You have to suspend your need to understand everything or, really, anything. You need to treat the spoken word like music and simply lean back into the soundtrack of chatter and laughter. I’m spending my mornings at a piece of the waterfront aptly called Bla Bla Beach. Language is a tricky thing here. I'm in… Continue reading Finding Stillness in the Bla Bla
Arrived in Herceg Novi yesterday after a delayed flight from London Gatwick to Dubrovnik. The taxi driver, arranged by my Airbnb host, didn’t speak English but still managed to make it clear to me that he’d been waiting for three hours. His sign had my name spelled Lynekke, the Ts no doubt lost in translation… Continue reading Return to Herceg Novi
Here’s a question I get from time to time: Do you get lonely? The straight answer is: Yes, of course, don’t you? But it’s a Tardis question, right? The inside is bigger than the outside. When people talk about loneliness, they’re expressing a concern around social connection, which is a basic human need. But I… Continue reading Alone in the World
"I keep on going with this limping and mutilated story because I want you to hear it, as I will hear yours too if I ever get the chance, if I meet you .... By telling you anything at all, I'm believing in you. I believe you into being. Because I'm telling you this story,… Continue reading This Limping and Mutilated Story
How long do you plan to keep doing this? That’s the question I’m having trouble answering these days. When I think about the prospect of my itinerant lifestyle coming to an end, I imagine only sad imperatives. An illness forcing me to remain under a doctor’s care. Some formless situation compelling me to take a… Continue reading How long do you plan to keep doing this?
My father died on this day in 1981 when I was ten years old. It was of course a shock, but it was not a surprise. My earliest living memory is of visiting him in hospital after he'd had a heart attack. I guess I was about three, and what I remember about it is… Continue reading A Matter of Life and Death
Seems I can't walk by an almond tree full of blossoms without stopping. When I first came across them in Paphos two years ago, I thought they were cherry blossoms, despite the wrapper from the Greek chocolate bar company with these very pink flowers on the wrapper of the bar with almonds in it. The… Continue reading White No Pink
The challenge is to post your first Facebook profile image with your most recent. I joined Facebook in 2007, but the most recent image of myself I could find at the time was from about 2004. I didn't have a machine that could take a selfie and post it online. Also, my vocabulary didn't yet… Continue reading How Hard Did Aging Hit?
“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language and next year’s words await a new voice.” —TS Eliot Remember when Queen Elizabeth II characterized 1992 as an annus horribilis for the Royal Family and we giggled because it made us think of something like horrible asshole? The year 2018 had some stupid bad luck.… Continue reading Good Enough for a Girl Like Me
I wrote this one a year ago, and it just showed up in my FB memories. Still resonates for me; maybe it will for you too. It's the most wonderful time of the year. That song, right? It picks you up in its waltzing rhythm and you feel either the exhilaration of the Christmas season… Continue reading It’s the Most Wonderful Time
I posted this image on Instagram on the evening of June 24, 2018 while in Newtonhill, Scotland. The next morning I accidentally dated my journal September 25, 2018. With a few edits for clarity, here's what I wrote: The North Sea, the great expanse of water horizon. On days when the break between water and… Continue reading Behind the Instagram #2
A little experiment. I generally use social media for sharing the happy stuff. Some things that are too difficult or too personal or too meaningful to share with the world in a two-dimensional picture. Let's see if I can find the courage to share some of what's happening in the other dimensions. This photo was taken on the beach in… Continue reading Behind the Instagram #1
I wish I could become a travel writer who writes dispatches full of observations and perceptions of the place where she's landed. Like that scene in Under the Tuscan Sun where she ghostwrites postcards for her tour bus neighbour and waxes so poetically observant that her bus pal decides they'll never pass to the folks back… Continue reading Lime Honey and First Day Jitters
I'm feeling conflicted about posting this one because I don't want readers to think I'm seeking attention or intervention. I'm really okay. But if you are not comfortable with talk of death or suicide, I encourage you to skip this one. The first time I remember being called strong, I was ten years old, and… Continue reading What does strong look like to you?
And I'm off again after being in Newfoundland for just shy of four weeks. Got myself topped up on hugs and live music and greasy takeout and now I'm in Wales, hanging out with a pair of cats in a forest village. It's called a forest village for real. There's a bus that goes into Swansea… Continue reading Another Kind of Homecoming