Quitting the Rat Race
As a result of one of the courses she teaches, Sammy is selling her house, car and entire worldly possessions to move to the coast, live by the sea and write books. Here are a selection of writings on that subject, including 'My Fake Journal' in which she describes her future life as if its already happening right now.
My mind wanders briefly to the moment I'm going to have to get the sand out of my trainers when I get back, but if that's the only problem I have today, that'll do.
On the bottom step I feel the need to stretch out a bit before I start my walk so I do that, waving at the beach wardens truck going by. There are six or seven gulls sitting on the sea wall rocks who just look at me, like a scene out of a Hitchcock movie. I start walking, the gulls scatter.
I make my coffee and slink out onto the deck with it. Its still dark, so I step back in to grab a lighter and light my storm lanterns. I love this time of the morning, between three and six; there's an energy to it that is difficult to explain.
It's 12c this morning and the tide is already up since I got up so late. I grab my Chrome book and slide back out of my trainers. I step out onto my deck, sit down and put my feet up on the coffee table. While I'm bringing up the book file, I look up and take a deep breath. I close the lid and just sit with the waves. The sea rocks me back to sleep in no time.
Awake at six today, slept like a rock. I could vaguely hear waves breaking so I stayed there a bit and pretended I hadn't checked the tide tables to see if I could sense the increasing tide. I concluded, 'Get up, Gandalf'.
I strain for sounds of the sea but it's too far out. Then I listen to a couple of seagulls squabbling over a plastic bag. They skedaddle as I walk towards them, and I pick up the bag.