Author: Rare Bit Blogging

Walking observations

On Bank Holiday Monday I walked to Laddow Rocks in the Peak District. I wanted to get down to Crowden making it a total of 20 miles. I thought it’d be a good way to mark the end of August but I was quite tired after lots of driving for Sunday’s wedding in North Yorkshire:

So I settled on just over 15 miles. It’s not the quantity but the quality. I had a lovely time, lost in my thoughts. I set a comfortable pace, sometimes pushing faster before easing up to recover.

It had rained more last week than I’d anticipated and the ground was wet. My former nemesis, deep puddles, still freak me out a bit but once I felt the cold boggy water inside my shoe, there was no going back and I splashed freely through the murky water. I looked forward to crossing each stream, testing my balance and my ability to select secure rocks in the fast flowing water. I looked down at my feet and smiled at evidence of a good time:

It was quite busy out. I greeted fellow walkers cheerily and chatted briefly if it felt right. I got talking with a 73 year young man called John. His skin glowed and his eyes twinkled – a seasoned walker. He wanted a longer chat so I went with it. He was walking from Crowden to Marsden to catch a train to Piccadilly and another to Glossop where his car was parked. His wife had died during covid and he was making every moment count. He was on a mission to complete the Pennine Way with only 3 sections left. High 5 John.

A while later, a man was congratulating his dog enthusiastically near a stream. I joined in. Apparently the dog got freaked out by deep water and streams so I felt justified in sharing my phobia. Chicken? the man offered helpfully. Oh yes I said, I’ll get my feet wet for treats.

The thing about walkers is their good humour. Nature does that. I know that after 10 minutes outdoors, any whiff of a rancid mood dissipates into the ether. I picked up on the higher vibration of hikers I passed, buzzing from a strong dose of vitamin FA. Fresh Air.

5 miles from home I spotted a young couple coming up the really tough ascent from Digley to Black Hill. He walked on past me as I sat on a cushion of heather enjoying a breather. She had stopped at the signpost and was looking enigmatically in the opposite direction. Uh oh. There’s trouble afoot I thought to myself.

After 5 minutes she turned to face the hill and walked past without acknowledging me. I noticed she was wearing Dr Marten boots. She didn’t look happy at all. I wouldn’t be if I was walking up a tough hill in those. They sat and had a heated discussion a few metres up the path from where I was perched. I walked on, shaking off any negative vibes. I sploshed my way through the extra deep puddle 1/4 mile away. Long stalks of tough thick grass had been flattened where other walkers had trodden to avoid the troublesome puddle but in vain – the entire area was water logged. Uh oh, I thought again. Her boots will be trashed. I hoped he’d gallantly offer to carry her over the boggy water to their happy ever after. Romance can’t be dead can it?

I’m having a pretty great summer and I sense it’s far from over in the close contender to my favourite season, spring. I’ve managed life’s ups and downs with relative aplomb although this week started with a slump on Monday evening. I had a tough wedding on Saturday. It was even more frustrating as I’d practiced diligently last week. Them’s the shakes. I didn’t really get the shakes but I felt I had to control each note. I couldn’t relax, let go. Then, in between pieces, I got heckled. The guests had already had a fair bit to drink and one particularly well oiled man had something to say to me, a witty comment he couldn’t keep to himself. I didn’t hear him so I asked him to repeat it. He refused, brushed me off. I tried to do the same but my focus was gone. I played ok but just couldn’t get in the zone again.

Back behind my harp on Monday morning, practice went really well. Phew. I could play freely with ease again. As the day progressed my mind took over and I became preoccupied with a challenge I set myself starting the following morning – boot camp in the local park. I started worrying about the most irrational things. I wanted to pull out and nosedive straight into a giant box of malty chocolate but I stuffed myself with after dinner fruit and homemade Wimberry and almond biscuits instead. Win. (Berry).

