Sonny James

Skip forward a few years and things have mellowed naturally. I got sober when I was 34, thinking those feelings of euphoria, interconnectedness, abandon, transcendence - whatever you want to call it - were long gone.

My first sober festival was Greenman - a gorgeous place, set in the valleys of the Brecon Beacons in Wales. Initially, there was some fear, not knowing what to do with myself, not sleeping well, nowhere to hide if things got too intense.

But surprisingly, I had a great time. Admittedly, I rode on a cloud of smugness. I'd get up early and join the yoga/meditation groups, go for a run, take in the greenery, the sun hitting the dewy hillside, passing the toilets and hearing people vomiting onto their own shit from the night before.

Returning to Greenman over the years, this feeling of superiority has left me, and been replaced with something much more profound, something outside of myself.

Watching bands like 'The Comet Is Coming' and 'Explosions In The Sky' felt like a religious experience. I don't consider myself religious. I don't believe in a God in the biblical sense. But I do believe in a higher power. That there is some universal force beyond human comprehension, beyond cognisance and language. Which cannot be thought of - only felt. Because I felt it during those vibrations in the crowd. How I imagine people feel in the Gospel churches of America. It's a feeling that I now know exists - without any amphetamines, hallucinogens or booze.

This year, my dad passed away very suddenly, and I came to Greenman feeling completely lost.  My friend Tom was there, along with some other close friends. Tom had just split up with his girlfriend, and there was a giddy energy to him, an almost hyper vigilance for schedules and planning the next thing. I, on the other hand, wandered aimlessly. Leaning into the rhythm of the days and unplugging from any kind of structure. Despite being surrounded many so many people, I felt more alone than ever.

One evening we saw a band called 'Caroline'. A particular song caught me off guard. I couldn't make out what the lyrics were. It was mostly instrumental. With swelling violins, clamouring, disjointed drums, crashing cymbals. As the song went on, I felt an overwhelming grief and sadness welling up inside of me, as the music gained momentum and spilled over into something catastrophic and beautiful.

Something was moving inside of me, and I didn't know what to do with it. I was on a knife edge of breaking down into tears. Tom was standing next to me. 'Just get through this song' I thought. Waves of panic washed through me and the song eventually finished.

The singer then explained that the song was about grief - how two of their friends had recently passed. And the title of the song was 'Two Riders Down'. I was left quietly reeling. Wanting to explain to Tom the profundity of what I'd just experienced.

But the words were useless. The message was clear. The feeling was everything.

It was hot that weekend. The hottest it's been at the festival for a very long time. There were many people, after long days of boozing in the sun, who would pass out in the crowds. Bystanders would shout for help, and they'd be carried out. Others would eventually come-to on the floor and carry on as if nothing had happened.

On the last night, Tom and I went to see Nilüfer Yanya. About halfway through the set, I felt Tom's head loll onto my shoulder. His body seemed to sink into mine. Taking some of his weight, I put my arm around him and asked if he was okay. He didn't say anything. I became concerned. A few people seemed to notice. But then I felt his breath shaking, and realised he wasn't drunk, or passing out - he was quietly sobbing.  

I assured the people around us that he was okay and just held him. Once he'd calmed down a bit, we went to sit somewhere quiet, under a nearby tree. I understood what had happened. The music had moved something in him. I asked him if he wanted to talk about it - and he let everything go. All the sadness about her, everything he missed, loved and hated. Everything he'd been carrying. I sat and listened, without trying to fix or solve anything - just being there was all he needed.  He apologised between fits of tears. And I promised him he had nothing to be sorry about. Because I knew the feeling. The feeling of trying to outrun a grief you can't escape. Then holding your hands up and giving in.

This was the most meaningful thing that happened that weekend, and it was an honour to know that on some level, in that moment, he knew that he could fall  - and I'd be there to catch him. An honour to have shared that time with him, just to listen. I told him how grateful I was for all the support he'd shown me, especially in the last few months. To reflect on the highs and lows we'd shared over the years. He had always been there, with great fucking music.

Music is something that can connect all the dots, make sense of all the mess,  it's cathartic, powerful and healing - without the hangover. These are my memories now, these are the new depths of friendship.

For this, I'm eternally grateful.  

