At The Water's Edge
Looking For Clues 5: Falling Between Two Stools
I continued with the maths degree but there was a large part of me that didn't want to be at university. I felt like I was living in the shadows compared to how I felt when I was in London. I felt unsettled and fractured. My heart wasn't into what I was doing but I reasoned (as did everyone else it seemed) that life was like that and that I should just accept it.
I looked for other Richard Bach books. You have to remember this was way before the internet. It is so much easier now to get information. (Indeed if anyone is interested in what I've said about Jonathan Livingston Seagull, then Richard Bach posts almost daily his adventures flying a Sea Rey that he's recently purchased. This guy must be about 75 and yet is still living as adventurously as perhaps he always has done.) I was definitely looking for clues, some sort of guidance, some sort of support similar to that which I'd found with Jonathan Livingston Seagull. I discovered another book of Bach's, Illusions, which although enjoyable and seemingly having wise words, didn't quite hit the mark for me apart from the introduction. Then there was A Gift of Wings, a compilation of Bach's short stories that had been published in magazines, enjoyable too but which seemed to be even further off the mark of what I was looking for. These books didn't answer the questions I wanted or needed answering, even though I wasn't sure what those questions were. I felt lost.
I spent two years like this. Apart from a couple of girlfriends, my only solace it seemed was writing lyrics. I didn't find the process particularly easy but I enjoyed it and there was a certain pride in the end result. I liked the idea of trying to capture what seemed like sigificant moments in my life, as a photographer would but with words. And at times, "magic" seemed to happen. I remember one particular instance where I had been trying to write of my mother's death for quite sometime (at least a couple of years) with no success. Nothing seemed to work. And then, one afternoon, when I was at university, seemingly almost by accident, I just picked up my notebook and the words came out effortlessly and resulted in Postcard. This process of creation continues to fascinate me as does the idea of us "getting in the way of ourselves" and "self-realisation".
As I write this, I'm coming to the conclusion that it is definitely a useful exercise for me and not some egotistical trip down memory lane. If there was ever a perfect example of me getting in the way of myself then surely it was these two years at university when I worked really conscientiously to try and prove myself at something my heart wasn't really into. But I wonder if things have changed much all these years later with me doing what I'm doing now? Actually doing what I want to do! Have I tried too hard? Have I had too much to prove? Was too much at stake? I think my shaky start performance-wise in 2011 is certainly related to that, as is working on the album At The Water's Edge too much and damaging my hearing. All of this is related to my ideas about the difference between sailing and motoring at sea (At The Water's Edge). It's a pity I can't follow my own "advice".
I barely passed my first year exams in spite of working
hard and I still remember in the second year, my girlfriend at the
time, in a state of shock, coming to tell me I had a viva, which meant
I had failed the second year exams but the university wanted to give
me the benefit of the doubt with an interview. I think I was pretty
much at the end of my tether by then, exhausted, and she was surprised
by my nonplussed, sanguine reaction (I'm not usually that cool!) Anyhow
the interview panel and I amicably agreed that I had failed that year
but if I wanted to, I had the option of re-taking the exams the following
year.
Not a chance. I was free at last.
