This sounds ridiculous, but when I used to think about being away for the whole year, this was the time-stamp I was worried about. I would wake up, usually around 2-3am thinking but what about when the holiday period is over? What about 1 month in when the novelty has worn off and you just want your own bed and your own stuff around you? Even while booking accommodation for 2021, I worried that my brain didn’t get that I would be away for a year; without a solid base for a year. I definitely wouldn’t be fitting my own bed in the car (unless I balanced it on top with the kayak, the paddle board and the pink flamingo).
So one month in, how’re we doing? Let’s start with the obvious:
It will come as no surprise whatsoever to anyone who has ever visited Croatia, that the Croats aren’t letting Coronavirus have much of an impact on their daily lives. There is a beautiful simplicity in the way people see life here and I have to wonder if it’s because the climate just allows them more space. In the UK, your lockdown options are greatly hindered by the weather. Being locked inside is giving you cabin fever, but the weather is horrendous and so your ‘going out’ options are actually limited to ‘going somewhere else in options – like the pub – but that now comes with a whole extra layer of hassle, with social distancing, track and trace, and the worry that your mate’s wife’s sister has a cough and you’re not sure if you want to open that particular can of Covid into your life. It’s hard and it’s frustrating.
Here though, just by virtue of the sun being out for 80% of the year, suddenly space isn’t an issue. Social distancing isn’t an issue, because on any given day you can take a walk up a hill and spend the entire day not seeing anyone else. Sure, you can do that in Britain, but the weather stops you from wanting to.
Croats are also big champions of young people; they occupy the universities, keep the cities open, keep the life going. In turn, the young people are looking after their elders – the sense of community here starts so early and is completely immersive. It’s hard not to draw comparisons with the UK, where our youth are constantly battered by accusations of inconsiderate non-compliance, loathed for illegal parties and shouted at for daring to try and utilise our outdoor spaces. Bear with me, because I know a lot of people don’t agree with me, but I have a point – I promise! Since March, we have cut young people off from their friends – in some cases the only source of emotional and social support they have access to – and told them to stop whining about it. After months of isolation we then, in a stunningly transparent display of trying to win favour with the frequent voter demographic, opened garden centres, pubs and hunting (Ha. That last one actually made me lol). In comparison with the Croats, we have done nothing to support and help young people through this pandemic – and it shows in the reciprocal behaviour we now see in return. Just a thought…
For us, the pandemic has not hindered our ability to move about in public spaces. We wear masks indoors, we’re mindful of social distancing, but the inevitable doom we were warned of from countless people who thought we were irresponsible for heading out during the pandemic has not materialised (yet – there’s still time and it is 2020 after all).
Travelling and kids
This one was a bit of a suprise to be honest. I did research and made notes on helping Izzy and Sam adjust to this invariably unstable way of life. I made sure I knew how to support them, prepared myself with inner-coaching about having patience in the face of difficult behaviour, because it would likely be them manifesting insecurity and worry. However, whenever I sidle up next to one of them, ready to do some of my most exemplary and impressive parenting by asking – “So how are you feeling about all this? Is there anything you want to talk about?” – they look at me like I’m having a senior moment, fob me off with a generic answer and ask if they can be excused to go and throw themselves in the sea.
I have watched, through the ever-increasingly sentimental eyes of a mother watching her children become less tethered to her, as both of my kids have flourished in this banishment of routine. It occurred to me as I watched them during week one, doubled over with mirth and laughing in the kind of paralytic way you only ever do during your childhood, that I hadn’t seen either of them this happy in years. Not since they started school and became worried about how they were supposed to act. Not since it became important what clothes they wore, which football team they liked, what hair-cut they had. Because it turns out, neither of my kids give a shit about any of these things now that we’ve left the race. It’s all I can do to enforce washed and ironed clothes so they don’t look completely homeless.
The unbridled freedom of those long summer holidays has had one hell of an extension for Izzy and Sam. I am concerned for the future; that this limits our possibilities – because I’m not sure I’ll ever be willing to take it away from them again by settling down somewhere.
Frank and his PTSD
It has become quite clear – and this has been a difficult thing for him to admit – that Frank’s days of ever having a career are over. This trip has done for him exactly what we hoped it would do, in that his brain is clearing and he’s now writing and reading for fun again (something he hasn’t done either of since returning from Afghanistan 11 years ago). But whenever there is something official he has to concentrate on – filling out forms, talking on the phone, even booking accommodation – his mind fogs, he becomes glassy-eyed and I find him turning circles in hallways, distressed and disoriented.
So we’re concentrating on just letting his brain enjoy its R&R. Admin has been handed over to me and we’re learning what he needs to avoid. We thought that maybe, having broken away completely from that military environment, that his symptoms would resolve, but that hasn’t been the case. What it has given him though, is the opporunity to define himself by something other than being a soldier, or an officer, or a veteran. He is starting to look as I know he’s always seen himself in his head; a disheveled and contented hippy. In a way, he has done exactly what the kids have done; let go of all that outside pressure – decided it isn’t for him – simply opted out.
It’s a strange thing to get ok with – this notion that life will necessarily have to look very different to the way we just assumed it would be. But on the other hand, this trip has shown us that you absolutely can throw the rulebook out of the window completely and still be happy. Happier.
And me? Is the one-month mark as scary as I thought it would be?
Absolutely not. One month in and all I can think is that there will never be enough time in the world to see everything I want to see.
Some people have described this trip as mine and Frank’s midlife crisis and if that’s the case, I couldn’t be more in love with it. Trite as it sounds, this is a life-changing and rich experience – one that doesn’t depreciate like a sports-car or come with the hassle of trading each other in for younger models.