Sea Seen

I love the sea. I love living by the sea. I love walking by the sea. 

I love it's size, its weight, its indifference.

But I can't sit with it for long.

It asks me questions, the answers to which I rarely have.

And that makes me melancholy.

But we see each other.

Treading Purposefully

I took myself off for a long walk 'up-country' on Friday last week, with the intention of putting some kilometres under my boots without worrying about who else was around or was likely to cause me any concerns (see last week's blog). 

I was able to walk from home up into the South Downs National Park and National Trust land, and westward from there into the flatlands beyond the village of Angmering.

For four and a half hours, I walked into the wind and away from the day-to-day niggling concerns and worries which seem to predominate my thinking nowadays.

And the way I was able to do that was to follow pathways hitherto unexplored by me, but helpfully - and literally - mapped out for me in the Ordnance Survey map in my hand.

Much of the walk towards and into Angmering, I knew already. From there on, I relied on the map to take me further.

And I still went wrong almost immediately. The pathway wasn't as clear on the ground (up a side street) as it appeared to be on the map. 

But I was reminded that "a map is not the territory" (mathematician Alfred Korzybski, 1931). So I back-tracked, without giving myself a hard time about it, and essentially 'got back on track', mindful of something @CraigTaylor74 said on a map-reading and navigation exploration day a couple of years ago, "The landscape is never wrong".

Further on, back in the open countryside, I got to a point where I could turn left or right to start the farthest North/South leg of my walk before turning back East again. I had a choice to make - right (North) or left (South). Consulting the map, I went North, following the more interesting track indicated, around and between ponds and forest, until I found myself back in Angmering, where, once again, I got slightly lost in a housing estate.

But my sense of direction is good and I completed the circular part of my walk and had a wee break again in Angmering, before setting off for the final leg back home over known and previously-walked paths, with renewed intent and, despite tired legs, at a decent pace.

When I got home, I was invigorated and pleased to realise that both during my walk, and afterwards, my mind had quietened; that the volume of the  'noise' which usually accompanies me on shorter, local walks, had been turned down and I felt more at peace with myself.

The difference between walking just to get out of the house (Covid wandering) and walking with intent, albeit without a geographical destination in mind other than coming back home, and supported by a map and compass by which to navigate, was considerably more significant that I had realised.

My internal, noisy map had been taking over my wanderings. By navigating with intent and appropriate tools, I was able to focus on the landscape, looking up (there it is again!) and enjoying the physical and mental benefits of being in nature in those moments.

To steal from someone else again, "When map and terrain differ, follow the terrain".*

* fs blog

Treading Carefully

I went for my 'Covid' walk on Worthing promenade at 09:00 one day last week. It was a lot quieter than it is later in the day, when I normally head down to the seafront. Far fewer people about. 

I liked it.

Why did I like it? 

Because I could see the way ahead. I could anticipate who was going to be coming towards me, to my left or to my right, or, indeed ploughing straight ahead and assuming that I would get out of their way. I could adjust my trajectory accordingly. 

And I had space to look up, and out, to lift my eyes to the horizon and to the sky.

Similarly, I wasn't having to keep looking over my shoulder, to see who was coming up on my blind side. 

Lone runners announce themselves by the sound of their different gaits and running shoes. Walkers and talkers can be heard as they approach. Again, I find I can move to one side or the other to allow them clear passage (although I tend to 'step out', walk quickly, when I'm on my own, trying to press on and maintain some pace, so not many 'talkers' keep up with me). 

The only ones you have to be aware of and check behind you before you alter your direction quickly, are the silent cyclists, who sweep past you suddenly and unannounced - and rarely two metres distant.

In many respects, I think going for 'a walk on the prom' is both an artifact of how we're living and is analogous to how we're working in a Covid world. Trying to find and carve your own path, looking after your own and others best interests and health. Watching out for those who could get in your way, could - through their own ignorance or indifference - bring harm to you and your's, or prevent your plan coming to fruition. Being aware of the ambushes that could catch you unawares, knock you off track - or over! Delay or derail your plans and progress. 

Whilst all the time you're trying to keep a sense of perspective, an awareness of and behaviour that recognises and navigates productively through that landscape.

It's exhausting. 

I'm sure you can recognise and construct some deeper analogies to your own personal and professional lives here, so I'm not going to over-think and thereby over-egg that. 

It's important, however, to remember that these things are far more intertwined, far more interdependent now than they have ever been in the past.

So, if you can, get out. Look up. Don't hide. Ask for help if you need it. Try not to judge. Adjust your path, cross the road, as circumstances require. Aim to reach your intended destination,

And keep looking over your shoulder.

Be safe and be well.