Something more...

There is a possibility I'm slightly lost. A possibility I take the long way around in everything I do. A possibility I haven't a clue what I'm doing . Ever look at your friends and think hey, they've clearly got it all sorted? Ever look at your life and feel like it's burning to the ground? Okay, dramatic maybe, but I know we all feel that way sometimes. I know I do at the moment. No income. No job. No finished book. Still living at home. Still living in Dublin. Adventures feel few and far between. 

I'm a smiley, happy person. Positive and optimist and so sure I'm doing the right thing. Except I'm not sure any more. Searching for the answer, for the something more is, exhausting. But... Is this it? Is there not something more? Does this happen to others? This biting, hollowing need to be somewhere else? The need for something else? The fear you'll never get to where you want to be?

I live with the longing for the away-ness. I live with the want for something I may never have. 

It's the normal bits, see? The every days parts that I find challenging. I live for the highs, for the moments where you are so truly alive and so immersed in life that the rest of it fades away.
I'm a writer.
I collect stories and those are the best places for them.
I'm a dreamer.
I collect moments and use them to remind myself of how good life is.

Because it is so amazing, so awesome, so much better than they let you believe with their mortgages and permanent jobs and gaps in your C.V.  With early mornings and never enough sleep and no magic and broken hearts. With bills and rent and tax and crappy shoes.

It's the stories that last.
The moments.
The perfect ones and the painful ones. 

Right there, crystallising your life into one solid second. Their are ones that changed me radically and irrevocably. Took who I was and twisted it into something different. Sometimes with sharp edges that people cut themselves off. Other times I was softened into something warm, attracting people to me so they could bask in the safety, the calm. Life isn't down in the day to day stuff, the bits you forget. Life is the night that doesn't leave you, or that train stop that allowed you to breathe again, or the kiss that broke your heart. It is the friends that put it back together and the man of steel and the comic book lover and the festivals and the laughing. 

It is when you pause, take a breath and think, that was it.
That was something important. 

At least for me it is. 

These moments happen when you least expect them but you need to pay attention to them and collect them, add them to who you are and let them change you. Change, grow, hope, wish, live, be and do. Do something, do everything. Never stop trying and finding and learning. Because they are so easy to lose in the screech of alarms and the traffic jams and work and coffee and co-workers and arguments and TV and housework and bad nights sleep and repeat, repeat, repeat. 

Try not to lose them. Try to cherish it all. Because it's worth it when you get one. A perfect second of living.

Right now, I'm lost, unsure, that biting anxiety is sitting in my chest. I've no idea what I'm doing. I may be burnt out. I may just be having a bad week. I may just have to accept when you want something more, life is alway is a little bit harder. I may have to compromise. I may need to bend to the whole life thing. Give up. Make myself normal for a while. Accept the experiment failed. I am not more. I am just me. Little. Small. No one important. 

But then I think fuck it. Might as well keep fighting to find something that makes these tiny few seconds on the planet worth it. Because I'll be dead long enough and who wants to be normal anyway? 

The end of Europe...

The last two weeks of Europe flew by in a blur of travelling, music festivals and friends. We left Budapest and travelled for twenty four hours on bus across Europe to reach Leeds in time for the festival. Six hours on a bus, wait four hours and eighteen hours on a bus was not as bad as expected although my kindle was broken by the person in front of me and I slept very little. But really who needs sleep? The past part was the euroline, a bus inside a train inside a tunnel under the sea...cue us singing the little mermaid..badly.

We very wisely choose to spend a night in London and with that got to see one of our friends and a very small part of London. Too much beer, new friends, some funny photos and 24 small hours later we were back on a train, hungover, and on the way to our final festival of the summer. Our excitement was divided in two, so excited for the amazing line-up, and so glad there would be no more tents, crowds, mud and rain. 

Best parts of Leeds:

1. Hot showers

2. High fived the lead singer of Jimmy Eat World

3. Touched Macklemore

4. Was at the barrier for You Me at Six, Macklemore, Blink...

5. It was the last festival

6. Tea, actual not weird tea

7. Arctic Monkeys, Royal Blood, We Are Scientists and other amazing bands

Worst parts of leeds:

1. Rain

2. Mud

3. People

4. The sound was pretty terrible

5. We were both sick

Leeds was followed by a longish, well three hours, train journey to Edinburgh where we spend seven glorious days, eating, drinking and listening to scottish accents. After two months, one of which was spend in a tent, we needed the chance to sit and enjoy a city for a little longer. Also recover. That was desperately needed. We also did a couple of days in the scottish highlands with an Australian we had met in Edinburgh. He drove, we kept him company...fair trade...for us. The highlands were the perfect end to the trip before we arrived back in Ireland. It was peaceful and mountains and nature. Silence after months of being loud. Perfect place to relax before the madness began again. 

Putting my wellied feet up after a hard day wandering.

The view from the hostel. We weren't sure if we were allowed have the fire but Tom was not taking no for an answer. And it was amazing because of it. 

Its all getting a bit intense...

