A new year, a new me: the first year I wake up as a published author, with a book under my belt, and all the things that that entails. Life is not the same anymore - well, I've always wanted to be a writer, but it was always in some vague way that didn't really have much substance. And all it really meant is that I wanted to write my book - the book that's been in my head and heart to do for something like eight or nine years - and now that's done...there's a new page to turn. There's stuff underneath that. It's like having looked at a layer of garden for the last decade and only finally gotten around to digging it - and now the next layer is there, as it always was, but suddenly it's no longer buried and is staring me in the face and saying, well, you gonna deal with me too? But all this digging malarkey I don't find easy.
The book came out - as I wanted it, finally - and then all this new stuff started erupting: ideas about more books; ideas about publishing other people; and the need to get stuck into marketing and publicising 'Discovering Beautiful'. I was overwhelmed by these ideas and very keen to get on with them. I left Mexico for Canada; and I left Canada for England, feeling like that was where I needed to be in order to make it happen. I arrived back here coming up to three weeks ago. And the ideas have nagged me, and I've wanted to get on with it, and I've done precisely nothing. Or, as near as damn it, next to nothing. The force of procrastination is still very strong in this one, I'm afraid. And not having a home and a place to do it is debilitating. At least, that's my excuse.
But, procrastination: what does that look like exactly? Well, it looks like this: internet chess; facebook; pointless emails; gambling. I'm ashamed to think of those things when I think about how sorted and great I mostly make myself out to be, but there they are. Especially the internet chess of late; even in Mexico I was getting into it, during my more boring days at Yandara - and just typing it now makes me want to play. But it's so pointless! Such a waste of life! I mean, like a true waste of life: not one good thing can come from it. And yet I do it constantly. And yet I long to do it right now (and probably will). That, ladies and gentlemen, is what you call an addiction.
(One totally pointless game of chess later - which I lost).
So we need to get things in order; let's recap. I'm in Leeds - check. I'm staying in my old house - check. I've an invite to take a room here and live here - check. But the thing is...I don't think I really want to; it's noisier than I want a place to be, and probably not the kind of people I want to be living with. Check. But I love Leeds! I really do! It felt so good to come back here after a couple of weeks down south and it's just so familiar and down-to-earth and beautiful and good. Check check check. I love Leeds - but is Leeds the place for me? And what are the alternatives? Mainly: Kent.
I was in Mexico, and thinking about coming back to England - and then thinking, sheesh, where would I live, what would I do? It all seemed a bit far-fetched, to be honest - and I had no ideas at all. And then, an hour later, I go to check my email and there's a message there from my lovely friend Matt saying that they've just bought a castle in Herne Bay and do I want to go and live with them? Well, sign-loving Rory thinks, that's that question answered, and doesn't worry about it anymore; Matt and Easterly are perhaps the closest things I have to best friends in the world; I'm going to be godfather to their new son too. I mean, I type that and I wonder why I'm even questioning it: they're super-lovely people, and we get on super-well - job done, you would think? Actually, and most likely, yes - but still, I wouldn't be me if I didn't massively overcomplicate things and change my mind a million times and worry and wonder and lose myself in a horrendous mire of indecision and frustration, would I?
To be honest, there are no other alternatives - I love Leeds, but I'm not sure I want to live here. I think about the Yorkshire Dales - its writing heritage, its beauty - but I don't feel any doors opening. I love Matt and Easterly and their two wee ones - though Kent I'm not so keen on. But, is it really even that important? A man like me can be happy with a roof and one or two good friends, some occupation and a bit of sport, and everything else is a bonus - I'm sure I could find those things down there. And, given the lack of people that I know - and the sort of inherent standoffishness of those Kentian-types down there - it might just be the thing I need: the house even has writing heritage. So why do I vacillate? Why, why, why? lol! Oh, it's so bloody annoying! But - and this is why I lol and smile and am currently feeling good about everything - it just helps so much to type it out and look a little more closely at the reality of the situation and thoughts and feelings. Seems like I really am the kind of person that needs to get things out of me before I can really deal with them properly.
Okay, so let's say that was all done and dusted and Kent is where I'm going to make my base. I move in with Matt and Easterly; I spend the day in Matt's office (in the house) with his two staff and in that environment of heads down and fingers tippy-tapping I get some work done (perhaps finding me a computer with broken wireless, to avoid the perils of the internet) and I make myself a 9-to-5 writer. I get a little job, to pay the bills; I get back into football and squash - back with the people I played with when I was there - and I sort out my flab and my fitness and everything is groovy. Sounds good, don't it? And I forget about Leeds and the Dales and Israel and wherever else I might dream about and want to get to because I've got work to do and I've got a plan, and it's such a bit and grand plan (for me) that I really need to forget about silly things like where I'm going to live and how I'm going to pay for my rent and food and just sort those issues and get on with it. A man needs a base and a foundation on which to build his metaphorical castles.
So, done: done and dusted. Except...is it? I go for a piss and while I'm pissing (while piss is coming out of my piss-hole) I remember that I pretty much always ask the I Ching before I make any important decisions - and choosing a town to live is, in some ways, fairly important. Like, what if I need to move to a certain place to meet 'The One' (all the (attractive) women I meet immediately become potential 'The Ones')? Or what if...well, mainly that's it - really, what else could there be? Women and work - the two main cornerstones of life. So, to my mind, it is important - and not just super-flakey, all this I Ching asking, but also necessary given how many times the I Ching has saved my ass and taken me in unthought of directions that have always worked out wonderfully; no examples required. But the crux of it is this: the I Ching knows the unknown future - knows the people I will meet, and knows the people I need to meet - whereas most of my decisions are based on a combination of the past and on what I imagine the future has in store for me; either that or feeling - and who really knows how that works and whether it's trustable (I have an awesome example to illustrate my point here, but I really can't be bothered with it - bottom line was, I wanted to do something, and felt in my bones that it would be the right thing, but I Ching said, 'no' and I stuck with what I was doing, grumpily, at first, and it soon changed in the most wonderful and unexpected and unpredictable way). So there you go - and so do I: to my most wonderful and ancient and Chinese and wise of friends: oh dear I Ching, what will the outcome be of committing my near future to Herne Bay?
A: Number 19, 'Approach of Spring' - a most hopeful and positive chapter.
So that really is done and dusted.
PS I was going to write a lot more, about the projects that I have in my head and maybe my travels and women and stuff but...I'm just sort of tired now and off to bed. Cheers!
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