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That loving feeling

Do you ever get caught up in the notion that love isn’t enough?

The word itself has become mundane and so easily used like your favourite band you secretly resent for going mainstream.

This swelling feeling that gathers fit to burst in your fully expanded ribcage is so elating and dangerously enthusiastic you know right then and there it’s you. Everything you are/doing/have done, have seen, been and the person it’s lead to you being. Its contentment and happiness at the imperfectly perfect ball of you. And this 4 letter word doesn’t seem big enough to contain all of that.
As if the whole world has just reached in and blown your little mind beyond return.

Except each time it arises I know it won’t stay, it’s unmaintainable, you wouldn’t survive it. Even as I write I feel it slipping away leaving that post euphoric buzz and content air of a lingering high.

I think it’s what happens when you’ve moved too fast for too long, thinking too much with no time for reflection. And then you stop and all this beauty just swells and seeps from where it’s been hiding and turns you into a giddy child that’s just realised all their dreams are going to come true.

You realise there never was any need for Santa or the tooth fairy, this world and the people in it provide all the magic you need. Your childish awe is returned to you with such impact you suddenly realise where the energy of every child comes from, it’s from the bottom of Pandora’s box, that little part that hasn’t been exposed to harsh realities and scandalised with heartbreak.

It’s easy for people to think travel is easy, just one long holiday, but to everyday be put in control of life changing decisions, knowing you have no home, no bed to rest your head that night, no job and no friends within reachable distance it can be scarily reclusive. You can crave the smallest bit of intimacy from strangers, reassurance from the most meaningless of touches.

Finding yourself is bloody exhausting and exhilarating, insane and petrifying which in itself leads to more exhaustion. There are no duvet days, you’re constantly having sleepovers in someone else’s house and living to the cruel mistress of check out times.

You can’t just switch off an entire culture and country or close your eyes and call your dad to pick you up when you turn up in the rain, at a pitch black station and some questionable guys that don’t speak your language are staring at you. All these things become part of your story, all these things can dull the childish exhilaration of the ‘holy crap I did it, I’m travelling the frickin world vibe’ and burst your bubble. But don’t you dare let it! When you’re feeling crap, remember this is your fantastic lovely life.

And maybe you’re stood on a balcony in the pouring rain in Sri Lanka dancing unreservedly to ‘Hozier’ when that little bubble of bliss is returned to you, maybe you’re sat drinking a cup of tea with a loved one or finishing a really long essay, but promise me, when you feel it to really feel it. To do whatever it takes to love and embrace every second of childish ecstasy, because so rarely do our heart and minds align in a way that allows us this sweet release and true taste of gratitude for being alive.

Happy Friday!

2 thoughts on “That loving feeling

  1. Gill Egan-Whitaker says:

    Happy Friday to you and a virtual hug snuggle and xxx on its way where ever you lay your head tonight xx

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