-Sonny James-

Anything outside of them ceased to exist The buildings around them could collapse And they wouldn’t blink

She engulfed every waking moment With meandering stories of divine intervention Something about a blue shop sign And numbers Numbers were very very Significant The things no one cared to think about

But he did He had nothing but time for her She had an aura A vortex Consuming everything with her grace

It was Love Young Intense Painful Misunderstood Love

She once said that her love for him Was like a new pair of shoes She didn’t want to wear them out too quickly Just for special occasions He knew exactly what she meant At least that's what he told her

They recently reconnected And sure enough There was the spark After all this time Intact And brighter than ever

He'd held onto the notion that young love was never built to last But maybe one day One day When some life had been lived She would make her way back to him And today was that day

They talked for hours It was comfortable Better than comfortable Electric They wandered around town like minor celebrities She’d make chit chat with bar tenders and waitresses

He’d silently admire her ease with strangers That vortex pulling him in again She was the one All this time She had to be

Around eleven-thirty PM In an overpriced roof top bar He’d been clenching his jaw A certain tension in his stomach An elusive yet very present dis-ease

He hadn’t said anything for what felt like an hour There hadn't been a gap big enough Not for anything bigger than ‘No way’ Or ‘Ah okay’ Or ‘Hundred per cent’

Something was off and he didn’t know what But it could have had something to do with how irritating he found her A reality dawned on him that whatever this was Whatever he wanted this to be It wasn’t real It never was Just a projection Pieced together from old songs Fragments of meaning Tinged with nostalgia

They said their goodbyes They exchanged funny videos on the internet from time to time She'd use phrases like: 'Fake it till you make it' ‘Not for me - I’m sacred’ ‘Look out world - I’m coming for ya!’ Followed by several fist and prayer emojis

They lost touch soon after Funny how things turn out innit?

-Sonny James

I could look back on my life with clarity and conviction. This is enough. It has to be enough. Without regrets. I'd like to think I'd take it with complete acceptance. What would the alternative be? What would fighting it feel like? What would abject terror and panic look like?

I might look back on all the times I've cancelled plans to eat pizza and watch Netflix, the times I've driven somewhere and changed my mind at the last minute, turned around and gone home, just to play on my phone for hours. All the times I've decided 'this isn't for me'. The relationships I've ended. The opportunities that didn't come my way. Or they did, but turned out to be something different. When I said no, was it out of a knowing, or was it out of fear? I might think about whether I'd ever have sex again. Did I love enough? Open myself up enough? Did I try hard enough to make something of myself? Or have I had it too easy?

I don't know for certain how I'd feel or what I'd do. But I do know that all these questions would be answered. The burden of trying to figure these things out would be given a decisive stamp of ‘what does it fucking matter?’ There would be finality.  And I’d continue to live my last days without any pressure to figure it out. Why waste any more time? I could choose to look from every angle with closure, acceptance, gratitude, and absolute clarity.

Really, the fear isn’t about death.

The fear is that I’ll go to the doctors, and everything will be fine. Nothing will be ‘wrong’ with me. And I’ll be faced with the same exhaustion without being able to blame it on biology. I’ll be faced with the same paradox of infinite choices and how I choose to assign meaning to them. Without really knowing the point or how it will end. More than likely, this is why I’m so tired. It’s not my body…It’s being so painfully conscious of what it all means.  

What would it look like if I just stopped?

What would it look like if I stopped digging?  Stopped searching? If I can imagine the acceptance of death. Then surely I can imagine the acceptance of life. I can live each moment seeing the simple beauty in everything, as if I’ve already arrived - without living in the potential of a future that hasn’t happened – or a past that can’t be changed.

What would it look like if I lived my current life as if I were already enough?

Not because I’m dying. But because I decided I am.

The subtext: this is how it would be if we were in a relationship I can take the reins I can hold the fort You're safe I'm cool

After some deliberation, a woman who I hadn't paid much attention to - ventured a guess, "I don't think you can do a back flip" The rest soon agreed I feigned indignation and even bluffed my way to standing up, going to perform said backflip, and then at the very last minute, conceding it was in fact a lie.

Again, you had to be there, but I can assure you it was very very funny - Everyone laughed, especially Sophie.

Obviously emboldened by my winning display of whit Sophie offered, "Okay I've got them… I used to be a ballroom dancer I've got an older sister I've never eaten a pear"

It turned out in her flustered, jet lagged state - Sophie had misunderstood the game in fact told three truths Much to everyone's amusement.

The last statement caused intrigue and even some controversy amongst the wider group "You've never eaten a pear!?" "How have you never eaten a pear!?" "I don't know, I've just never gotten around to it" Sophie said, with the same bemusement as everyone else.

This caused even more ripples of laughter, The ice had well and truly been broken.

During the sharing circle afterwards, we were invited to sum up where we were at, I said that I felt "In safe hands and good company" And I meant it.

