Making friends at the end of the world

They're not wrong when they say that moving house is up there with stressful incidents like bereavement, changing your job, and getting married, or getting divorced.  It's not so much the impact of the upheaval, the packing, the lists, the phone calls, the being put on hold to the insurance company for an hour, ignored my your ex-council when you advise them you have moved, or the financial impact of 2 self drive hires 300 miles plus a few car loads.

No, I have realised its what comes after that has more impact.  The getting used to it. 

I am someone who, having been a bit lacking in the self esteem resources, has always associated 'who I am' with 'what I do'.  I would described myself as an idle workaholic.  A what?  Well,  I love sleep, I can't get enough of it, my natural day runs from about 10am to about 1 am.  Which means that I am perennially late for work, and ALWAYS working late.  When I worked in theatre I was pretty much like everyone else (an 'early' meeting was 10:30) and I never really noticed it.  

In the office before I moved here I stood out a bit like a sore thumb with my regular half 9 starts and 7 pm finishes, and if it wasn't for such understanding management (and the invention of a flexi sheet) I would have been verbally warned pretty much every week.  3 strikes and you're out  would have rendered me jobless before a month was out.

Anyway - I digress. These days I work for myself.  Which means that my daily routine consists of precisely what is natural - wake up about half 9, breakfast at 10.  Check emails, wash up, bit of housework, walk the dog, lunch. Off to the studio, work. 6:30 (after the Truro rush hour - where DO all these people live down here - in hedges?)  drive home (via supermarket sometimes)  Pretty much ALL accomplished to the soundtrack of Radio 4.  Light the fire and work some more, maybe.

I used to loathe spending time on my own - the very thought of it rendered me a wobbly wreck - but these days after quite a lot of therapy apart from anything else, I know how to deal with it.  Which is just as well as I spend most of my time alone.  It gives you a great deal of time to think - something which, not just once, have I been accused of doing too much of.  And I have found, over the last two weeks, that having this space has been at once a scary and wonderful thing. 

It occurs to me that I have finally understood what holidays are for.... only this isn't holiday this is my life!  I am a bit stressed by the lack of stress.  I am surprised by how 'un-worried' I am about things.

Lonely, yes.  Worried - not really. Anyone that knows me will probably have laughed out loud at that last sentence.  I am not even worried about my loneliness - knowing that it's par for the course when you relocate.  

Anyway - as always I learn much from the wise Shaman-ess that is our daft dog - Tilly, who is the one living creature I do have daily chat with (apart from the Mr of course!)   Husband and I, it seems, are both feeling a bit vulnerable, churned up, lonely. So -This weekend we embraced the changes and went on a mini adventure.  What does one do on a Sunday when one lives in the Duchy?  Why, my dear,  one goes to the beach!  Being who we are of course it wasn't just any old beach - it was the furthest most Westerly beach and being Cornwall it was wild and rugged and utterly breathtaking.

We started to find each-other again me and him, after the tumult of the last ? months - year? (I realise as I write this the last 12 months has brought us 4 out of the 5 aforementioned stressful events)  And then - a little moment of magic as Tilly's genetic code resonated with that of another canine beach companion - equally looney and energetic as she.  It was amazing - a totally different relationship between them than that she has with any other non breed related dog on the daily walk.  They knew each other  and hilariously they didn't know why - so they just ran and ran and played and boxed and barked and ran some more.

Well what did this idle-workaholic-queen-of-procrastination-over-analytical-creative-in-Cornwall take from that?

Stop thinking, start walking, and sooner or later you'll run into a kindred spirit - it's happened before, it will happen again! After all it is said that apparently at least 50% of the population of Cornwall has emigrated here from 'upcountry' - just like us - so there's got to be some genetic code resonation to be had somewhere in this incredible place.