I’m at a turning point in my life and whilst I’d like to only make ‘moves’ that are comfortable and are assured of a positive outcome, sometimes we just have to jump into experience and see where it leads.
Yesterday, I returned from a weekend away camping – on my own. A new experience, not necessitated by retirement, but rather brought about by the rounding out of 18 years ‘late in life’ responsibility for single parenting. Intense active involvement is no longer required. What to do with all the free time I now have in a personal life bereft of satisfying social activity?
Start with the activities I do like and go from there. Being in nature, camping, journalling, ‘barnstorming’ (without the plane) down neverending unknown West Australian roads that pass through towns marked only with a building or two. I booked a favourite camping site, loaded up the car, opened the door for my Red Cloud Kelpie and drove off.
The camping spot is just over an hour from Perth. Located in forest country along the escarpment running down the coast, it experiences more rain than its neighbouring regions. We woke on Sunday to thunder and my dog whimpered under the sleeping bag whilst I relished the tinkle of raindrops on the swag roof.
After the storm passed, and breakfast was done, we ventured to a section of the river I had identified the night before as an alluring swimspot. With no one else around we both luxuriated in quiet isolation. This exquisite moment revealed itself as the highlight of the trip.
What to do next? I had already written many pages in my journal, begun reading a new novel and made a start on this blog piece. With limited external ‘drivers’ to snag my mind, it had immersed itself in trains of thought about the folly of coming away, how I could be at home (but bored with what is becoming an entrenched daily routine), and my lack of social networks. Giving in to my lowered mood and returning home would only provide more of what I already knew. That didn’t feel right so I waited, and other, more enticing ideas arrived.
With the campsite packed up, I hit the bitumen road and drove an hour inland to the next town – Boddington. The townsfolk seemed to enjoy building local sculptures out of defunct farm equipment. It was hotter than our overnight stay and Shire signs forbade swimming in the river. Whilst the shady campsites were enticing, no swimming mitigated against staying. My dog, however, ran through the shallow edges of the riverbank. It was only as we were about to get into the car that I noticed her black, oily, smelly feet. She could not take them into the car. Ten minutes later I found a tap and spent 5 minutes washing her four paws. My hands were black. What was in that sludge?
On the road again, we drove in a different direction, further south and inland. Sheep land. Hundreds of them standing around the edges of water holes in the middle of dry arid paddocks. I wondered how many sheep farmers lost on days when the temperature was 10 to 15 degrees harsher.
At Quindanning I took a photo of this church. The square turret seemed out of place. The pub seemed busy judging by the number of cars outside.
At Williams, I got excited about what I would find inside the ‘Williams Woolshed’. Whilst it accommodated a great looking cafe and a huge display of products like wine, oilskin products, emu skin shoes, natural health care products, local books and wool attire, I was disappointed to realise not much of it was local. Real local people, living real local lives, is what interests me. What do they create out of a dry, isolated landscape while the sheep do their thing? What does their creativity inspire? Another product from interstate or overseas held no interest for me and the op shop in the old building next door was shut. It was time to move on.
It was now mid afternoon and I had to decide whether to drive home or find another place to camp for the night. Finding another place with water nearby was looking bleak so I turned for home. Little did I realise it would take another two hours at least to get there. I also didn’t realise how tired I was. Whilst the drive was a strain, I did come across signs to places I had previously earmarked to explore. At least now I had reference points both in terms of location and travel time. I also identified a few places of interest to explore along the way.
Overall, my camping trip wasn’t as I had anticipated. Whilst there were moments I relished, it wasn’t the pleasure I yearned. I know that both my enjoyment and despondency were a reflection of state of my mind at the time. One moment I was thinking that the opportunity swim in a pristine natural pool with no one else around was bliss, and in the next I was wallowing in thoughts about how isolated or tired in body I was. The weekend was an endurance test of my mind.
One I am glad I experienced. Even though I didn’t happily enjoy every moment, giving into my low state of mind would have robbed me of what I learned about myself and my terrain, and none of that which unfolded on my return would have unfolded. My experience provided me with information about the location of places of interest. I can now plan more confidently. I learned I need to take my good camera. I also now know much more about myself. I no longer have the stamina to drive for long periods of time. I need to take that into account. And I really do need to participate in activities other people organise.
Which is why, on my return home, I booked into several group events run by one of the fb camping pages I belong to. It is time to meet new people. Taking into account my reduced driving stamina, I have chosen events that are closer to home. With more experience and familiarity I will ‘range’ further. Small steps. Incorporate what I have learned and keep going. A low state of mind is like the sludge on my dog’s feet. Wash it off and keep going, even if you have wet uncomfortable feet. Do nothing and the sludge of a low mood state of mind becomes encrusted. The possibility of experiencing different destinations diminishes. All actions lead somewhere, including the inaction in response to low states of mind. They are nothing more than sludge. Keep travelling down different roads of experience, and relish what they bring, even when uncomfortable.
Georgina Mavor 