Updated: Apr 29, 2019
Then I walk.
I learned this long time ago. My psychiatrist advised me to, but it sounded so "easy" that I believed it was only the cheapest trick.
When the tablets weren't enough, and the alcohol wasn't enough, and everything wasn't enough, I walked.
I was a Power Ranger, Indiana Jones, a Spice Girl in one of those surfboards they used in the video Spice up your life to sail the air of a dystopian New York... Never mind. I started to enjoy the rhythm of the wind playing with my arms, my legs. When the sun is right up, and no clouds annoy the sky, it is another level. Granny used to close her eyes for no reason and stop walking, just facing the sun. She smiled. I must be getting old.
Last Friday I took the tube at 6:00 am to Leicester Square, to see Old Compton Street empty.
Can you imagine?
Such beautiful dawn and no one is there. No rubbish either, and the rain had cleaned and cleansed. I only could smell the sun waking up while listening to jazz that nobody played.
A city can be whatever you want it to be for you. Walk it. Talk to it. Under the rain or the sun, there is nothing better than strolling along the Thames imagining what all those people I cross by are imagining. I often see Virginia Woolf talking to Margaret Thatcher, Oscar Wilde hanging out with George Michael, or the Queen sitting down by a homeless, talking about life.
Those ancient and modern buildings have become my psychiatrist, and the paths and the pedestrians, my Diazepam. Large windows reflecting my dreams yet to come true. Wishes that travel like pollen in the air, evolving, changing, mutating into the reality I craft with my own hands and tenacity.
All begins with a walk.
Then I walk.