13 - Washing out the wormholes
“Do you remember when we went on that Indian backpackers’ bus in the bus museum?” asked my friend on a zoom call this week. Eeek. No. I racked my brains. I had absolutely no recollection. The memory had gone down a wormhole, and that fact both alarmed and embarrassed me. To be fair, I’d had a very intense week sitting at the computer and when that happens, tunnel vision starts to set in and I can focus only on one thing, the creeping, looming deadline and calculating how much work I can cram into each hour. But two days later I took time out, forced myself through the blockade that my front door can sometimes be for me, and strolled down the hill to the beach. There, I splashed around in the rockpools, observing the signs of tiny lives – wiggling piles of sand, half-hidden blobs of green and red jelly, and winkle tracks meandering between the sand rippling at my feet. The sound of the waves washed through my mind, and my blocked and barricaded neural pathways began to unclog themselves. My frozen mind started to thaw and heal. It only took a minute: “Ding! Ding!” the memory of the Indian backpackers’ bus came flooding back, along with the other delights of the Ryde bus museum! Relief! I texted my friend from the shore. “I remember the backpacker’s bus!” That particular wormhole had been unclogged. But this once more made me aware of how much I need my walks, and to make the effort to get through that front door for a session of brainwashing – of the healthiest kind. Daily, if possible – but why wouldn’t it be…?