Notes From The Great Caucasian Euro-Hajj

I know, its self imposed exile. Don’t ask me why I do this to myself, because I don’t really know why. Perhaps it’s because of the American Western Cowboy myth that’s so deeply ingrained in my societies story. It’s the legend of a leathery loner riding on horseback into a fading Arizona sunset. In my case it’s all the relationships and communities that I am journeying away from, riding into the sunset of past friendships left unattended too long.

Or maybe it is the more recent myth I am following. The young, lone backpacker striking out in the world (“while you still can”) myth. I’ve heard it echoed again and again. Seen the envy in the eyes of those who have “settled down” and can no longer make the journey.

The grass is most definitely greener anywhere else than where you are standing. I fall victim to that lie quite often. As humans we have this innate ability to project current feelings and emotions onto past experiences. Terrible, lonely journeys of the past become great stories in the future.

If you ask me about this trip five years from now I will have glamorised it enough to make you wish you were there with me.

A thick fog is quickly descending all around me as I pen this entry. I sit on a clear-cut stump in a field of clear-cut stumps. I can see groves of new pines springing up amidst the ghosts of a forest that once was. Grouse communicate in the distance from beneath fields of fern turned brown in preparation for the winter to come. I’m at the edge of the Scottish Highlands near a town named Comrie.

I’ve spent the last few days making beds and cleaning toilets while families and wedding parties scurry around from one beautiful “attraction” to the next. You cannot throw off the bonds of a productivity-obsessed culture in less than a week. Trust me, I’ve tried.

I’m not depressed, just lonely. Some think it’s because I just “need Jesus” in my life. Perhaps, but I suppose it could also be that restless loneliness we all feel. Maybe I’m just honest enough (or stupid enough) to say in writing what we all feel but rarely admit too feeling. Maybe I just run headlong into a good question instead of seeking solace in a safe answer. Maybe I’m just too thick headed to accept what I already know to be true.

I’ll stop there. I’m hungry and need to find a recipe for making creamy tomato soup. Goodnight.