Oddly enough I experienced a feeling very similar to what you’ve described but under totally different circumstances.
The city in which I live has become increasingly expensive and I had to take on a sometimes friend as a roommate to pay rent.
All went about average until one day, shortly after I had been in an accident, the roommate took me grocery shopping.
In the way there someone abruptly cut him off in traffic. His temper flared and before I knew it he was using both of us and the car as a block to prevent the other driver from getting ahead of us (somehow he’d maneuvered us past the motorist) and yelling back out the window at the other driver all while driving forward.
By this time I was agitated and told him tersely to watch where he was driving. He didn’t speak a word the rest of the time until we got home.
I could still sense the rage within him as I walked to my bedroom and shut the door. Suddenly I heard all manner of things being thrown at the door with quite a bit of smashing sounds, thuds and cursing.
A few of my books had been ripped up, a bottle of wine broken, glasses from the cupboard pushed to the floor and dishes demolished. He was out on the front steps, smoking.
When I asked him why he decided to destroy things he just laughed defiantly. “By the way, I threw all of your groceries in the garbage can.”
Not surprisingly we went our own ways. I hobbled through the rest of the lease, barely making ends meet but felt oddly at peace.
I found that I was best on my own but most importantly was that this experience had opened my eyes to the ephemeral nature of things.
Yes, it hurt that three books of some poetry I definitely admired were now history and that I could survive on less food than I thought but what I really took from the blow-up was that things, physical objects, were only important to me because I vested them with this significance.
In a way I have to thank that individual for giving me the opportunity to realize that the essentials in life are within and not outside of me. And, just as surprising, once I began living this newfound realization the universe (through my friends as well as through fortune) began returning those objects (in new forms).
I find myself now, in the autumn of my life, more ready to face disaster and even my own death with a much better sense of calm.
Thank you for sharing your experiences, Gillian. It was beautiful to read all those magical 'coincidences' and to hear that you found a little magic in Scotland.
I am so glad you found lightness in Scotland. I left Scotland as a young woman and have enjoyed 40 years away, although I frequently visited family during that time. I have just moved back because I thought it was a better place for my daughter.
I am surprised to find that since returning to Scotland something in my soul has settled and found peace. Your description of feeling lightness in your childhood home resonated with me. Along with your beautiful illustrations.
It’s wonderful to read you again. Although I didn’t grow up in Scotland, my father did, and my granny’s house in Dumbarton looked just like that one with the flowers drawn out of the windows. Your art transports me to a part of my ancestry I want to connect with more. Thank you and wonderful to hear the turn of events in your life. 🩷
Oh, Gillian. This post and your illustrations brought tears to my eyes today. I am going to search out the lavender vinyl copy of the record (my friend sang a Mary Chapin Carpenter song at my wedding, 27 year ago!), and I'll look for your newest book, too. I am a newly-agented picture book author - I go on sub for the very first time next month with a story about Alzheimer's - and in my wildest, wildest dreams, you would be the illustrator. Thank you for your work, and for bearing your heart and soul in the most beautiful way.
Oddly enough I experienced a feeling very similar to what you’ve described but under totally different circumstances.
The city in which I live has become increasingly expensive and I had to take on a sometimes friend as a roommate to pay rent.
All went about average until one day, shortly after I had been in an accident, the roommate took me grocery shopping.
In the way there someone abruptly cut him off in traffic. His temper flared and before I knew it he was using both of us and the car as a block to prevent the other driver from getting ahead of us (somehow he’d maneuvered us past the motorist) and yelling back out the window at the other driver all while driving forward.
By this time I was agitated and told him tersely to watch where he was driving. He didn’t speak a word the rest of the time until we got home.
I could still sense the rage within him as I walked to my bedroom and shut the door. Suddenly I heard all manner of things being thrown at the door with quite a bit of smashing sounds, thuds and cursing.
A few of my books had been ripped up, a bottle of wine broken, glasses from the cupboard pushed to the floor and dishes demolished. He was out on the front steps, smoking.
When I asked him why he decided to destroy things he just laughed defiantly. “By the way, I threw all of your groceries in the garbage can.”
Not surprisingly we went our own ways. I hobbled through the rest of the lease, barely making ends meet but felt oddly at peace.
I found that I was best on my own but most importantly was that this experience had opened my eyes to the ephemeral nature of things.
Yes, it hurt that three books of some poetry I definitely admired were now history and that I could survive on less food than I thought but what I really took from the blow-up was that things, physical objects, were only important to me because I vested them with this significance.
In a way I have to thank that individual for giving me the opportunity to realize that the essentials in life are within and not outside of me. And, just as surprising, once I began living this newfound realization the universe (through my friends as well as through fortune) began returning those objects (in new forms).
I find myself now, in the autumn of my life, more ready to face disaster and even my own death with a much better sense of calm.
Love this poem and love your words and pictures.
Hi there! So lovely to see you again. ❤️
Thank you for sharing your experiences, Gillian. It was beautiful to read all those magical 'coincidences' and to hear that you found a little magic in Scotland.
Power to you ms moss mobil owner and influencer for finding the positives ✨
I am so glad you found lightness in Scotland. I left Scotland as a young woman and have enjoyed 40 years away, although I frequently visited family during that time. I have just moved back because I thought it was a better place for my daughter.
I am surprised to find that since returning to Scotland something in my soul has settled and found peace. Your description of feeling lightness in your childhood home resonated with me. Along with your beautiful illustrations.
💫❤️
Your words and your art just filled my heart…full and grateful to the brim. 🎶🙏🏼🎶🙏🏼🎶
It’s wonderful to read you again. Although I didn’t grow up in Scotland, my father did, and my granny’s house in Dumbarton looked just like that one with the flowers drawn out of the windows. Your art transports me to a part of my ancestry I want to connect with more. Thank you and wonderful to hear the turn of events in your life. 🩷
Oh, Gillian. This post and your illustrations brought tears to my eyes today. I am going to search out the lavender vinyl copy of the record (my friend sang a Mary Chapin Carpenter song at my wedding, 27 year ago!), and I'll look for your newest book, too. I am a newly-agented picture book author - I go on sub for the very first time next month with a story about Alzheimer's - and in my wildest, wildest dreams, you would be the illustrator. Thank you for your work, and for bearing your heart and soul in the most beautiful way.