The further east we went, the more intense the history got. I grew up knowing about the Berlin wall, knew it had existed, had seen it thorn down countless times on Reeling in the Years, but I don't know if I ever fully grasped the full story and legacy. I'm not sure I even knew what it was all about, can't remember what I learned about it in school. Berlin soon rid me of such blissful ignorance.  Checkpoint Charlie is a tourist attraction now but was also almost the location that started WW3 (feel free to correct me if I'm wrong). I spent a long time there reading every bit of info they had, driving Amy insane I'd bet, and just feeling awe and disappointment at the treatment of people. To quote mean girls, cant we all just get along?! If this trip down Europe's memory lane is teaching me anything the answer seems to be a very clear and definate No.

What does stand out, away from those individuals in power, are the normal people, the on the ground, just getting on with our lives, people. The kindness, bravery, and strength these people had gave me goosebumps. Those are the people who matter in these battles of powerful men. The Churchill's, Hitler's, Stalins and Kennedys, the ones who divide countries with little thought for the people, those men can go about their political games and negotiating. Its the people who are fighting for friends and family, for strangers and their fellow country men, they are the ones who should be remembered.

There is so much history, too much cruelty, to take in. It shocks and sickens, making you question how it was allowed happen, why no one tried to stop it. And then Amy makes the worst and most valid point of all; its still going on and we're still allowing it to happen. One day we'll be walking through museums of the dead of this decade, this year, this month and this day. We will mourn them because it is grotesque and horrible that these things happen. We will question why we allowed it to happen. And yet as it happens, we allow it. The people still fight, the politicians still play and the rest of us continue to stand by, as we always have, until it comes knocking on our door.

I'm not looking forward to that day.

Six weeks of freedom

Sitting in a cafe in Prague, waiting for a eighteen hour bus ride to London, I think its time I update this thing I call my blog.

Travelling exactly six weeks today. It feels like so much longer and so much less. The burnt-out, tired and stressed women who left Dublin is not quite a memory but she's getting there. Think maybe an actual person is emerging. Less overwhelmed and stressed, less focused on controlling everything. I wonder now, looking back, why I let it get so far. Why did I think working myself so hard, killing all the things in me that made me me, for a job and another job, and that third job, was worth it?! Why did going from doing my masters and working full time to doing my writing and internship and working full time happen?! Was it so important?! Who's race exactly was I running and what would I win at the end?!

Nothing. That was my prize. Well nothing but exhaustion and disenchantment. Wondering what the point of it was. I wasn't living. I was breathing. I was surviving, just about.

And now, I'm starting to remember how to be happy, how to enjoy moments. Standing on an overnight train, somewhere in Germany, middle of the night, total freedom. Chill night air hitting my warm face, sound of crickets echoing through the darkness and no one, not even me, having a clue where I was in the world. Hell, that's living, that's life. A band I would never have gone to see playing at a music festival. The energy, excitement and dancing. So much dancing, I hope I never stop dancing. Its these moments of clarity, of pure unadulterated joy, that are reminding me there is so much more to life then that tiny box I locked myself in.

Throwing away that key, tearing down the walls and burning it to ash. Scattering the remains in every place I go, a reminder to myself that I am free. I am not trapped anymore. And to any one feeling how I did, lost, alone, bone weary, it will get better. You just have to decide that their rules don't bind you, their beliefs don't negate yours. Let them go, throw it all away. Do what you want to do and screw the rest of them. It can only get better from here.

Of prostitutes and weed...

Amsterdam. Not my favourite place. It rubbed my feminist bones the wrong way. The city was lovely, buildings were pretty, rain less so, but the women in windows and live sex shows. Just ew. Don't get it. Don't want to.

We did get to see Eoin there which was amazing. We hung out, we got high and wandered the streets. Not much tourist-ing was done so can't really mention any interesting facts about the city. We just ate, drank and were merry. Dance festival was a bit wet and we didn't get a wrist band. But it had a merry-go-round and ferry lights, good music and banter. We then had takeaway and chats...it was a very chilled day.

Amsterdam. I don't have much to say. It was great seeing Eoin but the red light district kind of soured it for me. The Sunday was sunny, beers and food were had, and the vibe in the city was relaxed and casual. Family's having picnics in their boats on the canal, a leaning building and ice-cream definitely made it a prettier place.

Let's call it an experience. 

Dance Festival. Great day. Bit damp though. The blue sky in this picture is lying. 

Practicing our duck face. It's an important skill to have apparently. 

A slanty building. My favourite. 

From Brussels with love....

Ah Brussels, how we love you! Sleeping in Barcelona airport and flying first thing meant we were smelly, dirty messes by the time we arrived. Booking an apartment meant we couldn't drop off our bags until five. But whatever when you're in a city as wonderful as Brussels.

It was sunny, vibrant, alive. Feeling instantly welcome, I think we bonded with the city. I want to live there one day. Maybe work in the EU. Be important and whatnot. We wandered around Gothic place, found the peeing boy statue (?) and of course ate waffles. Mine had nutella on it and tasted like fried pastry outer with softer fluff inside...it was tasty and weird. We also found the EU Parliament and an awesome museum of broken relationships... as depressing as it sounds...

