Ramblings from an overactive head on a good day
In a dramatic turn of events, the day I predetermined to be a ‘creatively productive’ one has turned out to be just that. I can’t possibly claim this success as my own. My brain feels a bit smooth and excitable and restless and unfocused, so I was very much expecting the opposite, along with the inevitable self-loathing that comes with setting myself goals and only really having a go of it performatively. Honestly, I worry I do most things performatively. I constantly feel like I have an audience, even when I’m entirely alone. Actually, I feel it the most when I’m entirely alone. I act up to the crowd, I respond to the hecklers, I excuse myself when I need to leave the room for a sec. On a good day, this feels like I have a die-hard fan club who make allowances for me and support even the worst ideas I let slip. On a less good day, I’m in a Truman-Show-esque existential pothole where I question my morality, sanity, existence in other people’s lives and am in a constant state of distracting myself. I’m trying to write more while I’m feeling the former. Give my family a breather from the unwavering sense of ‘is Katie okay?’ and offer them an insight into the incredible joy I am capable of feeling, finding and creating for myself.
Which nicely brings me back to today. I carved out the time to be on my own, which I’m sure many people can attest, is absolute heaven when dictated for yourself. In comparison, having a day on your own out of circumstance and lack of company is up there as one of the worst feelings ever. Along with forgetting your pre-made lunch at home when you’re a bit skint, and sunburn on the back of your neck. But today is no such disappointment. Recently, I’ve been really busy and burnt out with having lots of plans and friends and plans with friends that I needed a ‘leave me alone’ day. To be clear, I only want people I know to leave me alone. I want no responsibility for someone else’s day and to want no remorse when I want to stick to my own time schedule. If followed correctly, this allows for an abundance of time dedicated to the other people in my life: strangers!
Flipping heck, I love strangers. I love the fleetingness of caring and careful interactions. I love people watching and seeing the couples half-hand-holding, the kids trying to get the attention of their grown-ups, the teenagers buzzing with the excitement of being in town independently. I love chatting to people about their day and smiling at those who look like they’re having a bad one. I love giving compliments to women and seeing their faces react to the rush of feeling seen. I love the way people browse market stalls and hover with purpose and intention, even when they know they won’t be buying anything. The smiles and nods at homemade earrings or ceramics or candles act as currency in their own right, though the artist would really just like the money.
There was an early entry for today’s stranger of the day: the lovely woman I met on the train to Leeds, who was accompanied by Duke the ageing pooch who showed a complete indifference to my affection. She assured me this was ‘classic Duke’, who plays hard to get and is in a constant state of withholding. But just like with the ever-growing list of emotionally unavailable men I’ve been doomed to pine after, his indifference only made me want reciprocation more. The 35-minute journey allowed enough opportunity to do what I do best: ignore the signs and make it happen. By the time we reached New Pudsey, I had learned that Duke was originally the dog of the lady’s grandma, and she had agreed to take him on after she passed away. She admitted she didn’t yet receive that overwhelming, excitable love from Duke herself but that was okay because she wouldn’t want to rush his mourning. I liked the respect she showed to him. She identified herself as ‘a fan of Duke’s’, and from my limited interaction, I declared the same. We parted ways and I felt fulfilled. It was a brilliant start.
My luck continued when I met a beautiful couple in their wedding clothes while crossing on the stairs in the Corn Exchange. As mentioned above, I couldn’t NOT compliment them but particularly the woman who had bright red lipstick on, some lightly staining her front teeth, with lace skulls on her white dress and ray bans on her head. She was the coolest. After a few minutes nattering, I found out it wasn’t their actual wedding day but instead their anniversary and this was an annual tradition of theirs: getting their wear out of their wedding-day gear and mooching around Leeds, photographing each other, getting a bit pissed and eating lovely food. I’d hit the jackpot. It didn’t take long until we’d agreed I’d be their photographer for a little while; they’d seen my camera and decided that was enough of a positive reference to deem me worthy. We had a great time, I captured them at their most giddy, and I left them feeling that sensation was contagious.
My final good strangers of the day are the young boy and his dad currently sat to my left. When I say sat, I mean that the dad is perched on a stool not looking entirely comfortable, admirably watching his son running around and taking photos. I’d gauge the lad is around 11 and has a compact digital camera attached to his hand like it’s his prized possession. By the way he’s taking the photos and examining each in detail, I’d argue it probably is. I’m both enamoured by the creativity of the kid, and the overt devotion of his dad. He’s snapping away, in a variety of positions and trying out different settings on his camera, occasionally running back to dad to show him the one’s he likes best. Each time this happens, the dad responds with such genuine interest and thoughtful suggestions, it makes my heart do that thing. ‘That thing’ to me, is simultaneously beam for their incredible relationship and ache for my own. That’s not to say I don’t already have my own. My dad is my absolute best mate, he’s been my number one fan forever and the feeling is entirely mutual. But, our relationship has changed and evolved over the last few years and this particular interaction made me miss past versions of us. The version of me that lived selfishly and was someone else’s responsibility instead of my own, free to explore my passions safe in the knowledge that I had a cheerleader ready and waiting to cheer. None of this is to say that this feeling has disappeared, but it has, like things often do, changed. It’s not sad or bad, it’s just different. For now, I’m just really happy I got to see this dad and this son, in their natural element. I’ve just called my own dad to check what he’s having for tea and to tell him I’m having a good day, he said ‘that makes me so happy my darling, keep going’.
So, when I started this stream of consciousness by stating my creatively productive day was not my own doing, I meant it. I’ve stumbled from one lovely interaction to another and have felt boosted by the goodness and fun I’ve managed to get out of the day. I’ve taken photos, written this bloody thing, and edited a video I’ve been threatening to make all month. I wish on my low days I could be reminded of this feeling. That sitting in at home and doing nothing but watching Bob’s Burgers and eating ramen, only exacerbates the bad feelings. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes it’s just what I need. But, most of the time, whether I like it or not, I thrive out in the wild. I’m inspired by my need for connection and stories, and that’s when I am my most creative. As much as I’d like to think I’m the tortured poet type who utilises my chronic depression and transforms it into art, I’m finding that’s not actually the case. Sure, it makes for some hard-hitting soliloquies and isn’t exactly going anywhere. But, in my mission to ‘get better’, leaning into the positive and trying to capture it in some form of art, seems to be working. Ask me again tomorrow and I might have a different perspective, but today that’s where I’m at. Just wanted to let everyone know.