Buoyancy

I open the curtains in the morning now wondering if my canal boat friend will still be there. He’ll move on one day and take his dog and boat with him, as is the nature of the life he leads. But for now, while I’m still getting my bearings, I hope they stay.

A few weeks in to living in my new place, I notice myself clinging on to the things that offer me some familiarity. I’m pleased when I see the same two swans circle the patch of canal I can see from my window. I take comfort in the seeing the same graffiti day in day out on the towpath. I walk to the same yoga studio and get coffee from the same café, same mats, same cups.

Among all the newness, I am seeking out a repeat pattern. Finding some permanence in the impermanence. I suppose it’s a bit like that spotting technique dancers use to balance and anchor their bodies, only I am using these familiar and fixed things to help anchor me in this new place.

I’m still settling in. The room I have in this house share was already furnished when I arrived so I only brought a small portion of my stuff here and even that still isn’t unpacked properly. I’m unsure about how much stuff I should bring here because, as is the way with house sharing, I know I won’t be here forever.

It’s early days still but I struggle to feel rooted somewhere that I know is temporary. In trying to challenge myself to understand why that is, I’ve become very drawn to the canal boats. Their sense of belonging isn’t tied to a place, they’re not fixed. They have moulded a steady existence that works alongside their ever-changing environment.

Partly because I’ve been doing a lot of yoga and partly because I’ve been interviewing very interesting people about their sense of place (coming to your inboxes v soon), it’s dawned on me how much time and energy I spend pouring cement round things in my life. Jobs, romantic relationships, friendships and my latest preoccupation: a permanent fixed abode.

But when rugs are pulled from under our feet and we face up to temporariness of things, we have to cultivate a type of emotional buoyancy where we find ways of staying balanced and grounded, even in the face of things changing.

Years ago, I had a go at something called Jungian Sandplay Therapy where you’re presented with a sand tray and choose figurines to arrange inside it. Time and time again I was drawn to this plastic dolphin. The idea behind it is that when emotions are hard to put into words, choosing figurines to represent them can help you to articulate those feelings and access your intuition. I think of that dolphin now and wonder what it can teach me about embracing temporariness: a figurine of a sociable, connected creature who moves gracefully up, down, side to side, swims even when its asleep and always, always stays buoyant.

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