------

The next day at breakfast, some of us arranged to go to a supermarket for some essentials, Sophie took me to one side and asked if I wouldn't mind picking her up some sun cream - Naturally, I said, 'No problem' Subtext: I'm reliable, I will provide for you Sophie.

Jenny, must have overheard this, because when we arrived at the supermarket, she offered to pay for Sophie's sun cream. Making sure not to sound too forceful, I said "No it's alright, I'll get it" Subtext: Sun cream is my job Jenny - back off!

Passing by the Deli counter, Jenny pointed at the fruit "We should totally get Sophie a pear!" Jenny you're a genius I thought (I've always liked Jenny)

Without much more thought, I gestured to the woman behind the counter: 'One pear please… grazie' I took the pear, making sure to put it in my basket along with the suncream.

When I took it to the main check out It was the last item on the conveyor belt The cashier picked it up and said something along the lines of "You cant just bring a pear up here like that mate, I need to scan it, you need to go back and get a sticker"

At this point, the rest of the group had all paid and were waiting by the door. Part of me thought: 'Ah well, it was a stupid idea anyway, best to just leave it'

But then another voice said: 'Do it! Commit! You've come this far!' It's a perfect gesture - it's playful, there's room for nuance, interpretation, It says very subtly, not only am I reliable, but I'm thoughtful, I remember things, I'm a romantic.

Imagine if you actually ended up together Imagine that story I went back and got the pear.

Back at the resort, Sophie was sunbathing. She sun bathed almost constantly. I strolled over, as if just in passing, handed her the sun cream And then with almost no emphasis on the outcome what so ever Wrapped in a small plastic bag, I gave her the pear -

She felt it, puzzled, furrowed brow, The realising what I'd done: Her face exploded into laughter Exactly the desired effect I think she asked whether it was ripe or not, 'it feels a bit firm' I said maybe give it a day or two, you can enjoy it at your own leisure, Then you can say you've eaten a pear By all accounts it was lovely.

With no outside distractions it was refreshing to skip all the small talk and really open up people on the retreat. But Sophie was especially easy to talk to.

That afternoon, on the sunbeds, we spoke about sobriety, overthinking and burnout - her family struggles, my dad's recent passing - all peppered with the bleakest most deranged humour. A humour born out of survival, out of making life bearable. That's how it seemed.

And then she said it…

I can steel myself for these moments When a potential romance subtly tells you they're already taken. It was quite new apparently, but fairly serious. I didn't even flinch - I was prepared Inside: a depth charge In the lower abdomen The death of a small dream

But outside: the face smiled, open, warm, supportive, responsive Raising the eye brows at relevant intervals The body relaxed, unphased, 'holding space' As if nothing had changed.

But things did change. Nor for her, why would it? The disappointment was of course my problem And later, once those feelings subsided - I'd come to make an important distinction The distinction between romance and intimacy

I had somehow found these to be inextricably linked And this is where I realised it.

With this in mind - I made a conscious effort to separate the two, Not to change my behaviour now that the seeming prospect of romance had all but dissipated.

This was put to the test at lunch the very next day: We met in the dining hall - sitting at a long banquet table We were encouraged to sit and chat with different people But low and behold the one spare seat was next to Sophie.

We made passing conversation, nothing too heavy I noticed a few times when she'd ask me to "pass the bread please babe" Or gently touch my arm and say "can you chuck us the olive oil?" (The same way she would ask anyone)

A floating view from up above us, a short lived fantasy, where anyone who didn't know us, Would be well within their rights to assume we were a couple.

I don't know how we got onto it, but as people were slowly drifting back outside Jenny said something like "You can have your pear for dessert Sophie" Sophie's body jerked - her jaw opened, hand over her mouth "Oh no! I've left it! What did I do with it? I've left it by the pool, it'll be gone now"

I feigned some indignation - it was only a pear after all - just a little joke… Jenny said in a similar vain "You know he went back to get that for you!"

"Oh God I'm so sorry!" she squeezed my arm - all laughs, all smiles, all eyes on us.

Outside there was joviality and mocking reproachfulness Inside I had a mad compulsion to burst into tears like a five year old. Because I was being made to play along with a joke, quite publicly, that I wanted absolutely no part of.

Because call me old-fashioned, but that pear meant something to me - and I didn't want anyone to know.

Thankfully the embarrassment only lasted around thirty seconds or so - and eventually I managed to say very genuinely and pointedly 'honestly, don't worry about it'. And that was that.

I thought about telling Sophie how I felt about her throughout the trip Just for the simple sake of having the guts to do it It would be a compliment if anything - and I'd probably never see her again But I decided on some level, she probably already knew She seemed to think I was a 'good guy' and on the last night she even called me a 'legend' I suppose that was enough.

