Take a seat and imagine you’re walking down a path.
It’s pretty tough going, with unexpected bumps and dips that make you stumble and prickly brambles that scratch at your arms and legs. The path is narrow and steep with lots of twists and turns, making it hard to see where you are going. Low, grey clouds produce a persistent drizzle that soaks you through, while a bitter wind whips around you threatening to throw from the path.
You are exhausted from your journey and worry constantly about where the path is heading. Desperate to find shelter and rest, you feel compelled to keep going.
As you turn one of the endless sharp corners, you just about trip over someone sitting by the path.
“Hi” they say, smiling despite the grim conditions.
“Oh, err.. hi” you reply and give them a nervous grin.
‘Who could this be?’ you wonder anxiously as scary scenarios flood your mind.
“Sorry” you quickly mumble, even though the near-accident was as much their fault as yours. But apologising for yourself is a behaviour you’ve repeated often enough for it to now be a reflex. And besides, best not to antagonise a potential serial killer!
“That’s ok” the stranger replies “I should have sat a little further off the path”.
You feel a little relieved as they don’t seem too serial killery after all.
And not quite a stranger you realise. There’s a familiarity you can’t quite place, but just the sense you may know them allows you to relax further. ‘But where do I know you from?’ you start to ask yourself. Immediately a new wave of even greater anxiety grips you as you try to work out whether this is someone so familiar that you should know their name, and, if so, what are you going to do now because you clearly don’t remember it!
(A small part of your brain that is forever doing this sort of thing starts a new inquiry as to why you’re more worried about forgetting someone’s name than you are about bumping into a serial killer.)
“What?” you suddenly exclaim, as you realise this possibly-not-a-stranger has been talking to you while you were lost in your thoughts.
“I said ‘do you mind if I walk with you?’” they reply in that loud and slow way people do when they find out you’re deaf. Or foreign.
“Oh of course, sure, that’d be lovely” you hear yourself saying, even though it’s actually the last thing you want. Your apology-instinct is clearly part of a much bigger politeness-complex inherited from a past-life as a Victorian scullery maid with a pathological inability to say ‘no’ to anybody and an embarrassment-scale that puts potentially forgetting names above offending serial killers.
“Great” they say with another smile and you set off along the path together.
Having a companion makes the journey harder. The path is so narrow and twisty that it takes a while for you both to judge the right pace to avoid clipping each other’s feet so you’re muttering ‘sorry’ at an average rate of once every five seconds. And annoyingly your new travel buddy is the chatty kind and you have to strain to hear them in the wind and rain.
It’s not as if you even wanted conversation, as you were perversely enjoying walking alone with nothing but thoughts as bleak as the conditions.
“SORRY?” you yell for the umpteenth time as you fail to hear what was said.
“I WAS JUST SAYING YOU DON’T NEED TO APOLOGISE SO MUCH” they yell back as if you are both deaf and foreign.
“Sor..” you begin to say, but then stop when you catch the glint in the other person’s eye.
For the first time you join them in a smile.
The wind drops momentarily and you hear the question you’re most afraid of in the world.
“What do you do?”
Suddenly you panic and your mind is flooded with negativity. ‘Oh no, what do I say? Oh crap, I hate this. I really hate this. They’ll think I’m such a pathetic loser!’
(That small part of your brain that is forever doing this sort of thing and reopens the ongoing investigation of why you care so much what other people think. It initiates cross-correlations on school teacher’s low opinions of your prospects and that morning’s social media montage of everyone you know (and some you don’t) clearly living not only their best lives, which are significantly better than your actual life).
“Er…” you open strongly and then seem to babble incoherently for what feels like eternity using the word ‘currently’ more than is necessary in the slim hope they can see that you’re only doing what you’re doing because you sort of drifted into it while you were trying to work out what you really wanted to do, and as soon as you’ve got yourself sorted you’ll quit and do that thing that you’ve always wanted to do.
When you finally stumble to finish you realise you’re breathless and sweating slightly.
“Cool” they say “sounds kind of interesting”.
You check, but can’t detect any hint of sarcasm in their tone. You exhale heavily as if telling people what you do is more of an achievement than actually doing it.
The wind has dropped completely now and even the rain has started to ease off as the pair of you carry on down the path.
The questions keep coming.
They feel more curious than confronting now the big one is out of the way. And the way this person listens seems to draw the words from you effortlessly, like a river flowing into the ocean. You talk about where you grew up and what your family is like. Your funny childhood stories make you both laugh until you cry. The sad ones bring the other kind of tears to your eyes. Apart from the questions, not much else is said. Just little murmuring sounds encouraging you to continue and knowing head nods that make you feel heard and understood.
It feels easy to talk now, especially as the sun has started to pop out occasionally from behind the clouds and you’re beginning to feel warmer and drier.
The conversation somehow turns to hopes and dreams and you feel a little wave of anxiety creep back in. ‘Why do they want to know? Can I trust them? What if they laugh at me?’
(That small part of your brain that is forever doing this sort of thing reminds you you’ve left the ‘What Other People Think Of Me’ investigation running in the background and it’s using up a lot of space. It gives you a pop-up message asking if you want to ‘Continue’ or ‘Quit’? You mentally hover over ‘continue’ momentarily then uncharacteristically click ‘Quit’).
