That man is me. I was going to put “was” instead of “is”,
but I realise that my life is a constant garden of forking paths, or a circular
room filled with doors, or however one wishes to visualise the choices one
faces every day. Some choices are obvious, presented to us by others.
Invitations, ultimatums. Some are hidden, choices we have to create for
ourselves, choices we don’t even know we have to make until the light bulb
flickers on.
Once upon a many Moon ago, I gave up prefacing my blog
entries with apologies and explanations for my long periods of silence. But
today, for the subject matter I’m dealing with, it’s kind of necessary to
explain why I’ve been so quiet. You’re waiting for the punchline, right? The
garden of forking paths?
Boom.
You’re right. It’s where I’ve been, it’s where I’m at, it is
the chaotic flux my life has been in since the end of April. Gods. April. Four
months gone.
Okay, so there’s a long story that I could go into, but...I
don’t exactly want to air that laundry in public. To summarise it as succinctly
as possible, there was this amazing, beautiful girl in my life. Things were
going well. Really well. Then at the end of April, a week before my
game-changing holiday in Seattle, it all fell apart. I messed things up between
us and in spite of my best efforts, I can’t fix it. And it’s been weighing
heavily on me and forms an intricate part of the paths I chose to walk down.
Now, Seattle. One of my dear friends, Kraken, used to live
out there until she decided that, apparently, moving to Sweden to be with her
husband was more important. So for three weeks in May, I went out there and
finally experienced a city which I had been intrigued with since first watching
Dark Angel oh so many, many Moons
ago. It was the first time in twenty years I’d been back to America (family
holiday to Florida in 1995) and it was, as mentioned before, a game-changer.
My trip to Seattle was the first time I’d taken longer than
two weeks off work in the five years I worked at Boston Tea Party. It was the
first time I’d actually gone out of the country, or on what one might consider a
“proper holiday”, and the effect of that was...well, a curious mix of
unexpected and expected. Perhaps...unexpected but anticipated? Put simply,
three weeks away from work bled me dry of all the stress I had built up. Three
weeks, in another country, so far away I couldn’t physically do anything about
work, and all the worries, all the cares, they melted away. Something I heard
happened on holidays but never truly experienced for myself.
Seattle was an amazing experience and a great place. My
friend lived out on Bainbridge Island and the ferry ride across Puget Sound
every day to get into Seattle was beautiful. I’m going to post some
photographic evidence in a second, a day when me and Kraken were out and about,
walking up...I want to say Second Avenue? One of the numbered avenues. I looked
to my left, out over Pike Place Market and straight onto Puget Sound,
glistening in the sunlight.
I grew up next to the sea. It was a long time, perhaps by
the time I moved to Bath where my best water feature is a river, before I truly
appreciated the beauty of the ocean. As much as I am happy living in Bath, I do
miss being able to walk up to the cliffs and behold the awesome view. Looking
out over Puget Sound, from Seattle or from the ferry from Bainbridge Island, stirred
various emotions in that part of my brain. It was a beautiful sight to behold
and one of Seattle’s major plus points.
There’s much more to say, on another day, about my trip to
Seattle – about the day trip to Portland, Oregon, the tea shop behind Pike
Place Market and various other things. Another day.
Three weeks in Seattle took so many weights off my mind,
though one continued to hang around. But it was a weight I was prepared for,
the weight I knew I would carry and still bear to this day. I won’t begrudge
it, I won’t curse it. These are my feelings and for as long as the tiniest
ember burns, I will embrace them.
Once I returned to Bath, returned to work, I realised
something very quickly. Nothing in this place had changed. Sure, we’d managed
to get shot of the most irritating New Zealander the gods have ever cursed this
world with, but the stress was the same. The ass-hat* customers still vastly
outweighed the delightful ones. The conversationalists, the ones with eyes you
could lost in forever, the ones who were just generally cool.
