A Long Time Dead

The wind carried something with it that day.  Daniel could feel it.  It was not the biting cold that came down from the north, an infectious, bitterness that permeated the skin, burying its claws deep, finding its way inside his veins.  Nor was it the dampness that fell from the dark clouds that scurried overhead, charging across the valley, driven on by the ever present wind.  This feeling of Daniel's came from within and it was not the first time that he had felt it.  Today though, it was different.  Perhaps it was the cold that made his mind drift and long for the warm days of summer, more so this day than before.  Whatever it was, it mattered not.  In his heart, Daniel knew what he must do, as he had known for some time now.

~ ~ ~

This morning, as I walked down into the city of Wellington, through the cemetery at Bolton Street, a thought came to my mind.  'A long time dead.'  I'm not sure what brought this thought to my mind.  Like so many thoughts that occur, a spark of some mysterious force triggers them seemingly out of nowhere, but the truth is that deep down, some place in the subconsciousness, this thought has been forming, growing and watered, waiting for the moment when it would raise its head from the soil and make itself known.  The old graves of the cemetery, the stones that look down upon the city and the water, they were the trigger today.  Underneath that earth are the remains of people that once lived, who once breathed just as you and I breathe, who smiled, laughed and cried, who believed that there would always be another day.

The truth is that one day will come the last day.  It might not be today, nor tomorrow, it might not even be for a number of years, yet that day will surely come, as surely as night follows day.  Each day that we live out our lives brings us one day closer to our inevitable end.  Is that a melancholy and depressing thought?  I don't mean it to be.  I use it only to illustrate one very important point: the need to make hay, the need to make dreams a living reality sooner rather than later.  Or, as a certain Robert Herrick once wrote, "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may."

This cycle tour has illustrated that to me very clearly.  At certain moments I have felt a rush of life force flooding my veins.  I have been unable to prevent a beaming grin from erupting on my face.  In the middle of no where, on my own, surrounded only by the wild of nature, the calls of birds, the hum of cicadas, I have laughed out loud, I have punched the air with sheer glee and delight, an overwhelming emotion of being here, of living out my dream and the giddy, euphoric happiness that comes with it.  There have been moments when I have wanted to cry, overcome with raw emotion and joy.  Those moments, those are the precious moments that define a life.  No, not just a life.  They define life.

I am guilty of squandered chances.  I know that much to my own chagrin.  I try not to waste chances but waste them I do.  Sometimes fear gets the better of me.  It is important to own up to such things because I feel it is important that any reader know that everyone is imperfect.  I talk to others of the pursuit of dreams and I encourage them.  I always shall.  I want to see others accomplish their goals and achieve their desires.  I use my own life as an illustration that anyone, that everyone can do this.  It is simply a case of taking the first step and then the next.  Those wasted chances, some I may live to regret, but I also know that certain chances will come again, if they were meant to be.  That is how we learn the lessons and how we grow our life spirit.

I have dreams to be fulfilled.  I do not know if I will achieve them all.  Right now, I have a work in progress.  My cycle tour is underway, I already feel that I have accomplished so much more than I could ever have expected.  Nonetheless, I will see it through to the end.  And after?  There is a question that remains to be answered.  One dream at a time.  Life has a way of resolving itself, of bringing you what you need, when you need it, you just have to keep your eyes open.  More than that though, you must keep your heart open and see the world through its eyes.  Perhaps that is the best advice of all.

Never reach the end and look back with regret.  The best definition of regret I can offer is that regret is wasted energy.  If you can change something, change it.  If you cannot, move on and leave it behind.  To reach that final day and to know that there were things that you still wished to accomplish, things that you knew you could have done, that is not regret.  This is my definition of hell.  And you shall not find me there.

~ ~ ~

Daniel stood up and began to walk back down the hillside.  He began slowly, finding that despite the downward force of gravity, his legs felt tired and heavy, unwilling to move.  "Perhaps I sat for too long?", he wondered, but already he knew that was not the reason for the heaviness he was feeling.  Sitting up on the hill, Daniel had looked out across the hills, valleys, rivers and fields of this land he knew so well and he had made a promise to himself.  It was that promise that now weighed heavily on his shoulders and gave reluctance to his legs.  "When I get to the bottom of the hill and reach home, everything will change and nothing will ever be the same again."  Had he made the right decision?  He could change his mind and no one would ever know about the promise that he had made to himself.  No one that was, except for his own heart.  Yet, even as the thought of breaking the promise came to him, a chink in the clouds appeared, sending a shaft of sunlight beaming down to light up a patch of stony ground on the earth below.  It was a sign and in that moment, any weariness left him.  In that moment of cloud, sun and earth, Daniel knew something important, he felt some how different.  He had begun and he would see it through.  And with that thought, Daniel's heart began to be happy.

