Friday 7 August 2015

Drifting and being driven...

WHEN I first told my parents that I had resolved to do the SWCP, the 630-mile South West Coast Path which skirts the rugged fringes of Somerset, Dorset, Devon, and Cornwall, they were not pleased. Less pleased, still, when I announced to them that I would be roughing it à la Into the Wild: sans company, sans accommodation. Perpetually exasperated, my mother objected at once ('oh Elizabeth!') while my poor old dad sat quietly anxious in his armchair, grappling for a reason to dissuade me.

I am not known for being dissuaded. And so they are preparing their cotton handkerchiefs apropos, reluctantly readying themselves to wave me off as I embark on my wandering pilgrimage. Aside from the requisite soul-searching and future-pondering I'll be doing over the next 1-2 months, I hope to write truthfully and mindfully about the places I discover and the people I meet. I cringe at the clichéd Tolkien tagline bloggers usually insert at this point: not all those who wander are lost. In part, because I feel strongly that not all those who walk with conviction have any idea where they're going, but also because I will be the first to admit that I am very, very lost indeed. I proudly shunned the corporate graduate schemes and law conversion courses when I graduated two years ago, and have been wandering vaguely in and out of casual, temporary employment ever since. I have written and I have taught and I have failed to secure a place on what seemed the one remaining lifeboat of PhD funding. For my recent birthday, a beloved aunt sent me this artistic interpretation of my predicament:


It didn't help. But her drawing did give me the idea to put theory into practice, and make some actual, real-life decisions about which path to take. This way provides an excellent diversion, whereby I can avoid the eternal quagmire of taxes, pensions, and formal employment for at least a few weeks longer. In a nagging letter to his friend Lucretius, the Stoic philosopher Seneca warns of the pitfalls of using travel as a cure for discontent, and accuses his friend of 'drifting and being driven' through the metaphorical seas of life. But what if Lucretius' discontent lies at the heart of society itself, in the apathy, the squabbling, and the confounded pestering of man? I think perhaps even Seneca would agree: some breathing space would do him good.