On Tuesday morning, I intentionally arrived with 3 minutes to spare but still almost bailed at the sight of a large group of women congregated in the park by the coffee van. I noticed some slam balls and a selection of dumbbells and other equipment dotted around on the grass. After a brief introduction, with high energy music booming from a portable sound system, we warmed up by running around in a circle and doing some jumping jacks and high knees. So far so good. My heart rate went up a few notches as did my mood. We were split into 5 groups of 4. I didn’t want to let my team down. Pressure! I remembered that sinking feeling I had in gym class at school of being the last one to be picked as I was so useless at sports. There was none of this here. It wasn’t about competition, just doing the best we could. I worked up a sweat, pushing just outside my comfort zone. Win again. I’ve booked on for next week. You won’t find me at the gym but a class in a park? I’m ok with that.

In the afternoon I went to my writing group. My output was flat and unimaginative. I couldn’t find an ounce of creativity or inspiration. By the third exercise, I felt a shift and colour started to permeate my sentences.

Yesterday morning I felt balanced again and today I feel better still. Writing’s cathartic. I spend a lot of time on my own and I really enjoy my own company but you can have too much of a good thing. I’d happily stay in and practice, read and write most days, going out for my daily walk of course, but I feel better, more connected after a microdose of people time.

I realised I’ve become extremely dependent on my phone and last week my daily screen time was almost 6 hours. Just think of all the things I could’ve done with that time. The biggest culprits were iplayer (Masterchef – undemanding viewing) and Instagram. I’m struggling more and more with the latter. I have 2 accounts and I’m not sure I need them both. My blogging account is just a bit of fun and my harpist one is for work but as an empath, I have to distance myself and stop pressing the like button for everyone’s posts. I feel uncomfortable posting on socials so I project that unease onto every person I’m following and find it nigh on impossible not to acknowledge their posts. Insta had become an emotional drain but now I think I’ve got my consumption back to a manageable level, although there are days when I visit more often than I’d like. I enjoy a distraction at the end of the day but writing and reading provide far better nutrition for my brain. This week I’ve used airplane mode every morning and that’s been a huge help.

I’ve been listening to the Waitrose Dish podcast, not so much for the audible food porn, more for Nick and Ange’s contagious laughter. It takes me out of my head and I always laugh along with them. They’re on a summer break at the moment and I miss the Thursday evening giggles.

Apologies for the abrupt ending. I’ve got 3 blog posts on the go and a deadline today. TBC…

I’ve had 3 really great days. I’ve felt inspired and stimulated and I’ve had loads of fun. On Friday I drove (rail strikes) to Manchester bright and early to meet my friend for breakfast before visiting Aviva Studios/Factory International, the base of the Manchester International Festival.

We all know breakfast is the most important meal of the day and the Federal Cafe Bar have definitely got it right. I don’t often eat out so when I do, I like to try new foods. I’ve never had an açai bowl and I’ll be having it again. It was delicious and pretty healthy and I felt satisfied afterwards.

Nourished, we headed to the Factory, a new arts venue which isn’t quite finished yet.

T had recommended the Yayoi Kusama exhibition You, Me and the Balloons. He’s got his finger firmly on the pulse of what’s happening and what’s not in the arts world, and I don’t remember ever being disappointed with any of his cultural choices. I’d never heard of Kusama so I was quite amazed when I discovered she’s a household name. Where’ve I been?

The exhibition started in a fairly small room with yellow spotted black tentacles sprouting from the floor reaching right up to the high ceiling. It was very cheerful and playful although I felt a slight frisson of fear – the spotted tendrils suggested danger, toxicity.

The room was hypnotic and fascinating – where did the tentacles start and where did they end? What was lying above and below? To which mythical creature did they belong?

We went upstairs onto a platform overlooking a vast dark warehouse. It was as though we’d gate crashed the craziest party ever. There were huge inflatables everywhere. What resembled big bowling pins reeled in the air along with the enormous dotted balls which might have clobbered them. We looked down at a bizarrely utopian scene with humongous inflatable characters, quite possibly made of parachute silk, frozen mid action as if posing for a freakish photo shoot. The hallucinatory creations looked benevolent despite their immensity, but the giantess certainly had a sinister presence.

Overlooking proceedings was the creator of this fantasy world, her face projected onto a screen, half-singing half-reading a poignantly haunting poem in an endless mesmerising loop.

We went downstairs to inspect a large young girl and her dog mid play:

Super king sized cosy irregular shaped air beds were dotted randomly in front of a mirror – an intriguing touch. The mirror added yet another dimension to the space:

A gigantic pumpkin sat unassumingly opposite the giantess.

