If anyone has noticed, and I’m going to assume that no one has, I have been missing around here for a while now. To put it simply, I’ve gotten a bit caught up with other things. Not so long ago I changed jobs, an amazing oppurtunity for me, but one which also means a standard sixty hour working week. When I’m working that is all I seem to do. Work, sleep a few hours, back to work. I’m not having a moan, I love going into work, but pair that with constantly having plans and commitments in the few spare hours I do have and it makes it a bit tricky to find time to jump online and type out a few paragraphs. Not only being restricted time wise, but when you are constantly exhuasted creativity doesn’t exactly just flow out of your finger tips. So I apologise, mainly to myself because this is something I really enjoy doing. I also apologise for not drawing and painting as much as I use to. For not having cooked something new at home in a while. For not Skyping my mum as often as I should. For not playing a sport like I always have. For not traveling as much as I said I would. London is a hectic city, and sometimes you can get caught up in that maddness. Everyone is always in a rush. Like everyone. The only people who don’t seem to be rushing are the tourists, as they lean all over the escalators so you can’t walk past, or abruptly stop in the street to take a picture of a phone box or bus, to which you end up screaming in your head, “Oh my god, get the fuck out of my way!” The thing is that you don’t even realise the pace you are living at or the things which you have gradually denied yourself until you are forced to stop and pick up a sketch book that you have had for months and realise that it is mostly empty.
I was given a weeks holiday this week, and in true Clare style I booked a flight two days before a left, and a hotel at the airport. I announced to my friends that I wouldn’t be around for a little while, and while I was at it commited to a bit of a detox in that time. Chucked two t-shirts, some undies and my passport in a bag (I really don’t need much) and off I went. And while sitting at the airport, reading (something else I don’t do as often as I should) I remember something I told myself a long time ago (I’m twentyone. A long time ago for me is like three years); that I was going to do great things with my life. Not just see as much as I could, but experience it. And instead of feeling angry at myself at the fact that last time I traveled was in January (again, I’m twentyone. Periods of time seem longer for me), I thought about what I have done so far. About all the people I’ve met, how for every stamp in my passport I have a story, of the fact that I have seen sunrises on every continate this planet has. Though if I’m being honest, I have seen quite a few sunrises during sobering walks home in London lately.
As I sat on the plane, somehow scoring a window seat, I looked out as it took off and felt at home. Grounded. In control. When the back of my head jolts back and hits the seat just after take off. The moment the plane pushes through that first layer of clouds, vast blue sky stretching in all directions, and I sit above them, staring down at the way they just hang there. As the plane is still trying to get up to cruising speed and momentarily drops and my heart still seems to skip a beat everytime. No apologies for the pun, but this is my high. This means that something is happening.
Then when you arrive somewhere hours later. When it’s night and the cities lights stretch on for as far as you can see. Some in straight, grided lines. Others clustered so close together with no apparent order that you can’t distinguish individual beams. This either means something new. Something to discover, an adventure waiting down there for you to explore it. Or then there is the other type of arriving, one I haven’t done in well over a year. First the ocean, stretched well beyond the horizon, some sand, boats, and then the things that make it real. The Opera Houses sails. The Harbour Bridge. Centre Point Tower sitting above it all. Knowing that somewhere down thre are people I haven’t seen for months, food I have been craving so bad I thought you would go insane, and weather that just isn’t quite like anywhere else. I’m home.
So here I sit, in the Václav Havel Airport, Prague, with my bag strapped to my chest and its zippers against the wall (yeah, I’ve done this a few times before), waiting for tomorrow so I can go and do what I love to do most. Experience something new.
Point of post: I’me going to try my very hardest to write and post more often. I promise.
Goodnight, from Prague Airport.