The Road to Breathing

by Seki Lynch (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

A leap into the unknown United Kingdom

If I try to tell it all at once it won't fit. I can give you places. Cuba, Peru, Mexico, Leeds, London. I can give you words. Heartbreak, shaman, ayahuasca, awe. But the words are only top soil. Beneath, the worms plough. On a trip away I dug myself out of despair. And so the world turns. I've made my living making cocktails. Allow me to distill six months (and then some) into a 700 word anecdote. I'd run from Leeds after running from London. Leaving a seven year relationship at 24 puts a certain kind of blue in you. The blue grew. I couldn't stop hearing her voice. My mum drove from Leeds to London to collect me in a van. Into this I packed up our life together. Before its rear doors I cried as if she were dead. Here was my great failure stacked before my eyes. What had I done? Yes, I was the one that did the breaking. For those who have never left a relationship, if the love is still there, it turns upon you. It batters you like the elder brother or dad of the person you love. To escape, I did what I was good at. I drank. I made drinks. I drank more. Defiantly strong my body handled the hangovers. In chorus my heart and soul howled. Driving around in terrible states: drunk, drugged, streaming tears and torn, I followed any road that might make me forget for a while. Anything that might give me a little gulp of air. The funny thing is, the more you pursue escape, the more you sink into quicksand. And so I sunk. Somewhere along the line three years passed. I had always wanted to travel. Cuba because of Hemingway (I'd thought I wanted to write); Peru because of Machu Picchu; Mexico because I'd a friend there who taught English. I thought I might do the same. Like in The Old Man and the Sea, I had my own lions on the beaches in the evening to find. My dreams weren't enough. I cobbled together fare for a few plane tickets. I didn't really know if the money left over would sustain me through the trip but I knew I had to go. Taking off I really believed the plane would go down. How could I possibly have made it out alive? Returning to Lima after living in the Amazon for two weeks with a shaman I made a rookie mistake. I went to get change in a shop so I could pay the taxi driver. He drove off. Inside was my backpack with everything I owned. Contact lenses for the rest of my trip (my eye prescription is -10 (for those of you that don't know, that means I'm as blind as a star-nosed mole)), my iPhone (cracked as it was), art I'd traded for poetry, notebooks full of notes from ayahuasca ceremonies. All gone. I still had three months to go. And not a soul on the planet knew where I was. I went from hostel to hostel trying to find a place to stay but everywhere was full. After two trips to the police station, I made my way down to the coast which drops dramatically into the Pacific Ocean. Under to moon the sea hushed. There I sat until the sun rose. Behind me the city began to wake. In front of me lay an ocean of uncertainty. But I felt great. Everything I needed was there. In me. I knew I was going to be alright. Travel taught me serendipity. It taught me loneliness. It taught me that I can't run from myself (though I still try). It taught me how lucky I am even when it seems all my luck has run out. It taught me I can still feel good wearing an ensemble assembled from lost property clothing. If journeys begin, they begin within us, well before a plane ticket to anywhere. The souvenirs from these inner adventures live on inside. And cannot be stolen by a taxi driver. To the taxista that night - cheers.