We found a man made beach on the harbour. Lined one side with food and drink places, with sand on the other. Brilliant vibe and one of us, who will remain nameless...not me...got very hilariously, charmingly drunk on generous rum cocktails and free shots. Because we're Irish of course.

We stayed in the Brussels suburbs, in a real apartment, with a real life shedding cat. My asthma loved that. But it felt like a real, away from the touristy stuff experience.

I'm not capturing it right, that intrinsic thing Brussels has that makes you feel welcome and happier. Go there. Right now if you can. Let me know of you feel the same. 

A flying visit to Barcelona

The morning of the end of Benicassim contained more sweltering sun alarm clock and an excessive amount of hungover people. Funny watching people attempt to pack up clothes and fold down tents while sweating out the alcohol and drugs. As we walked away, weighed down with tents, air mattress (lost soon after...sorry) and mattresses, all you could see were abandoned tents fluttering in the barely there wind and rubbish....maybe all the rubbish in the world. Stuck in Benicassim for a few hours, always disorganised, and then a short three hour train ride to Barcelona!

Hostel was fine, we were destroyed tired so we ate, slept and recovered. Checked out of the hostel and dropped off the bags in luggage storage (Had to be paid for...WTF?! Bold hostel.) Gaudi's church was amazing, almost alive. It looked like the inside of a cave, all stalactites and stalagmites. Tourist bus (easiest way to see everything) and we saw the city on the day.

Of course as backpackers we weren't going to pay to accommodation when we had an seven o'clock flight that morning so sleeping in the airport was the only option. AC blasting all night, hard floor and bright florescent lights. Nasty, but free.

We survived with only a bruised bum and cold bones. Now to Brussels... 

*sorry for the spelling errors

Freedom?! Maybe?!

I'm only saying it because I know it's basically Anthea and maybe Lee reading this, but for the first time in longer then I can remember I am so happy.

Tent life and communal showers

Arriving in Benicassim, on what I think was a Tuesday evening, after twenty four hours of travelling was like arriving on another planet. Tired, smelly, aching bodies and heavy backpacks, we stumbled off the train into the baking sun and somehow found ourselves instantly on the official bus service for the festival. Convenient.

"Bus pass. Bus pass"
"Em yes." Says Amy, muddled and tired.
"Bus pass."
"Two please." She asks, pointing to me.
"3." She pays, we sit down and realise we can get a pass for the week for fourteen euro. Bus driver is no longer a crazy person which is nice.

The campsite is rows and rows of tents, some massive and house like, others barely fitting a human adult. Above this sudden community is green tarp fluttering in the wind, offering little or no protection from the almost harsh sun. And that was nine at night, we instantly dread the morning.

Walking past the batches of tents, organised by number and letter, everyone seems so much more prepared, confident and laid back then us, currently two messes of exhaustion and heavy bags. Of course we were right at the back with the sun raising on us, giving our tent the enjoyable sauna feel we all look for at nine in the morning.

Tent up with some help, thank you James, and we manage to walk down to the supermarket and back. Food and a beer. Bed. Loud excited campsite keeps us awake most of the night and then sauna tent does the rest. Beach at half nine in the morning it is then.

Wednesday night and we made friends with the people around us- James, Holly, Isa, and Augustine. There were also the welsh lads, younger and on a "It's a festival" buzz. Madness I wouldn't scar you with (For the curious in you penis fights, vomiting everywhere, pissing themselves repeatedly and continuing to wear the shorts etc...etc...lovely guys though until they wrecked one of the girls tents the last night and pissed on it...not cool).

The music as always was amazing. Bands we saw:

Tiny tempa, kodaline, travis, Paolo nutini, lily allen, example, ignossus, kasabian, thr 1975, manic street preachers, and loses more...too good for words...

Paolo nutini was by far the best. So intense, never seen such an amazing performance, still buzzing from it.

Benicassim; the people, the music, even the camping, it was an amazing, surreal, crazy experiences and I didn't even mention the communal showers.

On a scale of ten to Richard Greer...

The hostel was gorgeous. Met nine Liverpudlian lads who took us on the beer for two days straight and basically gave us an awesome start to the adventure. Two days in Lisbon, did the obligatory sight seeing bus (I lie, I love them), ate ice cream, sangria and made friends. Weather was amazing, average 40 degrees, and my tan is company up nicely. Sunset party and football matches.         Also Irish bars and chats......

.....and then came the festival.

Hostel garden. Pure heaven after the last few months in retail.

We're tourists Amy but we're people too.

Lisbon is hot and sunny. I'm certain I already have a tan, if you look at me with one eye closed and the other squinting while in bad lighting. Yes, definitely a bit darker. The view from my window is sunlight warming red terracotta tiles and water. Life has improved immeasurably since this time last week. I was pulling yet another sale and trying to fill walls. I'm waiting to miss it...that's a lie. I'll never miss it. The people yes, the work?! Never, not even a little bit.

Freedom is nice.

Airports and coffee and rain.

Leaving today. Not at all sad when the weather looks like that. Amy says hi. Packed everything up yesterday and now to the adventure. Coffee split all down my top but its dark I'll get away with it. Random thoughts done.

"Haven't you travelled enough?!" They keep asking me. Doesn't even justify an answer.