Even just one other
I got overwhelmed again. You might know the feeling – that weight of everything you're trying to carry, crashing down, to the point where even replying to a message feels insurmountable.
We're all carrying varying degrees of too much, at least most of the time.
I can't even be sure what triggered it this time. Something I read about blackbird sickness, or Amazon preparing humanoid deliveries, maybe. Then into intense days loaded with illustration projects, coaching sessions, writing, interviewing – and then, with piss-bag eyes, reeling mind; every concern, mundane task, family duty, and Ben Tallon's life plot hole is sucked into the panic vortex.
Not uncommon for these sensitive artist minds, and more frequent in parenthood.
I'm back in control of my stupid brain by the time I arrive at London Euston, heading north to do some coaching work. The place is teeming with people pulling little suitcases, and also on phones, trundling around the human obstacle course without looking up.
I find a wall to sit against, under a staircase to the right of the lobby, before sliding down it dramatically with a full-on old man groan. Then I see another bloke sitting against the opposing wall, legs stuck out, paperback in hand. His presence triggers a rush of loveliness in my belly, so I sit with the joy for a minute or so. This little pocket of quiet, so close to the noise, yet gorgeously separate, is perfect. Before he looks up to see me grinning lazily in his direction, I mirror his choice of time-passing and pull out my paperback.
As a kid, hauled into compulsory school church services, I'd sit staring up into the upper echelons, imagining what it'd be like to camp up there, under those ornate arches, by candlelight. The notion of how cosy that would be was enough to help me through the endless warblings and hymns. I glance up every so often to see if it's still just us two. It is for a while. Then he's disappeared, and the space is immediately far less welcoming.
A burst of basic human connection. Since the pandemic, it's taken time. I remember speaking to Manchester creative industry friends, asking how the vibrant events scene was, only to be told it hadn't really gotten going again since COVID. I believe there are signs of life now, but some of those online habits stuck, and it tends to be tough on our creativity because that basic human connection is essential.
I've been parting with loose change to surprise my kids with new Pokémon cards from the market toy stall, anticipating the day when I can take them to New Realities Gaming, a seductive little nerd hole up by my local train station. Any form of tribe will do.
It's not lost on me that I'd have missed that moment of unexpected comfort after a personal crash had I reached for that attention vampire in my pocket. I did eventually, to reply to my wife, taking the opportune moment, but I shoved it back into my jeans the second the message delivered, then people watched a bit longer.