Ebb Tide

"Even when the bulbs of the hourglass shatter...time itself keeps on. The most we can hope a watch to do is mark that progress. And since time sets its own tempo, like a heartbeat or an ebb tide, timepieces don't really keep time. They just keep up with it, if they're able." - Dava Sobel, Longitude

Today I sat on the pier and watched the tide come in. The boats that had been stranded yards from the water slowly, slowly, starting to float again. I was surprised by these boats when I arrived on the isle, they reminded me of the falling down farmsteads out west, signs of a life long ago. And then, several hours later, they were floating again. Spirits rekindled. I had forgotten about the tides. One of those remnants of growing up in the Midwest I suppose, there were no oceans nearby.

It has surprised me how far away I feel here in Scotland. I didn't expect it to be hard -- they speak English, it's beautiful, I've traveled on European trains before, I'd even talked to some friends who had been here recently. But somehow it has still been a big adjustment. The jet lag, the rain, the accents, the unanswered emails, the steering wheels on the wrong side of the cars (supposedly they drive on the wrong side of the road too, but all I've seen are one lane roads). And then I got annoyed at myself: why would you expect it to be easy? Why would you want it to be? Didn't you want to be lonely? Didn't you want to throw yourself into something and see if you could figure it out?

And today, watching the tide, I asked myself another question: why are you rushing? Why do you think you've messed up if you don't feel at home after 5 days?

Because what I really wanted was to take myself out of my normal currents. To stop keeping up with time for a little while. To shatter the hourglass and see what emerged instead.

I've been camped here for several days. And I watch the ferry come in and out of the port -- it sails right past me multiple times a day. And what amazes me is that the entire island operates around that boat. When the ferry comes into view the hotel staff run to the desks, the busses line up on the shore, the people flood in and out. And then it's quiet again. I don't really need a watch. Any bus I want to take will be at the dock as the boat comes in.

And I'm at the mercy of the boat too. Because the towns I've been trying to visit are too far to walk, so I need those busses. But I like the moments in between. I like chatting to the shopkeeper when the store is empty. I like being the only person on the pier watching the jellyfish (though I enjoyed the couple lowering a GoPro from a fishing rod). I like running on the road after the last ferry has left and there's no one around. I like watching the tide come in.

I stopped for a breath today. Because rob was here and he makes me laugh

That might have been the last sentence, except someone else added to my blogpost - he came into the common tent to check on the fireplace, and pulled my hat over my eyes, and asked what I was writing. And I liked his addition. Because I felt more at home in those few minutes than I have my whole trip.

So I'm going to try to slow down. And just watch the ferry and the tide and the rain clouds instead of rushing along on their schedule. And breathe deeply and understand the peacefulness that lies underneath the tourist's rushed footprints in these islands.  

And just laugh, because a kind Scotsman sat and joked with me.

(Written August 3 on the Isle of Mull)