Happy Spring Readers,
Today, I look outside. Fog obscures my view, like a sheet of tracing paper placed over the landscape; only a fuzzy dark treeline can be seen. Snow and sleet flurry and the sound of dribbling water fills my ears as it lands to replenish rivers, crops, and reservoirs. Even though the weather could be better, I'm grateful we have more light and know it will be warmer soon, too.
A few weeks ago, I attended a writing masterclass with Alice Vincent (author of Rootbound, How Women Grow, and co-host of the brilliant new podcast In Haste).
The focus of the class was how to weave your own story with others.
I'm keen to develop this because it gives a story so much more meaning. Before we can connect our story to another person's or, indeed, anything at all, including an object, we have to see a connection between our story and theirs. The story can only be woven if there is a common thread.
However, I find it hard to do. I'm not sure if this is because I'm neurodivergent and always think literally rather than metaphorically or whether it's just a hard thing to do full stop. Do you have any thoughts or comments?
When Life Caves In
Last week, walking along the Rochdale canal at Mytholmroyd in the rain, I saw a bright yellow sign saying: 'Caution Subsidence.' And again, further along, where another part of the canal towpath was collapsing into still, dark water. I knew instinctively I had some kind of connection to this sign.
As I made my way home, my thoughts started to wander as only happens when you're walking alone - neural pathways branching out - and I realised what it was. Subsidence was a perfect metaphor for the process of disabling long-term health conditions such as chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS/ME).
Subsidence Dictionary Definition:
The gradual cave-in or shrinking of an area of land.
It is gradual. You don't suddenly wake up one day unable to function - at least I didn't. There were plenty of warning signs like this yellow one, but because I was ignorant, I had no idea how to respond.
It started with a range of odd symptoms, which didn't add up to much on their own. But I heard someone say they had trouble focusing their vision, and I realised I did, too. Then someone said their bones and muscles ached, and I realised mine did, too. By the time I was finished, I had 21 minor ailments. What a hypochondriac. Maybe it was just getting older? But looking at my mother and father, 74 and 76, respectively, they were unaffected by any of these things.
Nobody noticed the canal towpath was crumbling.
To begin with, just a tiny incline in the bank appeared. Still, it was only enough to collect a splash of rain, not enough for a puddle. People continued walking over it. Eventually, it grew to the size of a shallow basin, and a puddle could and did form, but cyclists rode through it and over it, and nobody noticed.
When was the day it became noticeable?
Hard to say. I expect the warning sign was erected when there could be a danger to life or risk of the Canal River Trust getting sued.
Subsidence in a human becomes noticeable before there's a danger to life. It's the danger to capitalism when you cannot work anymore.
'If I can produce goods or services that can be exploited in order to maximise profit, I am valuable. If I can't produce goods or services that can be exploited for profit, I remain un-valuable.'
- Kae Tempest (On connection)
And so, an existential crisis unfolds.