(*use of the term “ass-hat” courtesy of listening to “I’m the One That’s Cool” by
The Guild as I write this)
So there I was. I had walked a while along one path, a
leisurely pace taking in Puget Sound, hidden nooks on Bainbridge Island and
gargantuan bookstores, only to find myself, once again, in the eye of a rift, a
fracture in the garden, paths spiralling off in all directions. The weights
that had been lifted from my shoulders crashed down again and where once I had
borne them without question, I now grew weary of their demands. Perhaps I was
too consumed with my own woes, but I found the drive and determination I once
had at work was gone. My ability to tolerate and remain patient with customers
dwindled with each passing day. Finally, after having been back for a few
weeks, I made the fateful decision.
I set out from the centre of this new branch of paths, the
new forks in the road, and chose the one that led to my resignation from Boston
Tea Party. And so five years of dedicated service came to an end. Not a bitter
end. In fact, a coldly logical one. It was time. My experiences in Seattle, the
change in myself and my feelings upon my return, rendered staying at Boston a
terrible prospect. I would end up hating the place, resenting it. No. I like
the place. I like the people that work there and I like that now, if walk in
there, I can choose who I want to talk to. I can talk to my former regulars who
I adore. I can ignore the frakwits who wound me up. I can ignore EVERYONE. If I
so wish.
This path was not as...jaunty...as the path I walked in
Seattle. This new path was terrifying. Full of unknown variables, a vast swarm
of quantum possibilities waiting to be observed and realised. I had intended to
find a “proper” job, sit behind a desk...ideally something related to my degree
in Creative Writing. That was the idea. The reality...well, slightly more
interesting.
My friend Oracle recommended a recruitment agency that had
successfully found her a pretty nifty desk job. So I email the person Oracle
suggested and started the ball rolling. I went along to their offices to
officially sign up with them. Now some context. This agency also finds people a
lot of temp work. Oracle said it would be worth mentioning that I’d be happy
temping, given that it would be a miraculous turn of events if they could get
me, a man with no office or publishing experience, a nifty desk job of my own
quickly.
Instead, I stumbled into temp work at a warehouse. But not
any old warehouse. No. A sex toy warehouse.
Ladies and menfolk, I have the honour and distinction of,
for the moment, working for Lovehoney.
All right, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t daunted by the
idea at first. I’m not a prude, I’m just...not overwhelmingly experienced and I
really hope my parents and siblings have chosen NOT to read this entry. Even
saying that publically makes me a little uncomfortable. Want to talk about it
over a coffee? Sure, I’m happy to do that, in the physical public domain.
Apparently writing it in a blog makes me squeamish. With this squeamishness in
mind, you wouldn’t think I’d be massively comfortable at Lovehoney.
Are you kidding? I love my job! It’s fantastic! It’s easy!
It’s stress free! IT’S CUSTOMER FREE! I run around the warehouse, I have a list
of things to collect, I put them in a box and then place the box in a
designated area for someone else to pack. Then rinse and repeat.
We’re reaching a point where I feel I should do some kind of
wrap up/summation. This blog exists mainly thanks to my dear friend,
Hammerhead. She stands as I once did, in the garden of forking paths, with many
options laid out before her. I write this to relate my experiences, in the
hopes that it offers some wisdom that I was not immediately able to provide on
Facebook, where one status started us on this road. Where it spiralled out from
there.
Here now, an attempt at wisdom. I spent five years in
comfort and security, but I was never truly happy. There was always something
gnawing at the back of my mind, something telling me this wasn’t my destiny.
That’s a concept I’ve been thinking about a lot. Destiny. Whether certain
factors could be interpreted as someone being my destiny, etc. It took me five
years, one trip to Seattle and the Ace of Hearts before I realised it was time
to take a running leap. To pick the path that lead into the dark, into the
gnarled and twisted trees, the roaming fog, the howl of the wolf at the Moon.
It’s a terrifying journey but I swear that it is one worth making. Sometimes
the best things in life are those that terrify, confound, but most of all, the
things that challenge you.
So my advice would be thus. If you stand at the centre of
your own garden of forking paths, take the path that challenges you. Take the
path that leads you into the fire, the fire that will forge you, temper your
steel and make you stronger.
