Rose Tinters
This morning was gloomy when I set out on the dog walk. Light rain, carpets of yellow and brown leaves, hoods up all over the show, all lacquered with a coat of unrest. Well, at least the latter is what I detected.
Just lately, I’ve been spending time in my head with a friend I lost two years ago. Just in the sense that when I meditate, or turn to thoughts of gratitude, he comforts me. He was always the more bullish and pragmatic of the two of us.
At college, despite his path of GCSE exams direct to building site as a trainee bricklayer, we somehow ended up two sets of double doors away from each other. Keighley College’s art department was, at that time, a gigantic industrial site repurposed to house not just arts and design students, but also a smattering of trades in the neighbouring block. I loved it. It meant my friend was there, and I’ve always seen great value in a diverse range of people in close proximity. We’re severely lacking it in todays divided society.
Those two years were glorious, but it occurred to me on this Autumn morning that I have, in fact, been wearing the rose-tinted glasses as I seek solace in the past. That’s what we do, isn’t it? Our minds have a way of handing us a candy-floss wrapped version of our past when our present is laced with pain or discomfort. As I looked around the park, my dog shuffling along as if at gun point, I returned to these memories and in this version of it, 2001 was also murky, industrial, and a bit bleak.
In fact, just a month earlier sits a very clear memory owing to it’s sheer surreal qualities. My brother bursting in the front door in his secondary school uniform, going, “Quick, put the news on! Someone’s blown up The Empire State Building!” My mum and I thought he’d lost it, but he was a smart, level lad, so we did as he asked, and, tragically, while he’d heard the wrong building, none of us will struggle to recall how 9/11 made us feel. It felt like Armageddon. For some families it was. But the point is, there were tiny and giant fears and pain and discomfort and shitty weather and negative emotions back then. I had a date that night, a cinema trip to watch A Knight’s Tale. Then back in college the next day.
As I dwell in this memory, a clear recollection of how doomy it felt when harsh rain hit the skylight windows of the corrugated roof that hung over us, 50 or so feet high, especially when I stayed late and it was just me and the caretakers. Somehow though, we all made it through with smiles and gidd anticipation of various adventures to universities nationwide, and now, despite a challenging time of anxiety, I’m taking steps to manage these thoughts with CBT, newly reintroduced strenuous exercise, and more non-booze socialising. And one day, I know I’ll gaze back on this time with the rose-tinters on, and I want those memories to acknowledge this battle, while rejoicing because actually, it’s still pretty fucking good to be alive and able to create, to tell stories.