I spent a few days in North Wales last week, exploring its vast meadows,
mountains and rivers, listening to birdsong and basking in a warm April sun
that embraced us so gently, marking the long awaited arrival of spring.
For the most part in the beginning of April
I felt quite down and under the weather,
lacking creative spirit and desire to get outside of the comfort of my own home.
These were strange, not-yet-spring but not-quite-winter type of days,
where my heart was longing for more,
yet held on strongly to the moments of the past.
But as the days went by, I gradually began to awaken from the long winters sleep.
The familiar views slowly disappeared from my sight
both in the ever changing phases of nature
and in the change of scenery as I journeyed to the north west,
where tall mountains towered above my head much larger than my worries.
Years ago I used to have strict travel itineraries written out on a piece of paper,
marking the place and time allocated for its visit.
I loved planning and cramping in as many places as I could in my short travel days,
and time was often spent in a frantic frenzy
chasing moments rather than living through them.
I felt accomplished seeing so much in so little time,
checking place after place off my bucket list.
But then, can I really say that I’ve seen a lot,
if I haven’t given myself a chance to breathe and feel the place with all my senses?
Perhaps, most certain way to turn life into something stressful
is by setting a strict timeline.
We desperately try to accomplish things by certain age,
certain hour and in the best possible way.
When I was still a child, with very uncompromising views about life,
I thought it would all pan out differently.
There was a set path to walk on planned out in my mind,
of things I had to do by the time I turn 18, 20, 25, and so on.
These were the deadlines, an absolute ultimatum for life.
Little by little things changed, and I realised that what I wanted at 16
wasn’t what I want now,
but the deadlines were still pressing and making my mind race in fear of failure.
If anything, there is one thing all these years made me realise -
it’s silly to think that what you want at 16 will stay relevant a dozen years later.
Your feelings, opinions and ambitions might change, and it’s okay to let them.
The mountains, and rivers and old forests carry the wisdom of life.
Their vastness reminds me of how small I am,
suddenly realising my own insignificance in the larger scale of existence.
My fears which seem bigger than the world, are not at all that big and scary.
And all of a sudden nothing else matters, not my problems or worries -
I am only a tiny creature, a grain of sand,
a drop in the river carried along by the current,
trying to live my own life to my best ability in this large, magnificent world.
Nature exists in its own timeline,
and it’s only humans who battle time, trying to make a second last longer.
I look ahead, being pulled by the beauty that’s around me
still curious and wanting more.
I can’t describe it in words, but only in my heart and through my eyes.
I know that in the end these moments captured and words written
will remain just what they are
or maybe completely lose their meaning,
but then perhaps you too will get inspired to go out
and spend time slowly by a mountain.