At the far end from where we entered the warehouse were yet more tentacles, pink this time. It looked a bit like a dance floor in a curiously respectable disco. There were quite a lot of children, clearly at home in this playful universe.

We joined a queue for the infinity mirror room, another of Kusama’s trade marks:

And a shorter queue for the kaleidoscope:

There was a lot of information about Kusama on the walls and it’s really worth reading about her background. She’s 94 and she still works in her studio every day. It’s fascinating how her background influences her creations. I found her story inspiring and it offered me validation and permission to keep playing music and writing, to keep living a creative life.

T and I both used to live in Manchester so it was great to go for a mooch around the city afterwards, observing how much it’s evolved since we left. We had more coffee of course, and we shared a piece of cake to soak it up, a delicious clementine creation so dark it almost looked scorched. It was strong and tangy with a lip puckering pithy zing.

After T took his train, I mooched around even more. It was a lovely hot day and I browsed shops I’d never been in. I visited the old arcades around St Ann’s Square and drooled at the mouthwatering aromas emanating from freshly prepared dishes served to diners eating outside in the pedestrian areas. People looked happy. Sunshine has that effect, especially on Mancunians. It rains a lot in Manchester, probably as much as it does in Yorkshire.

On Saturday and Sunday my playing was revitalised, inspired, in full flow. It reminded me how important it is to get out there and experience the art and creativity of others as much as possible. The exhibition is on until 28 August. Don’t miss it! Yayoi’ll be sorry if you do 😏

Footnote:

I went to the cinema last night and as I walked there, I noticed this in a shop window:

“The cure for loneliness is solitude” Marianne Moore

Last weekend I burnt myself out. I gradually got so worked up throughout the week that by Friday evening I could barely get my fingers into the strings to correct all the wrong notes I was playing. The recurring words spinning round and round in my head were This Never Used To Happen. I was enmeshed in a negative spiral of destructive thoughts despite strictly maintaining the quintet of good habits which form the basis of my daily routine: exercise, Spanish lesson, meditation, journaling/reading and a walk. I put a ridiculous amount of pressure on myself just for a wedding. I reverted to my default setting when I played with orchestras which is no longer relevant or useful. Orchestral playing generally requires short bursts of focused playing whereas background music is more about stamina and a different kind of concentration. For this particular wedding I was playing in church and then at a different location for the drinks reception. It was a very warm day. I dropped my harp off well before the ceremony at the same time as the florist was setting up since the church was going to be locked until an hour before the wedding. Wise move – the caretaker didn’t return until 1.15.

The kind and quirky vicar arrived on his bike. Of a similar age to me, bearing a startling resemblance to David Baddiel, he had a calming energy and I felt comfortable in sharing my concern about my anxiety. He asked if he could pray for me. I gratefully accepted. It didn’t work. I was too far gone.

7 days previously I had lost my wedding-free practice weekend as I went to visit Mum, who fell 3 weeks ago and broke 2 bones in her right arm. It was a stressful visit, really horrible to see her broken physically and mentally.

Upon my return I practiced as much as I could in between my teaching but I was already tired and feeling very edgy. My anxiety steadily gathered momentum throughout the week and I just couldn’t switch off. I was like a RareBit in headlights, constantly checking my phone for emails and messages, ticking off checklists, trying my darnedest to catch up and get a few steps ahead if possible.

Seeing Mum like that made me even more determined to build and maintain my physical strength and, without realising it, I overtrained. By Sunday my wrists were painful and every joint and muscle was aching. Never a quitter, I still decided to go on a longer walk and although it was fantastic to escape to the warm sunny moors and hills, I didn’t have an ounce of energy. And I was ok with that actually as being outdoors helps me forget my worries.

After teaching 2 students with as much enthusiasm as I could muster on Monday morning (my motto has always been if I can do it myself, I can help them do it – on Saturday I couldn’t, at least not by my standards), I played for an hour in the afternoon. That hour was crucial and I simply played with no sense of expectation or pressure. I just wanted to put Saturday behind me. It was fine, one less worry!

I can’t find a pattern. I played a blinder at the last wedding a fortnight ago. I was in flow, unconcerned about anything other than enjoying my playing. The notes fell into place with effortless ease.

