidy out there in the world. (This is flawed for a few reasons: 1) because it’s a case of, Huh? and 2) because the state of my flat isn’t going to affect my approaching businesses to inform them of the service that I have to offer.) I can also think of many angles that I haven’t covered, that I should probably cover, before I get out there, pimping myself. But then that didn’t stop Bill Gates and Microsoft from getting on with things, and, in fact, just about every software production that comes off the silicon line these days. How often these days are we getting patches and updates to fix bugs and improve what you would have to think is a ‘faulty’ product (if it needs these constant band-aid measures). Even my own work history should be enough to quell this argument. I started as a kitchenhand, and learnt on the job, I wasn’t an ‘instant’ cook. But the crux of the matter is that, if I made a mistake on the job, then it was under the umbrella of ‘the job’.

I’m on the brink of moving forward, and need to get my shit together and pull my finger out. I’m afraid that if I don’t get my shit together before I pull my finger out, it could get pretty messy. But then again, it could just be a little bit of wind, just what’s required to give me the momentum to get me moving forward. I have to stop being afraid of what might happen, and only concern myself with IF it happens, and then, not now. I’m afraid of what might happen, of letting people down, of not succeeding (and probably even more afraid of being successful and not coping), of it all just not working, but until I actually do something, NOTHING will happen, good or bad.

A Balmy Backstep

The other night as I was walking down the street to pick up a few supplies from the supermarket, with the warm and balmy evening wrapping each individual in it’s all embracing reach, the sounds of the crickets chirruping in the grass took me back those many, MANY years to the summers of my childhood (and I AM talking about the early years!) Is there anyone else out there who used to roll around on the lawn in that half an hour before sunset (this was in the peak of summer, and daylight savings…and usually because we were told to either play outside or go to bed!), before taking up the challenge of trying to find the noisy black insects (they are, technically, insects, right?).

It was like they could teleport from one spot to another, because no sooner did you get to where the noise was, then it would stop, but a few feet away, it would start up. How could they move that swiftly and how did they manage to always be in front of you? No matter how intently we would search through the kikuyu grass, they could never be discovered beneath the tightly woven root system and resilient green foliage. Even if we did somehow manage to sneak up on them, and capture their supposed location in cupped hands, they could not be found…or were they just being very still, very quiet, and blending their dark bodies in amongst the grass’ shadows and the darkness of the dirt from which it drew it’s nourishment.

As I continued to walk, and listen to the sounds of the street sporadically, chaotically, being orchestrated out into the world, it challenged me to actually listen to the noises, to not only identify them, but to also compare them and see what they reminded me of: what safety deposit box did they unlock in the vault of my mind? There was the screeching noise which could have been the restless and disturbed call of bats in the night, but was really a creative householder cutting up a polystyrene box for some other purpose. There was the rattle and clang, jangle and clunk of machinery that could have been either the carry-all behind the tractor, desperate in its attempt at the hula dance to dislodge us kids as we helped Dad feed the hay out to the cows and sheep; or it could have been the harrow rattling like a disturbed skeleton behind the same tractor as it breathed life into the paddock, but it was the night-time works of railway workers replacing the sleepers on a stretch of track.

So next time you happen to be walking somewhere be it leisurely or with haste, remember to take some time. Not only should you stop and smell the roses, but listen to what’s happening around you (if you can hear over the blare of beats emanating through the buds of your music player) and see what they remind you of, and where (and when) do they take you. Enjoy the trip!