Old & New Journeys

Journeys can by physical or metaphorical.…

The journey that never ends …

Journeys take many forms. They can be long, short, windy, straight, narrow, wide. The list of adjectives applying to both physical and metaphorical journeys is endless. Down the nearest rabbit 🐇 warren, I find numerous articles on the role of the word ‘journey’ as a metaphor for finding the meaning of life, and in my case, grief and death. An academic one, ‘Using Metaphor to Find Meaning in Life’, opens with “the English expressions “come a long way” and “on the right path” compare life to a physical journey.” Journeys of both kinds have beginnings and endings. 

I don’t want this month’s Endings and Beginnings to be about the deeper academic meanings of journeys. This ramble is my observation of journeys and how physical journeys interlink with my life and emotions, particularly over the last few years. I hope these musings will resonate with people and maybe those on difficult journeys themselves. Specific roads have played an important role in my life. The A10, which meanders north from London across East Anglia, is an example. As a small child, we moved with my mother to North London after my parents divorced. That started my life’s travels backwards and forwards along the A10, visiting family in one direction or the other. Sometimes, the journey would be hopeful & exciting—other times filled with dread and foreboding. I could expand on many of these diversions, but I will leave these for another day. 

Why am I rambling on about roads? My professional life over the last 25 years took me all over the UK, mainly on the roads. Unfortunately, where I have lived for my last 35 years, public transport takes more time and is far more expensive than getting the car out. Nonetheless, my brother would text me from a beach in California during a break between meetings and returning home on a jet. I would be sitting in a stark 1960s Council Chamber. Calming down from stressing about being late after a 4-hour journey stuck on the M6, M25, M4, M1 or whichever motorway had decided to ‘make’ my day with traffic jams, road works and even horses/swans/cattle on the carriageway. Those journeys summed up my life at the time: rushing everywhere and everything, trying to get the right life/work balance but never quite succeeding. Feeling guilty, I wasn’t there for my kids. Feeling guilty, I wasn’t any good at my job. Unfortunately, hindsight is a wonderful thing. 

The last few years have probably been the most difficult in my life, far more than I could have imagined all those years ago, travelling on the A10 to see my father. Over the last six months, I have had the honour of attending two creative writing days, which made a big difference to me and my journey in the future. The first was with

Farrah Storr

and the second with

Emma Gannon

&

Tanya Lynch

. Both days involved driving on roads well travelled by me over the years.

Returning home on the M25 from Farrah’s workshop in Kent started the process. I realised I was still me, changed and battered, but the tsunamis of grief hadn’t completely destroyed me. Emma and Tanya’s retreat has continued and reinforced that process. I will explain why journeys and the two days are linked. I had one particular work project in the Cotswolds a few years ago when life was good and the future hopeful. John and I had started muttering about planning our retirement. Sarah and her brother were both settled. I was working with colleagues I trusted. The project was worthwhile, lasting over a year, and for once, it was with a client who listened to the advice they were being given. The journey, yes, I have finally got to the point, took me on the M40 and A40 out of Oxford. It was a journey I loved as the M40 is my favourite motorway. The lanes are spacious and other drivers never seems overly aggressive. The A40 may be slow, but you can do nothing about it, so you go with the flow, and the stress is reduced. In autumn, with the beautiful colours, it could be a stunning journey.

My journey to the creative retreat took me on the M40 to Oxford and onto the A40 through Oxford. The tears started flowing on the M40 and continued at the Headington Roundabout on the Oxford bypass. There were so many emotions, including the feeling of wanting to turn the car around and running home to my brown leather chair and perceived safety. I reached the Wolvecote Roundabout. When I was working I would have continued on the A40 at this point. I actually thought I about carrying on and seeing if I could get a room at one of the hotels I used to stay in. Something stopped me. I turned towards the A34 through the roadworks, away from that old life. As I got onto the A34 and then the A420, I could feel myself entering a new phase of my life. I realised the tears had dried up. I was thinking positively about the evening and day ahead. A new phase of my life was beginning. I was not feeling the weight of guilt in my stomach that I was looking forward to something without John and Sarah. The same feeling I felt coming back from Farrah’s workshop. 

Returning home on M4 and M25 reinforced the feeling of a new beginning. I thought I knew the M4 inside out but didn’t recognise it. Most of the roadworks had gone to be replaced by more lanes of motorway and although extremely busy but it was running. It made me realise that grief and COVID have had me living in a state of suspended animation. I want to say the same about the M25, but no I can’t it is precisely the same. I left it as soon as I could. I am sure the tsunami is just under the surface, but I accept that now. I also acknowledge that I cannot go back, magic wands don’t exist. I have entered the new phase of my life. 

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