On Tuesday I rested and went to my writing group. My creativity levels were pretty low but by the last exercise, my imagination was running free again with talking cats and dancing trees as the characterful protagonists of my nonsensical prose.

In Wales my healthy diet went out of the window. My food is 95% clean with hardly any heavily processed food and I prepare almost everything myself. In Wales I just can’t do it. My sister has crisps and snacks in for the boys and when I’m feeling weaker, I can’t help myself. On the first night I had 10 squares of comfortingly sickly sweet milk chocolate. On the second night I’d completely given in and bought a big Toblerone, on offer for Father’s Day. I had 5 triangles in one greedy go, seated on the bench outside with mum. She had 3 triangles fair play to her. The warm weather gave its texture a yielding softness and the cheap chalky chocolate melted all too quickly in our mouths. In my defence I left the rest of the almond studded chocolate for her to finish off, although I had to fight hard not to smuggle it in my luggage.

I suppose the purpose of this post is to remind myself not to ignore the warning signs of imminent burnout which seem so apparent after the event:

I had a lot of anger and a lightning short fuse.

I was triggered (I loathe that word) by the slightest thing.

I wanted to sleep all the time.

I couldn’t stop and rest.

I felt I hadn’t worked hard enough.

I felt incredibly tense.

I couldn’t laugh or smile.

My jaw was clenched.

I had no sense of enjoyment or pleasure.

I worried about the future.

What makes it harder to deal with is that I’m slightly depressed, definitely menopausal and I do have a propensity for excess. I don’t like to leave things unfinished and usually I don’t stop until it’s right. Good enough just isn’t good enough. Or is it?

I’ve been feeling anxious since just after 1pm. Woke early, 4.45 but decided to sleep some more as I had quite a late solsticey night and it’s upper body exercise day, so practice first. Did some good work, significantly better than the past couple of days with improved focus. Airplane mode is a godsend but I need to reinforce my online and tech boundaries. I think I went back online after an hour. I wonder why. Maybe it’s loneliness/isolation/the need to reassure myself that other people exist out there. I also don’t want to miss anything! Not that there are that many emails thank goodness. When I read an email which requires action, my mind goes 🤯 A few hours later, I can deal with it logically and easily.

I know I’m grumpy today. I finished practice at 12.15 and went out in the garden for 10 minutes to clear my head and get some sun before lunch. My lovely neighbour and her equally lovely dog were out there, both looking happy to see me. Nice that isn’t it? Except I wanted some peace and quiet and not a conversation. She repeated what she’d told me on Tuesday (maybe she’s menopausal too?) about her dog excelling at a show and having the s**s really badly for 2 days. TMI. I tried to muster some enthusiasm and nodded and shook my head, hopefully at appropriate times, but the moment of peace and mind calming I wanted was gone so I politely made my excuses and said I was famished. In an effort to make her laugh and not feel abandoned (!!) I told her I was having tuna, tomatoes and toast, which was true. Cucumber, coriander and… Chicken! she said helpfully. I felt like saying ch words don’t count but thought it would be churlish of me so I let her have that one. I also shared that I have days of eating foods of certain colours. Red is a favourite day. I didn’t tell her I sometimes pretend I’m going to Thailand/France/Italy (delete as appropriate) for the evening.

I’ve started a writing course, just for fun and as an experiment, and to get me out of the house and around people. I’m really enjoying it so I’ll be writing for 15 minutes a day whenever possible and publishing my writing there and then, unedited. Images will probably be random and unrelated to the content. Any feedback most welcome!

The freshly washed laundry billows gently in the breeze. Pristine planters brimming with seasonal blooms adorn the sage green wooden fence. A hula hoop hangs casually over a small wooden hut, a construction that belonged to my previous next door neighbours, handed down to my neighbours 2 doors down for Jo’s first grandson, Theo. A selection of jumbo vehicles are strewn higgledy piggledy along the astroturf, stalled for the time being after a bout of bumper truck fun and games. The swing is motionless, begging to fulfil its purpose. The door to the cat enclosure is open. I wonder where it is. I often hear its loud pedigree vocalises. Next to it is a pop up greenhouse, its flimsy plastic walls concealing its contents.

