This is a post I wrote while I was there. I thought it might be interesting/amusing to get an insight into my crazy philosophical mindset – how I love to overthink everything and turn it into some meaningful life lesson :-)
I went walking one afternoon at Lumb Bank (Arvon’s centre in Hebden Bridge). I was going to have a nap, but Melvin Burgess had scoffed at me* when I mentioned my afternoon’s objective! So, wanting to prove that I wasn’t a wuss – and because it was ridiculous not to get some fresh air, exercise and enjoy this beautiful part of the country - I put my walking boots on and headed out before the clouds and rain settled in deeper.
The nearby crags had been recommended, but on my way there the call of the river was too strong, so I decided to seek that out instead. I always worry about getting lost (especially without a map), but I was also up for a bit of an adventure. It was easy-peasy though. Around the lane, past a row of terraced houses and down the steps marked with a Public Footpath sign.
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The river’s roar was exhilarating, like it was having a good old cathartic shout. It’s a noise that always releases any tension and forces me to have a deep sigh and relax.
Every self-respecting river should have a path that runs alongside it. I really hoped there was one so that I could stay next to it and enjoy it as long as possible. I LOVE rivers. I love how they crash along when they’re full and fast flowing – nothing is going to slow them down. Determined, forceful, unrelenting. I also love the way they meander when the water levels are lower, lazily babbling along without a care in the world. But no matter how much water’s in them, I love the fact that they persist regardless of what obstacles get in their way. They just keep moving and find a way around them.
I love a good philosophical lesson from nature ;-)
Finding a path looked hopeful to start with and off I went. I figured that I wouldn’t be the only person that had ever wanted to take this route, and that even if there wasn’t an official path, a makeshift one would have been trampled through somewhere.
It was true for a while. Until it got to the point when continuing meant walking along what might have been a path, but it was on a muddy precipice a few metres above the water. If I mistimed my footing then I would go crashing down into the river at alarming speed. I didn't want to get that close to it! So I looked for another way round and went off piste a bit. I headed up a fairly steep incline, aiming for what looked it might be a real path, when I slipped and slid down a bit again. No harm done, apart from a mud-caked knee on my clean jeans (one wardrobe item out of action for the rest of the week). I decided to abandon that route as getting back to the house completely covered in mud might draw a bit too much attention.
Retracing my steps I came to a fork. The path I’d come up was on the right, an alternative route on the left. I went left. Yay, a real path! Where on earth it was supposed to lead to, I have no idea. As it petered out I had to duck under half felled trees and climb over dry stone walls to reach a “real” path. I ended up back at the steps where I’d first found the river. A complete loop.
Part of me was disappointed, but my philosophical musing brain was ecstatic! Look how well this fits with your last blog post about ideas and not knowing which one to pursue. You tried this path and that path, and even went off piste, and it didn’t work out, but you still enjoyed the walk, didn’t you? It was beautiful and where you wanted to spend time. You got fresh air and exercise too.
So it doesn’t matter if the same happens with your writing now, does it? If you go off on one idea and it doesn’t work out then try an alternative. If you find that all your attempts to get somewhere with a story lead nowhere, then so what? If you enjoyed what you were doing and got some more valuable writing experience out of the process, then it’s never gonna be a total waste of time and energy.
Even though I ended up retracing my steps all the way back to Lumb Bank, rather than succeeding with my preferred option of a circular walk, I was glad I’d gone out. I was also glad of the nap I had when I got back (sorry Melvin!), made all the sweeter and more deserved for the fresh air and exercise.
*It was a gentle - and deserved - scoff, rather than a
mean one. Melvin Burgess was nowhere
near as scary as I thought he would be. More
on that in future posts…
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