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A Home For the Homeless

120 km.  That's how far I had cycled the previous day, now I was only 69 km from Wellington.  For the most part the road was flat, my dear old adversary, the wind, was from the side and perhaps slightly from behind, helping me towards my goal on what I knew would be a special day.  The sky was clear and blue, the sun beat down and I had a joy in my heart.  I would be in Wellington by early afternoon, but how was I going to feel about returning to the city that I loved, that held so many fond memories for me?

After spending more than three years living, studying and working in Wellington, I had left in April 2010 to pursue other dreams of my heart.  At the time I left, I questioned my motives, I considered if I was doing the right thing, I wondered if I would ever regret leaving.  I had my reasons for going, at least, I made them my reasons, the spur I needed to push me forward, to move me on to new experiences and places.  There had been a loss of a dear friend, taken prematurely, way before his time.  There was love and the hope for a future.  And of course, as always, there was the sense of adventure and the unknown.  My feet were itchy, I needed to move on before I became more permanently entrenched in my life in the city.

The cycling was easy and the kilometres ticked down.  My bike may have been heavy but there was a lightness in my soul that helped me along the road.  As I came down SH1, that runs along the western Kapiti coast, I was afforded views out across the ocean, to Kapiti Island itself.  Finally, after more than 1,500km in the saddle, pushing those pedals around and around, I was coming into places that I knew.  Almost without effort, at least it seemed that way after the previous few days of riding in which I had covered 440km in five days, suffering spells of a cold and biting wind that brought penetrating rain, I reached the suburbs of outer Wellington.  I had been forced off the main highway and onto minor roads, as SH1 is designated motorway and bicycles are not allow for a section of the road.  All that remained and separated me from the city itself was one last, steep hill to climb.

Was Wellington drawing me in?  It felt that way.  On the other side of the hill, I was able to rejoin SH1 and the road dropped down to the sea.  My speed picked up and I watched the numbers on my cycle computer as they increased. 60km/h... 65km/h... 70km/h... I topped out at 74km/h feeling exhilarated, occupying the centre of the lane, keeping up with the other traffic around me.  I was now into the city itself, coming past the docks, the ferry terminals, the Westpac Stadium, where I had watched the All Blacks play Australia in a rugby union test (the All Blacks thrashed the Aussies) and England play the Black Caps in a one day cricket international (England were dismal and were annihilated).  Here I was then, back in Wellington and how did I feel about it?

I could not stop smiling. There was nothing that I could do about it.  It was a smile that began in my heart, buried deep in the very fabric of my soul, and erupted onto my face.  I must have looked a little crazy cycling along like that, giddy with happiness, on the verge of laughter, happy as I was feeling.  I had reached the waterfront and there I stopped to drink in the view.  Wellington, dear Wellington, you did not disappoint.

My first glimpse of Wellington from the waterfront

This was a picture postcard day in Wellington.  Little to no wind, clear, blue skies and a hot sun beaming down from overhead.  I do not think there is any place I'd rather be in all the world than Wellington on a day like this.  I had to pinch myself to make sure I was not dreaming, to make sure that I was actually here.  I could feel the emotion inside of me, threatening to erupt and to spill its tears of lava down my cheeks.  I was almost unable to take it all in.  I had returned to a place that I had called home, a city that meant so much to me, that had helped move me on in my life, that held so many great memories.  I felt nothing other than pleasure at being back.  There was no sense of regret, rather the feeling of gladness for the time that I had spent here.

Bathers at Oriental Bay

I cycled slowly around the waterfront, noting the small and almost imperceptible changes that had occurred in my absence.  Changes for the better, I noted.  I zigzagged my way slowly through the throngs of people, all enjoying a Sunday afternoon in the capital, making my way to Oriental Bay, the beach of Wellington.  Here, the crowds were most dense, here, the young and the hip came to strut their stuff, and all the while the surf life guards patrolled, keeping a careful eye over everything and giving out free sun block.  And here, as I hoped it might be, was the little mobile coffee van, where I used to regularly purchase my coffee.  I was chuffed to pieces that the owners recognised me after all this time and remembered my drink.

Downtown Wellington

I sat on the sea wall, sipping at my coffee, taking in the views of the bay, the mountains across the water and the high rises of downtown.  I was back in Wellington.  My heart was glad of it, I could feel its soft purring, I could sense its happiness.  As I sat there, I wondered whether this was my home, the place of which I have been looking.  I realised that actually, it did not matter.  All that mattered was that I was back and that I was happy. Everything else will take care of itself when the time is right.  That is how I have always known it would be for me.  And so my search goes on.

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