I look up to see small hills half a mile away, reaching up towards the puffy silver white clouds. A buzzard circles way up high, lazily using the thermals to pursue potential prey. Thick patches of dark green trees punctuate the landscape. A sequence of telegraph poles join wires, connecting, communicating.

It’s been an interesting day. Up at 5.30 sharp, I had an important therapy session at 9.30 and I wanted to get an arm and shoulder workout done before I left. Ouch. No pain no gain and I know how important it is to maintain muscle at my age. I often put off arm and shoulder day because it takes a couple of days for my muscles to recover and I need them to do their work so that I can do mine. I’ve been craving protein. Food is a massive preoccupation and is definitely masking something. It’s become beyond foodie level. It’s about survival I think. And that’s ok. I’m not a great cook but what I make is edible, bordering on tasty and it’s definitely cooked with that secret ingredient – love. I haven’t, to my knowledge, killed anyone yet. I absolutely love it though. Chopping cures, hacking heals, mixing mends, whisking whets the appetite and I’m hungry again!

Therapy was hard work. I felt drained afterwards and that’s a sign of progress and learning. We touched on some very deep issues (paternal abandonment/toxic mother) and how I keep falling into the same black hole, or maybe stumbling pretty damn close to the hole. I managed to escape again. I have so much trust and respect for my therapist. She’s a real gift. The hour flies and my head is full of thoughts all the way home.

I did 1.5 hours decent practice then slept for the same amount of time. Sleep is top of the list at the moment and last week I indulged in my fair share, making the most of my innate ability to power nap. At the moment I could sleep all day. Last week was difficult. I felt very low and that’s part of the process. It’s also knowing that the lows won’t last forever. This depression is different from past depressions. It feels like a protective numbness and I’m able to function but it doesn’t feel like full on technicolour life. I know from experience that the depression is here to teach me a lesson. I need to process and express. I need to grieve but there are no tears.

I get my emails done promptly and I practice diligently although some days fighting the fog is impossible and I give up and carry on with something else. I know tomorrow I can be in the zone again. I used to be able to memorise easily. These days it’s an impossibility. My brain is like an overfilled hard drive.

I teach a bit, not much but it’s enough to keep me ticking over and I like helping my students. I’ve had a couple of enquiries for lessons and I will give trial lessons after Easter. I’m not ready to meet new people yet.

I’m tentatively planning mentally stimulating activities. I really want to try a creative writing course but the reviews for the local college are uninspiring. I emailed and called them at the end of last year and received no response. After a Google search today, I found a weekly course in town so I filled in the form and we’ll see what happens. Even though it sometimes feels as though I’m merely going through the motions, exercise is ingrained already (it’s aerial hammock yoga tomorrow night, yippee!) but I could do with another activity to engage me mentally and creatively.

I’m visiting friends in London at the end of April and in Lincolnshire mid May, and A and I have just booked a group walk in the Lakes so that’s exciting. Somethings to look forward to and to dread in equal measure. I manage my anxiety. Being extremely early is super useful. Except when it isn’t. I had a podiatrist appointment in town a couple of weeks ago and arrived 1.5 hours early (don’t!) as I was worried about missing my appointment, finding the place and whether I’d need to arrange to have my car moved if I couldn’t drive due to cortisone injections. The appointment lasted 20 minutes and I was given insoles which should improve my Morton’s Neuroma so all that worry was for nothing. I’m to go back if it gets worse and then they’ll do an ultrasound and maybe injections. Phew.

When I got back from visiting my family in Wales, a white envelope awaited and I knew already it’d be trouble. It was a fine for not paying the full amount for the time I was parked at the infirmary. I hadn’t realised I should have paid from the moment I drove in. £60! I contested it and they generously reduced it to £25 to cover the admin fee but still… I could have parked for free on the street outside the clinic premises! I’m glad I don’t do much city driving these days – I’d spend my fee in fines. And therapy.

And I’m not going to fight it. I have no energy. My joints and muscles ache and my head can take only 3 chapters of a simple book. And that’s ok. And please don’t interrogate me on those 3 chapters! This won’t last forever. It’s a necessary part of the creative cycle. Just being.

I’m going to see if I can cook. This could take some time!