The Hills Will Be There Tomorrow

Around 10 this morning, I decided to go hiking and photoshooting, so I booked a ticket for a train leaving for ‘the hills’ at 12:46.

I had spent the first half of this week in ‘barely functioning’ mode after an unusually social Saturday, and I was desperate to restore some ‘lust for life’ in the only place where my head quietens enough to make room for joy – the wild.  

And then it was noon.

The ‘loads of time’ I thought I had was gone (where I couldn’t tell you), and there was just half an hour before I needed to leave for my train. I still had to pack my camera gear and snacks, make a flask of tea, fill my water bottle, take a shower, apply sun cream, find my sun hat, put in contact lenses, brush my hair, get dressed, put my hiking boots on and get out of the house. I was anxious, but not overly so. I was used to rushing.

But while washing my face with ten minutes left until I had to go and lots still to do, reality stole in and I realised that maybe I wouldn’t make it to the train on time.

I started spiralling.

I started thinking about the wet laundry in the washing machine that definitely wouldn’t be hung out when I got back. The stack of dirty pans, plates, and bowls by the sink, which I’d glare at when I returned and not touch. The dinner I probably wouldn’t cook – and the porridge I’d eat instead.

There, at the sink, flannel over my eyes, I decided not to go to the hills. The risk of falling back into that ‘barely functioning’ mode by pushing myself was too massive. The relief of my decision was welcome, despite the smack of disappointment — and the ADHD tax on my unused train ticket.

I keep reminding myself the hills will still be there tomorrow – and the day after that. Heck, they’ll even be there next week.

I haven’t inhaled that good Yorkshire air or shot the portraits I had planned. The dishes still stand. The laundry still waits to be hung.

But I’m dressed. I have clean teeth. I have a charged camera.

I have this blog post.

I carry on.