Dancing with the unknown in the Scottish Highlands

Dear reader,

I’ve just returned from a van trip along the west coast of Scotland with A, and I can safely say it was one of the best trips of my life. It was one of those rare instances where you’re somehow able to notice the beauty of the experience glistening in real time, exquisitely aware of the individual moments forming into a collection of memories that will be revisited for years to come like a photo album.

The fact that this trip was so magical came as a surprise to me because it hadn’t been taking up much space in my mind; I’ve been very preoccupied with significant life changes and shepherding myself through the fertile void. This ongoing process of shedding and re-birth has demanded an awful lot from me for a long time - it’s been working me for five years and no aspect of my life has gone untouched. Now as I sit in the quiet space between the old and the new, my trust and patience are being put to the test. I’m having to slow right down and make sure I keep my navigation system set to ‘NEW’, watching carefully for the old programming that could so easily skew my crossing into this next chapter.

The van trip with A felt like a profound mirror of the in between space I’m courting, with similar qualities of uncertainty and raw beauty.

The purpose of the trip was to snorkel with seals on a tiny group of islets off the Isle of Coll (an amazing gift for my 30th birthday from A), but just before we set off in the van he received an email - the full day of snorkelling was cancelled with the possibility of them rescheduling it to the final day of our trip (weather permitting).

We had to yield to the fact that the focus and shape of the trip had abruptly changed, meaning that we would need to stay relatively close to the area just in case the snorkelling did go ahead, while bearing in mind that it might not happen at all. The trip asked us to work with our circumstances and enjoy what we found there, mirroring so much of my personal dance with the unknown; grand ambitions at the mercy of my own internal weather system and the timing of the universe.

The further we got into our trip the more magic was reflected back at me. Divine forces were at work, revealing all the unexpected beauty that comes with veering off course to forge one’s own path.

With no real plan anymore, we just drove and swam and laughed. I quickly found myself settling into the fact that there was nothing else to do other than be here in this moment; I swam in rivers as soon as I woke up, I looked into the speckled blue galaxy of A’s eyes, I sank into nothing else but the sound and movement of the trees in the wind. All I could think was “my teenage self would be squealing. I’ve made it”. I find myself in the abyss of enormous change and yet, this is all I’ve ever wanted: adventure, creativity, and love.

During the trip I realised that I’ve never let myself be this vulnerable before, to receive so much care from life and others without hurrying to reciprocate. Each day I felt truly rich as I allowed myself to be held a little more - by life, by myself and by A.

In the end, the snorkelling went ahead on the final day of our trip and it was incredible. On the boat ride towards Coll I got talking with a woman who had experienced unimaginable loss this spring and booked a solo trip to nourish herself in the wake of the trauma. In less than 2 hours we shared so much of our respective stories with one another, unpicking this shared experience of reluctantly leaning on those around us for support and trusting that our new paths would emerge bit by bit. When a pod of dolphins came shooting up from the sea and into the air like a picture from a postcard, I told her “that was for you.”

The trip was full of extraordinary moments like this and totally ordinary moments of beauty too, and I feel changed for it.

Yesterday as we hurtled closer to civilisation via large straight roads, I started to cry. I wasn’t ready to leave the synchronicities and stillness behind, I was lapping up the lack of mental noise and my growing capacity to simply be with the landscapes in front of me. I felt as if I had tapped into a different frequency or gained a gift of communicating with the natural world, and myself, in a new way.

This time in the highlands showed me that I love the mountains because they don’t ask where all of this is going and what I’m doing next, they just cradle me unconditionally with an air of wisdom and benevolence. But I’m starting to think that maybe, just maybe, I can do that too.

Speak soon,

S x