Would I do it again? I don't know But I'm glad I did I'm glad there's a part of me that still knows when a shot is worth taking. As the old saying goes -

Better to have given someone a pear who's never eaten a pear before and then lost it, Than never to have given them a pear at all - Or something like that.

The Fall:

He passed very suddenly. He had a fall, suffered a brain injury, and a month later, he died in hospital. At the time, more than anything, I felt angry. Despondent. To the point of total apathy. Like I'd been preparing for this moment most of my adult life. It felt inevitable.

His partner swore that he wasn't drunk when it happened, it was the first thing she said to me when I arrived at the hospital. But really, I think we all knew, my brothers, my sisters, and me - we all knew.

One of my earliest and most vivid memories of Dad - is being in the front seat of his Ford Fiesta and watching in awe as he rapped along word perfect, to ‘White Lines (Don’t Do It)’ by Grandmaster Flash & Melle Mel.

At the time I had no idea what any of the lyrics meant, all in knew, in that moment, was that my Dad was the coolest person on the planet. This was true for a long time. Growing up, no one had a more fun relationship with their dad than me.

He showed me karate in the garden, we made nunchucks, he took me shooting in the woods, on occasion, he’d wrap elastic bands around his face just for a laugh, that was a particular favourite of mine. He offered me a cigarette when I was fourteen because he knew I smoked, let me drink Bacardi Breezers on New Year's Eve (it didn’t end well).

When we were told that he wouldn’t be recovering, I went to say my final goodbyes. Even though he couldn’t really hear me. I told him I was sorry this happened. I promised to remember the best parts of him, not the parts that were missing or broken. I thanked him for all the ways he showed up for me. I thanked him for doing his best -in the only ways he knew.

Wales:

I think back to my Nana's house in Wales, the rooms we used to play in, her doll's house, the dinner table where we'd eat French Fancies and chocolate gateaux, the grandfather clock she called Godfrey, the stuffed rabbit called 'Boppety Bungee', the piano I used to sit at.

When Nana went into a home, me, my brother, sister, and Dad went to sort her things out, knowing it would be the final visit.

The other night in bed, I thought about that house, if there'd be anyone living in it. What they'd be doing. I thought about everything left behind, whether it be a memory, or boxes of objects to be sifted through, kept, or given away.

The Pen:

When my uncle Pete was ill, towards the end. When he was still at home, still mobile. We'd help him with hospital appointments. On his birthday, he asked me if he could borrow a pen to make a list - people to thank for his gifts and cards. The gifts were mostly socks and Lynx gift boxes. So many Lynx gift boxes. I don't have words for how tragic and empty it all seemed.

He made his list anyway, thanked everyone. "Don't worry," he told me, "I'll give it back. I always remember when someone lends me a pen."

After he passed that New Years Eve, we eventually cleared out his house. In that empty back office upstairs, on the desk, was the pen.

Just that pen.

It felt like a moment out of time. I stood with it for a while, wondering what it all meant - if it could mean anything other than the abject meaninglessness of it all.

Of course there's a more palatable way to frame this: Pete was thoughtful, sensitive, considerate man right up to the bitter end. Of course he was all those things. It's easy to celebrate them because they're true. To me, all that pen reminds me of, is how immaterial and insignificant we all are.

And then an immense pressure takes hold of me. This crushing need to do something 'worthwhile' - to make changes, get my shit together, be more productive, not squander my time on this planet.

To be remembered for something.

The Truth:

When I'm not present, when I'm unhappy or discontented, it's usually because I'm chasing something I can't quite grasp or avoiding something I can't escape. Maybe the possibility I might die alone, never reach my full potential, and eventually be forgotten by everyone.

David Sedaris said something like:

There's probably a reason people don't focus on the absolute meaninglessness of it all - it's fucking depressing. But I think there's a difference between dwelling on something, avoiding it completely, and holding it with both hands and staring straight into it.

It's an uncomfortable truth, and it feels like shit to sit with, but this is grief, my response to watching people die and leave this life.

Getting Through:

Now that I'm sober, there's no place to go but through. I don't have that thing anymore that numbed all of this. I only have my connection to it. I can sit with these possibilities, with every uncertainty, without needing to judge or analyse, change or fix.

When it all gets too much, I try to get out of my head, go for a walk, go to a meeting, talk to a friend, connect with something bigger than me. Or sometimes I just stay indoors all day. I stop trying so hard. Stop planning so far ahead. Is it really that important anyway? We're all going to die.

As Hunter S Thompson once said: