The post Manchester to Edinburgh appeared first on Oftentimes Irregardless.
]]>Soon the red bricks of Manchester will give way to the wide, flat coastline of Lancashire, and then the rolling green valleys of Cumbria; the oaks and chestnuts and beeches that line the tracks here in England will slowly become outnumbered by ever more evergreens as we move into Scotland; and after we pass through Haymarket and finally roll into Waverly, the black igneous cliffs of Castle Rock will suddenly rise up to our right, bearing the yellow-stone Castle itself proudly aloft.
I know the journey and its landscapes well.
I decide to try and figure out how well, to actually put a number on it. I mark out a tally count of the months that I lived in Edinburgh, and try to recall the frequency with which I used to travel south. At a conservative estimate I’m sure I’ve made this rail journey at least a hundred times. A more realistic figure is almost twice that.
Today, making this trip again, after a two-year hiatus which saw the world turned upside down, the journey feels strange: both intensely familiar and unsettlingly unfamiliar at the same time.
I think, as I have on this train before, of a poem by Norman MacCaig. It hits differently today.
I’m waiting for the moment
when the train crosses the Border
and home creeps closer
at seventy miles an hour.
I admire MacCaig’s ability to notice the Border; I usually struggle to. In fact, it has often struck me how completely invisible the border between England and Scotland is from the train. Enter Scotland by road and you are greeted by a great Saltire of a road sign bearing its welcome in both English and Gaelic: fàilte gu alba. On the tracks, however, there is no such sign, and usually no announcement. We roll casually across the border without ever really noticing we have crossed from one country into the next.
Today it is different, though. The pandemic has changed things. Face coverings are no longer mandatory in England, but remain so in Scotland, and so as we pass from one jurisdiction to another an announcement is made. We have formally entered Scotland, and are now legally required to mask up.
Today, we notice the border
I dismiss the last four days
and their friendly strangers
into the past
that grows bigger every minute.
I think of the past and its friendly strangers often on this journey. This train, for me, is so full of memories of strange, chance encounters with interesting characters I might never have encountered elsewhere.
There was the time I sat alongside two ladies heading away for a birthday weekend who’d brought prosecco and chocolates for the train. They’d not only had the good sense to pack champagne flutes for themselves but had even thought to bring a spare for an amenable stranger like myself. We celebrated and chatted together like old friends for the three-and-a-half hours we knew each other.
There was the time the man sitting across the table stared back at me with a look of confusion and alarm after I reached into my bag under the table and pulled out a book. He hurriedly fumbled with his own bag and then produced, with a look of relief, the very same book. “Wow we’re both reading the same thing!” he said “For a second then I thought you’d stolen mine!” We laughed, and had a fun conversation comparing notes on Denis Johnson.
There was the time a less agreeable passenger beside me loudly announced to the rest of the carriage that I was reading “Russian bullshit” – a harsh but, I suppose, factually-correct assessment of Chekhov.
There was the time I discovered a note in my bag from another passenger saying that he’d been watching me sleeping and had fallen in love. He gave his name and contact details, and suggested we go out to dinner in Edinburgh. (We did not.)
There was the time someone sitting next to me noticed the komboskini I was wearing on my wrist, and started a conversation about orthodoxy, religion, culture, and philosophy.
I’ve had a lot of interesting conversations on this train. Today I don’t speak to anyone today, though. Our masks discourage small talk. Still, this forms a new memory. The past keeps growing all the same.
The train sounds urgent as I am,
it says home and home and home.
I light a cigarette
and sit smiling in the corner.
Pulling into Edinburgh feels like coming home. I’m surprised by the strength of feeling I have for this city. I didn’t grow up here, but I arrived when I was eighteen and was in my thirties by the time I moved out. I didn’t grow up here, but I did a lot of growing up here.
I step out of the station on to Waverly Bridge and am greeted by that old familiar sight of Princes Street Gardens stretching away to the galleries ahead and the castle above. The setting sun casts its warm rays over that reassuringly unchanged skyline. This beautiful city will always feel like home.
Scotland, I rush towards you
London to Edinburgh, Norman MacCaig
into my future that,
every minute,
grows smaller and smaller.
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]]>The post Letter to My Pre-Teen Self appeared first on Oftentimes Irregardless.
