Loch Ness Blog

With love, from Truly

I came home from work Friday night exhausted. A week of ten-hour workdays, void of lunch breaks and cheer, will do that to a person. Collapsing on the sofa, my right eye twitching from countless hours of proofreading (aka: re-writing), formatting, and acquiring image rights for the collateral that will market the nation-wide design festival that I bust ass for Monday–Friday (plus some unsavory weekend hours), I was almost too drained to lift my fish-filled fork at dinner.

“Are we still going hiking for your birthday this weekend?” Shaun innocently asked. The effort of laughing was too much to bear. I snorted. “Me no know. So sleepy.”

After dinner, Shaun left to work a night shift for a special event at the Centre for Contemporary Arts; he’s a part-time gallery staff person there. After the clatter and clang of washing the dishes was done, I plopped back on the couch and closed my eyes. I sighed. This inertia, this real-life crabbiness, this relentless barrage of task mastering: this is not what my year in Scotland was supposed to be about.

I remembered when Shaun first came home from a meeting with a post-graduate advisor at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, where he studied for free as a student-at-large while he worked in the publications department at the Art Institute. After explaining some of his ongoing writing projects (which included a historical fiction about the real Macbeth of Scotland) and what he wanted from a masters program (a selective admissions policy; a renown curriculum containing both lectures and workshops; opportunities for editorial experience as well as quality writing critiques; ample exposure to visiting publishers and business contacts), his advisor recommended the University of Glasgow in Scotland. Shaun was elated. He came home buzzing with excitement and before I could even kiss his cold, pink cheeks, he grabbed me ’round the waist and asked, “want to move to Scotland?” I laughed. “Why not? I could hike there!”

While in Chicago, Scotland seemed like a giant vacation: a year of unbridled learning and exploring. And in many ways, it has been. Shaun’s program has exceeded his expectations. And since he sucks at bragging about himself and I make a living in marketing arts and culture, I’ll happily do the job for him: he finished his first semester with the best marks in the course. When he read his work aloud at a pub reading last week, he was given the most generous introduction and applause of anyone who read that evening. His work is thriving here; he’s writing amazing things and he’s continuing to work in an editorial capacity as the editor of the course literary magazine. And best of all, he’s still Shaun: no ego, lots of friends. He’s still the quiet, cheerful guy who cracks jokes that, if you are paying attention, you’ll find are the funniest at the table.

While I don’t spend my days pursuing my passion and picking the brains of some of the most respected and creative people in the literary business, I too am growing by leaps and bounds. Living abroad has made me learn so much about myself; I am constantly discovering things that I’d otherwise never have any reason to discover. Living in Scotland has made me come to terms with what it means to be an American, what makes a person an American, and how the entire concept of nationality is simultaneously mutable and fixed. I am learning how to rise to the challenges of a particularly difficult job with particularly difficult office politics. I am learning how to let go, how to take things less seriously, how to make friends in every place I go. I now drive on the left side of the road. My calculations are in metrics.

So what was I doing loafing on the couch, work-whipped on a Friday night? I am young, I am brave, I am in Scotland! Banishing my lethargy, I got online and found the perfect highlands hike: The Pass of Killiecrankie.

Aside from having a promising name (in my mind, Killiecrankie = “kill crankiness”), the trailhead was only 1.5 hours outside of Glasgow in the quiet village of Pitlochry, in Perthshire. A ten-mile (16 km) circuit that includes a salmon run, loch-side trekking, and the Faskally Woods, The Pass of Killiecrankie was scheduled to have most important thing that a hike in the Scottish highlands can have: good weather. I booked a B&B, rented a car, packed our bags, and sent Shaun a text message. “YES to hiking tomorrow.”

Saturday was heaven. Far away from the grit of the city, miles from the ever-present smell of industrial-strength gravy (a scent that is actually emitted by two huge distilleries on the outskirts of Glasgow), I was completely at one with the world. Mud squished and slopped beneath my boots, bark was cool and rough beneath my palms, the air was sweet and the only sound was that of sheep. We walked at a peaceful gait, stopping only for lunch at a loch in the wood and a fun scrabble on some rocks near some refreshing rapids; I can’t wait until summertime, when the sun doesn’t set until 10.30 pm here and we can linger as long as we want along the trail. During the winter, you are always aware of the time, aware of the sun slipping, setting over the hills. At five o’clock, muddy and sweaty, limbs tingling and tired, we clamored back into the car, ready for a shower at the B&B and a huge meal.

As a special birthday treat (I turn 25 on Tuesday), I took the liberty of booking us in at a really nice B&B. Usually, we go for budget stays, where the rooms are icy and the mattresses are little more than a pile of rusty springs. But this time, at the Craigtin House B&B, we had a massive six foot-wide bed and a fancy soaps scented with invigorating ginger and soothing algae.

After washing up, we walked into town for our evening meal at The Strathgarry. Ravenous, Shaun devoured a mammoth cheeseburger and I a massive cut of slow roasted lamb with leeks. Pushing our plates away from our full bellies, I smiled at my happy partner. “Groovy is a stupid word, but it is the only thing I can think of that describes how I feel right now.” He smiled. “I wish I could feel like this everyday, find a way to make it last. You know?”
`
Perhaps that is my new goal for this 25th year of my life. I spent the first half of my twenties finding growth while in hot pursuit of experiencing everything the world had to offer, of devouring life (and really, for only being 25, I think I have done quite a bit). But perhaps now I’m finding more growth from quieter moments, from writing letters to friends, from learning new German swear words from my brother Juje when I call home. This is not to say that my appetite for adventure is dwindling, but rather to say that lately I’m finding that the experiences that amaze me the most are the simple ones: a long phone call to an old friend, reaching for my partner’s comforting hand, mud squishing beneath my boots, and simply, feeling groovy.

Some photos from our hike:

***

***

***

***

***

***

This entry was posted on Sunday, March 4th, 2007 at 8:53 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.