I’m trying to think of a better title for my blog. DREAMING IS FREE (etc) strikes me as a bit of a cliche, now that I think of it. If I actually spent more time on my dreams it would be OK, but I only explore them here when I they are memorable; I don’t like writing as soon as I open my eyes.
I used to be really into dreams, as in dreams that are desires. I loved dwelling in the possible. At fourth-nine, this no longer happens. I know that a lot of forty-nine year olds wouldn’t feel like this. I meet sixty year olds bustling with energy, dreams, projects, but that’s not me
London is a good place for the dreamer. It’s a place of creativity, ambition, furthering yourself and forging connections. Furthering myself was my principle reason for sticking out there so many years. Education. I was obsessed with education for years. You’d think that after zillions of courses I would be able to think of a compelling title for my blog. All that money and debt. All those essays. All that critique. All of that time being deconstructed and remade. You’d think I’d be better than appropriating a Blondie tune, but there it is.
Earlier on today scrolling my twitter feed, I came across the following quote:
Regard yourself as a cloud because you see, clouds never make mistakes. They always do the right thing.
If you treat yourself as a cloud or a wave, and realise that you can’t make mistake whatever you do.
Then through this you will develop a kind of confidence.
This quotation was posted by Hiut Denim, an expensive designer jeans outlet based in Wales. Hiut Denim never deal in a cliche. Check out their branding and you’ll see what I mean.
I’ve been repeating “There are no mistakes,” like a mantra this morning. It’s offered me some relief from my depressed brain actually, which seems to be incapable of nothing so much as raking over the past and regretting just about everything I’ve ever done. For me, there being no mistakes feels like a very radical idea. Because, left to my own devices, I seem to dwell, not in possibility, but in regret.
All of that said, if I was given the choice to start life over, I’m not sure what I would have done differently. I’m not sure what have made that difference I’m apparently craving. Maybe that’s a good sign. Maybe there really are no mistakes.
But I think I’d like to live somewhere where I’m not continually exposed to other peoples noise waste. My neighbours drive me nuts. Music I don’t want to listen to, banging and thudding, gossipy phone calls. I’ve asked everyone very politely to turn it down a bit and things have been adjusted somewhat, but not enough. Being independently wealthy with a large house and car would be very welcome, but that is never going to happen. I’m not at all good at making money. I don’t have a career or any ambition or money making skills.
I’ve always known that I was fucked in this respect. My family were rich, but I was disinherited when I was twenty-four — a terrible shock. After that I became obsessed with financially successful, or else just extremely talented, men. But none of them wanted to pair up with me; who can blame them? People tend to go for people tend, in my experience, to choose those of the same social status. Successful people like succesfull people, or else young people full of promise and beautiful people.
But there are no mistakes apparently.
When I was going out with the professor he told me he had met Alan Watts. He was an alcoholic apparently. The professor was one of the least sentimental people I have ever met. And one of the most successful I have ever met — certainly the most successful person I have ever dated. He was even willing to share his wealth with me. So you could say this dream did in fact come true for me eventually, but it certainly didn’t make me happy. You could even say that many of my dreams came true, to some extent, but none of those things delivered anything I had hoped they would. Actually the opposite was true. That proves the truism that getting what you want isn’t always good for you.
I would quite like to open a bookshop. There is no bookshop where I live that sells new books. I miss that. Foyles Bookshop in London, on Charing Cross Road, is my favourite place to hang out. I always try to meet friends in the cafe on the top floor. There are a lot of people hanging around working on lap-tops, although personally, I don’t know how anyone concentrates writing in a cafe.
I’d like to open a bookshop here where I live, but I’m in no position to set up a business. For a while I considered selling all my books in the market, where I could set up a stall fairly cheaply. But then what would I do when my stock ran out? And I don’t particularly want to sell all my books. I’ve got rid of a ton of books in the past and always regretted it.
But as there are no mistakes I shouldn’t worry: I’m meant to be living alone in this noisy place; I’m meant to have next to nothing materially; I’m not meant to have family; Boyfriend; Masses of friends. I’m meant to be unable to set up my own business. I’m not meant to have anything to do today apart from walking to the coffee shop and writing this blog post. I’m meant to have Bipolar disorder. I’m meant to watch TV every night. Have too many books. No job prospects. Few friends.
It’s all OK because I am a cloud.