People like to classify things into happy and sad. Am I happy about this new job? Am I sad about the passing of my pet rabbit? Am I happy to be going home? Am I sad to be leaving?
I donât think itâs as easy as that. Watching the city growing smaller as we climbed slowly over the grey, grinding mass that is London, the ground fell away and the sun streamed through the clouds and the plane banked left and I didnât know what I felt. It wasnât sad and it wasnât happy, and because I couldnât put a finger on it, I was at first tempted to call it an absence of emotion, a blank space where a feeling should be.
I donât know whoâs still reading this blog. Honestly it didnât last very long and it wasnât very good, I committed but as usual did a half-assed job. But I didnât promise anything more so go fuck ya selves. No Iâm kidding, thank you for sticking with it, if you are. Iâve appreciated the complimentary words from those who offered them. Havenât had any complaints, but perhaps they were sent by mail and Iâll get them when I arrive home. My point was, those who are reading this will likely already know that I struggle with depression and anxiety, and although itâs getting better, itâs a twitch in the back of my mind when Iâm not expecting it, and a grey carpet under the sparkling furniture that has been brought by the people I love and the things I enjoy.
Perhaps thatâs why I was so quick to label my absence of âhappyâ or âsadâ as we begin our homeward journey as an absence of any emotion at all. That was the norm for me, a while ago. It wasnât happy or sad, it was just âget throughâ. This trip has given me back a lot of happy, (especially that time James climbed over that poor asian lady on the flight here and she woke up suddenly with his butt in her face) and some sad (I cried one night in our hotel room when they put down the cat on Super Vet).
Happy and sad are too... heavy handed? Crass? Unrefined? To say what Iâm feeling as I watch London fall away below, and somewhere New Zealand grows that tiny bit larger over the horizon. Charlie and Eva are waiting, our flatmates are preparing for their birthday celebrations, and my Mum is probably asleep. In the time weâve been gone people have had joy and sadness. Someone had a birthday. Someone got a new job. Someone burned their toast. My family lost someone this week. Happy and sad, happy and sad.
But London is out of sight now, and Iâm one by one putting my finger on the subtler emotions that make up my mindset right now. Nostalgia for a good time we will never experience quite the same again. Thankfulness that I was there. Regret for the things that didnât go to plan or we didnât get to do, or that were ruined. Love for the boy sitting next to me who cried this morning when he got the email confirming they would not be serving peanuts on our connecting flight this time. Thankfulness that I am so loved, and love in return. Anxiety for the long journey ahead. Boredom in advance for said journey ahead. And a stinging sensation on the edges of my tongue. That will teach me to eat a whole bag of sour gummy lollies before we even get on the plane.
A nice Swiss man just shoved a cheese filled baguette into my hand and asked if I want a coffee, so I will wrap this up. Iâm happy to be coming home. Iâm sad to leave. Except, not really in those emotions at all. Iâll see you all soon.