]]>Dear little Jess,
It’s hard to know where to begin. I know you have a lot of questions. So I guess we should start with the bad news: I don’t have all the answers. Not even after all this time. You think that grown-ups know everything. It turns out we don’t. We’re all just making it up as we go along, trying to learn from our past experiences, and passing on the lessons we think are useful. That doesn’t mean that we know any better than you do. So first off: trust your instincts, make your own choices. You’re smarter than you realise.
To you, the future still seems vague and far away. The school year seems long, and the thought of actually finishing school and being ready to move out into the big, wide world on your own is almost inconceivable. But finish you will, and sooner than you think. Time flows much faster than you can appreciate, and before you know it you will have walked the meandering path that I followed to get here, to reach this moment. Me – you – now.
So the good news is: you’re going to make it! You will reach this point, and you will do so much along the way. You will fulfil (at least some of) your dreams, and do so many more things that you’re yet to even imagine. I know that right now you dream of riding horses on a ranch in the Rocky Mountains. Well, guess what? You will! You’ll go to Colorado, and Wyoming, and Montana, and you’ll ride horses and herd cattle, climb mountains and see more stars in the sky than you’ve ever seen before. You’ll see ospreys and flocks of wild turkeys, herds of elk and fields full of prairie dogs. It will be everything you’re dreaming of and so much more, because you’ll do it hand-in-hand with someone you love dearly and who loves you right back.
That’s right, you will find Love! Although be warned: Love is not what you think it is. It’s not the page in the back of your school planner decorated with doodles of hearts and flowers where you write the names of your favourite singers, and footballers, and friends. The contents of that page will change a lot before you leave school. But that’s ok, you’re still working out what you like and what you don’t like. Take your time on this, and don’t let anyone else influence your choices.
Love, though, the kind that you fall into, is something else entirely. It’s so much more complicated than you think. For a start, it’s not just one emotion; it’s everything, all of your feelings, all balled up together. Sometimes it will make you feel like you can fly, but there will be times when it causes you pain, too. Don’t worry, that’s all part of it. You will navigate your way through those feelings and come out the other side knowing more about love, and about yourself, and about the world.
The world, by the way, is not really as big as you think it is. Before you get to America, you’re going to go to all of those other countries you’ve read and dreamt about: you’ll take a boat across the Aegean sea, you’ll explore the souks of Marrakech, you’ll stand before the Taj Mahal, and you’ll climb the Great Wall of China. You can go anywhere you want. In a few years’ time you’ll write a geography paper on the isle of Arran and for some reason that will captivate your imagination almost as much as these world wonders. And then, some years later, you’ll go to Arran, too. Many, many times. The world really isn’t all that big. You will get to see a lot of it.
That said, the world is also much bigger than you think. There are so, so, so many people out there! Right now, school is more or less the limit of your social world, and you think it’s important to be liked by your peers. But you’re going to meet hundreds, thousands, of fascinating people in your life. Plenty of them will like you for who you are.
Of course, you’re lucky to have an amazing group of friends at school with you. Some of them are still your friends now, more than twenty years later. Others are not. The friends who stay close and the ones who don’t aren’t the people you might guess.
Friends will always be really important to you, but there will be times in your life when maintaining those friendships takes effort. Make the effort! Adult life is not usually centred around friendship the way that yours is, and sometimes you will have to consciously make time and energy for those relationships. They are worth it.
Speaking of time: use it wisely. Stop straightening your hair. This is a colossal waste of time; it’s practically straight already. Don’t bother with makeup. You look better without it, and everyone who means anything to you agrees. In all else, just slow down. Take the time to enjoy your morning shower, to notice the feel of the sun on your skin when you step out, to really taste your food when you eat it. These things, when you learn to pay attention to them, will bring you so much pleasure.
Time is short, but life is not a race. You are not falling behind if you choose to take the scenic route. My advice is to always take the scenic route – it’s much more pleasant! Take chances. Don’t be afraid of failure. And if you ever get the feeling that you’re heading in the wrong direction, know that it’s ok to change course.
Keep reading. Keep writing. Keep learning languages. These things will take you places.
And finally, one last, concrete piece of advice: in 2015, when a very tall friend-of-a-friend invites you over for dinner – go! Do not cancel! He’s important. You need him in your life, and the sooner the better. Trust me on this. Trust me on all of this.
Take it easy,
(Big?) Jess x
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