Learning To Let Go

It’s not actually very easy doing this, I mean getting up and walking away from your life. Just over a week ago I was in Edinburgh, I had friends and… actually I didn’t have a whole lot else anymore, I had lost or throw away everything else. I did however have a life that I maybe could have enjoyed. In those dark moments however, at four in the morning as you walk home from a party, or the middle of the day when you catch yourself alone and bored I’d know that it wasn’t right.

Last summer I met a lady, I say lady because that’s what she was, I should be clear about this. She was in her fifties and a school teacher, had that sort of vaguely comforting primary teacher attitude. We sailed together one pleasant afternoon. At some point I complained about something, people living without thinking or without effort. Her remark, though very casual and unimportant has stuck with me, she said
“They live without integrity, you have to live with integrity”

So I guess that is why I’m here. I could have stayed in Edinburgh and lived fairly happily, I could have smiled and danced and sung and chatted and done all the things I love to do there. But at the calm moments, I would have known that this wasn’t right, that life, for me at least, had no integrity. I am yet to discover if sailing offers something different, or if the distractions are just changed. It certainly allows more time to think. I have played guitar; written in my journal, and online; read books; listened to music and just sat and stared at the world far more than I ever would at home. Here in those dark moments of self reflection I am vulnerable to homesickness, rather than a guilty feeling of inadequacy.

But it is hard to let go, hard to stop thinking of my friends, and of my life. Every time I remember why I’m here, what I’m doing this for I am blindsided by a desire to sit in a pub talking, or to sit in the meadows getting stoned, or to climb Arthur’s Seat in the fog.

Today I walked along the coast, heading south away from the hotels and the tourists. North of the marina there is one great long beach, and were it not for all the developments it would be a brilliant beach, white sands and warm seas, as it is it provides few charms. So I headed south, over a long rocky coastline, It was evidence of this islands volcanic formation. Bubble filled rock and strange shapes formed an almost lunar landscape. I scrambled along the cliff at times walking, at times wading, sometimes climbing and once swimming through the surf to get round a particularly tricky point.

The sea had been whipped up by last night’s storm and the constant strong force five winds. Swimming aside I was soon soaked with spray, my hands scuffed and my knees bleeding. It was so much fun. When I was a kid I invented a sport I mentally called rock hopping, essentially it involved running a high speed along rocky beaches. It never had many rules, you just had to get to somewhere. Today I sort of relived rock hopping, only slowed down considerably. There is something enormously gratifying in trusting in the strength of your limbs to get round a lump of rock. Hanging recklessly over spray dashed rocks where the only way you can make it that bit further is to haul yourself up is a sure fire way to remind yourself that you are young and strong.

After my childlike play I sat on a bench and wrote in my journal, and watched the spray and the sky. For the first time since I left home I felt content, I felt at peace. It felt like at that moment I was doing the right thing.

I know this is a brilliant trip, a brilliant adventure and I have no excuse for complaining. It’s all made a bit worse by this time I have alone, two more days before I have any company. And maybe three or four till I finally get some sailing. On the other hand this time is letting me gradually sort my head out. It’s giving me time to think. And I am, slowly but surely, learning to let go