You take a leap of faith and begin to talk about things you rarely talk about at all, let alone to someone you’ve just met. You decide to play it safe and pick up the babble about your job.
“I just sort of drifted into really, while I work out what I really want to do” you say
“Sure” they reply sympathetically
“I mean, as soon as I’ve got myself sorted I’m going to quit” you tell them conspiratorially as if you’re letting them into a state secret.
(‘Check your boss isn’t hiding in the bushes’ squeaks that small part of your brain that is forever doing this sort of thing).
“Then what?” they ask softly
“Well… then I’ll do what I really want to do” you say uncomfortably, knowing what is coming next
“What do you really want to do?” comes the inevitable question
Discomfort gives way to distress.
You could literally just burst into tears. Right here on the path, in front of this perfect stranger. Your whole body tenses up as you fight what feels like a lifetime of sadness and disappointment. Your frustration turns to anger, and instantly switches inside out. Who is this person? Why are they asking me all these questions? What gives them the right to judge me?
As tears begin to fill your eyes you look into theirs and see nothing but compassion. Genuine warmth and concern for the pain you are immersed in.
You fall into their arms and sob uncontrollably in way you haven’t felt able to in years. As the tears flow and you gasp for breath, you feel that anger soften once more to sadness and eventually to a state of release. You feel spent, as if a huge weight you hadn’t previously noticed had been lifted from your whole being.
And all the while they just held you. No words of consolation or efforts to cheer you up. Just holding you while you emptied out your sorrow.
As you begin to feel calmer you pull away, embarrassed to see the mess of tears and snot you have left behind on their shoulder.
‘Sorry’ you whisper, then you catch their smiling eyes and you both laugh until the tears flow again.
But this time they are mixed with the other kind of tears too and they feel good trickling down your cheek, as if to wash away the last remnants of pain.
“Come on” they say “I think we’re nearly there”.
So you set off once again, and you notice that now the path has become much more pleasant. It’s wider now, and straighter too so you can see all the way towards the horizon.
A little while passes in silence as you walk side by side, before eventually another question is posed.
“What if you didn’t have to do anything?”
You stop instantly, as if you’ve walked into a wall. You feel completely stunned. As if you’ve just walked into a wall.
“What?” you ask incredulously.
“What if you didn’t have to do anything?” they repeated.
“I’m sorry” you say, reverting to your apologetic comfort zone, “I’m not sure I understand what you’re talking about”
“Here, I’ll show you” they say and wander to the side of the path to sit down.
(That small part of your brain that is forever doing this sort of thing puts on a full-systems red alert for anything involving religion or a half-priced monthly subscription to an online course).
You notice that at some point along the path the brambles have given way to woodland and you stroll over to take a seat under the shade of a very old looking tree.
“Ok, now just sit there for a moment” the person begins “and gently close your eyes….
Notice how it feels, just sitting here under this ancient tree.
Now listen to the sounds all around you for a moment and see how many you can hear. The wind rustling the leaves, the birds in the branches, the river in the distance.
Then bring it a little closer and notice the sound of the breath. No need to change the breath, just notice the sound it makes as the breath moves in and out. Notice if it feels a little cooler as you breathe in, and a little warmer as you breathe out.
And now make the breath a little deeper, breathe deep into the belly and release it with a sighing sound. Then again, a little deeper still and sighing a little louder. And again, breath deep into the belly and release with a big sigh.
Now breathe naturally and notice how it feels. Just take a moment to notice how it feels.
Then with the eyes still closed, bring to mind everything around you, the grass beneath you, the tree above you, the path in front of you. See yourself sitting on the grass, under an ancient tree with your path in front of you.
Ask yourself ‘where do I want to go?’
And allow the answer to arrive effortlessly. No strain, no thoughts, just simple knowing. Allow yourself to see the path you have chosen in front of you. And smile in the joy of knowing your true path.
Then smile again knowing it is ok to wander off and find yourself on different paths now and again, remembering the quickest way back to your true path is to simply step off the path you’re on and rest a while.
Your true path is always there for you.
Now notice again your breath and take one more deep breath into the belly and release with a sigh, then notice the sounds all around you, and feel your body sitting on the ground. Feel your body and wiggle the fingers and the toes to bring yourself back to your body.
And when you are ready, gently open your eyes.”
You open your eyes and it’s like you are seeing everything for the first time.
The world feels brighter all of a sudden, clearer and more vibrant.
You feel a bit sleepy but fully alive, like you’ve been recharged somehow. You slowly stand up and set off again, swinging your arms, carefree like a child on a big adventure. You feel as light as a feather as you almost skip down the path. You still don’t know where it leads, but at least it feels good to be travelling and enjoying the journey for a change.
(‘How long do you think this will last?’ pipes up that small part of your brain that is forever doing this sort of thing, but you just smile at it and it disappears).
You realise after a while that there have been no more questions and you’ve been totally lost in the reverie feeling the warmth of the sun on your face.
You feel you should say something, you know, out of politeness.
(‘Yes!’ you hear that small part of your brain that is forever doing this sort of thing cry out triumphantly in the distance).
You look round to find your companion but there is nobody there but yourself.
You smile and carry on down the path.