Of Christmas Present (2019 - 2015) New Traditions

Christmas Day, as part of this period of my life, has become about adventure; traveling in the early morning to a location on the map where I have not been before, and walking away from people and into the landscape, the unknown.  An instinctively arrived at rule for such adventures is of being completely self-sufficient.  Thus a rucksack, bearing essential survival materials, is packed.  I should be clear, I am not someone who can read an OS map where my walk involves hiking off up mountains or across moors. No, my routes are somewhat less extreme.  They do involve a ‘map,’ of sorts, and certainly the potential for becoming ever so slightly, but not desolately, lost.  Further rules stipulate that travel to the walk location does not involve staying overnight anywhere (the cats have Christmas too) a walk is 3 to 4 hours in length, whereby on arriving home a hot bath is a necessity for revival, warmth and getting clean! 

 

The decision on this year’s location came from noticing how over the last years I have, quite literally, traveled north and south, very near home, and then East.  Thus this year should be about heading West; in this instance slightly South, but definitely West. 

 

North, was to Hathersage and a circular route taking in locations related to Bronte and Eyre books/films.   This involved quaint villages, trails and footpaths across fields and through woods, ascent to the rough, and bleak edge of the moors where driving rain made me glad of my choice of foot wear, and finally being able to sit in the quietness of the village church, the aroma of incense lingering in the air.  Sheep did also feature.

South connected with having read ‘The road to Little Dribbling – more notes from a small island;’ and a desire to reconstruct Bill Bryson’s book cover image, and then walk across the beach and up onto the chalk cliffs. 

Slightly nearer home related to the edge of the Chilterns, another circular walk  where a feature was the different textures of the flora and fauna, whereas going East related to circumstances which necessitated a slight difference in my return journey home.  The walk began at the Light House car park of Happisburg – which I was to learn is pronounced ‘aze’brough.’  An out and back walk; firstly along the cliff tops and beach and returning via a slightly inland path which was like entering a time warp.  My journey then took me via Norwich and a late lunch with one of my closest friends.  A personal tragedy had struck in early October and Christmas was a time to be surrounded by those who understood.

Photographs exist to mark the passing of these years and as a memory of the day, but until now I have not written of these adventures.  Whether I can put into words what changed, as I headed south west towards Stonehenge, is something that will reveal itself to me as I write. 

This year the choice of location required a lesser amount of preparation as to the walking route.  However as I prepared my rucksack and ‘clothing’ in anticipation of the different weather scenarios that could ensue, familiar feelings of anxiety began to take refuge in my head and in my stomach.  This thinking connected to self-doubt and questioning why I had begun this ‘tradition;’ one borne of a significant life changing event which caused me to reflect on Christmas’s past, wonder about the Christmas present and consider, profoundly, Christmases future.  I do understand this as being part of the ‘pressure’ that can be felt in regard to the media circus around, and representations of the perfect Christmas. Notwithstanding, my age and circumstance are such that when feeling tired or fragile, I am completely capable of talking myself into thinking negatively of myself and the direction of the life I lead.  Applying basic CBT nudged my thinking. I was reminiscent of my

fortitude  in wanting to discover new places and experience Christmas in different ways and the subsequent positivity I felt at the end of each Christmas adventure.  Something would reveal itself to me, and in all honesty something certainly did, and having talked out loud to a dear and close friend, I am more able to articulate the experience in words. 

Christmas this year has been about space and time; the physical space in which I live, and the time and space of days leading into and out of the actual day of Christmas.  The confluence of these has allowed breath, breath from which flow state has emerged.  Making the decision at the start of the drive, to simply ‘go with’ whatever the radio produced, had proved more than rewarding.  Whilst I can find Clare Balding somewhat sickly sweet, the poignancy with which I connected some elements of the show to that of my own life, and the lives of those I love, resonated.  As such, as I pulled up in the parking bay in front of Woodhenge, in readiness for a circular walk incorporating Stonehenge, I was completely in the moment.  In that immediacy I felt an urgency for all the thoughts in my head to spill uninterruptedly, onto a page; words that would make palpable the enigmatic sensation of feeling I was experiencing.  I did the only thing I could think of.  I spoke these words out loud, hopeful that in hearing them inhabit the air around me I would, later, recall them more easily and thus be able to write them down. 

p.s.  As I reach the end of this writing the question becomes , 'what has all this to do with tea?'  The answer relates to the requirement on these adventures of being self sufficient.  Being an avid tea drinker, coupled with the nature of the weather which invariably accompanies such walking, necessitates the inclusion of flasks of tea in the survival rucksack; one for the walk and one for the journey home.  As such the tea flask is both a monument to, and representative of, adventure, survival, self-sufficiency and (healthy) dependency; Happy Christmas, 2019.