Part II of ‘When in Doubt’ autoethnographic companion to the walk ‘A Speculative Muddle’ (Richmond-Upon-Thames).
I always lean towards the benefit of the doubt.
But I/we/you are still on my/our/your own, in (dis)belief. Most feel this awareness across the body, as knowledge, but also as a coldness or tenseness under the skin, perhaps a tense jaw, a tight hip, a shoulder and neck that doesn’t feel right. Or, if you are like me, an empty feeling in the gut. The awareness of being on your own is, well, a feeling most feel. It is well enough that I/we/you feel this way. This is not out of the ordinary.
I am still in doubt
On the street, I am with others. On the path, I am alone. On the common, we are together. I adapt and adopt a companionship with the Others who feel (their way) the same. I find it in their words, but with many, I can’t take their words alone seriously – preferring a live interaction where the other senses are visible. Or, at the least, descriptions of what is felt, under the skin, nose, and throat.
You/I/we are not alone, not lost. You/I/we are in company with each/Other. You and the others, Others. We are along and about on the fields somewhere, somewhere staying relatively consistent as we encounter the same ‘things’ – walls, objects, terrain that hold us in place.
Moving on foot seems to make it easier to move in time; the mind wanders from plans to recollections to observations.
Rebecca Solnit, Wanderlust: A History of Walking, 20011Solnit, R. (2001) Wanderlust: A History of Walking. e-book. New York: Penguin. pp. 18
I move on foot, entirely aware that I am off track. I am aware that I have gone off track. That was the plan all along. We are on no track, but this is how I know to get you there. This is my way of knowing a path, the path so many other feminists said, hey, we are here too. This is also our path.
I move on foot, entirely aware that I am off track. I am aware that I have gone off track. That was the plan all along. We are on no track, but this is how I know to get you there. This is my way of knowing a path, the path so many other feminists said, hey, we are here too. This is also our path.
I am also aware of skills, that I/we/you have a lifetime of skills to navigate and lead. Just me now: orientation, mountaineering, mapreading, historical knowledge, wilderness first aid, participatory artist, event producer, workshop leader, installation artist. I know how to get there, and if something comes up, I know how to course correct, improvise, communicate it visually, and patch you up if you twist an ankle while we’re at it. Do you know that? Does it matter?
In this rocky terrain, a level of trust can be achieved. The newness of each encounter does matter. Didn’t we just meet? For the first time? Did we ever meet?
But I/we/you asked, so I am taking you to where the answers might be – we/you have asked for a guided tour of the divergent, not the queers, the Folx whose genders suddenly seem to come out of nowhere. To queer diverges, to be queer is ordinary. Is trans, nonbinary, agender ordinary? Why do they keep calling us lesbians?
The folx whose brains experience sensations and work off neural pathways that are simply different, not dysfunctional. They are ordinary. Yet they aren’t so I/we/you ask someone ‘local’ because it makes sense to be led by the indigenous – haven’t I/we/they made the best guides?
Not everyone can go for the same ride, so there needs to be a trusting relationship between and guide and their crew. No trust, no process, no research, no outcome. We encounter some bramble: why did you take me this way?. You lost me ahead, I arrive from behind: where have you been all this time? I encourage you to look for the breadcrumbs: I am too busy to do this.
Meet me half way.
These are the breadcrumbs to look for, please follow them or you will not ‘get’ the path, as the path is our own, each our own. This path can only be crossed on your own, there is no pathway lighting. It is not broken, I turned it off. I didn’t like the effect. I discovered it directs you to somewhere else and you can’t see in the dark. Sorry for the delays, traffic control let us know there were delays. We were given a new flightpath. The landing gear is down. We are moving now. We will be on the ground momentarily.
Walking should be called movement, not travel, for one can walk in circles or travel around the world immobilised in a seat, and a certain kind of wanderlust can only be assuaged by the acts of the body itself in motion, not the motion of the car, boat, or plane.
Rebecca Solnit, Wanderlust: A History of Walking, 20012Solnit, R. (2001) Wanderlust: A History of Walking. e-book. New York: Penguin. pp. 18
You can get out of your seat now. Look (in the) overhead, around, in front and back.
We are not on a plane skipping across the fields and vast terrain. There is too much terrain to cover, we can’t just fly over it.
There is trust that I/we/you can navigate on my/our own out of the terrain that seems familiar. I/you/we ask again: What is the destination? Who is the carrier? Aren’t we all stopping in the same place (for now, or later)?
No one answers.
The question now is, will my feelings for you be changed? I’ve lived in you all these months–coming out, what are you really like? Do you exist? Have I made you up?
But I don’t want to write another word for months-not a letter even Do you ever feel words have gone dry and dull in your mind? Your mind like a sponge in the dust? You squeeze it and nothing comes? In October my mind was dripping: That is the only life.
Virgina Woolf to Vita Sackville West, March 19283Woolf, Virginia. ‘1873: To V. Sackville-West’. In The Letters of Virginia Woolf Volume Three: 1923–1928, edited by Nigel Nicolson and Joanne Trautmann, 3:473–74. 52 Tavistock Square, London, W.C.1, 20? March 1928. Reprint, New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1977.
I answer for myself..
When in Doubt Series
Footnotes
- 1Solnit, R. (2001) Wanderlust: A History of Walking. e-book. New York: Penguin. pp. 18
- 2Solnit, R. (2001) Wanderlust: A History of Walking. e-book. New York: Penguin. pp. 18
- 3Woolf, Virginia. ‘1873: To V. Sackville-West’. In The Letters of Virginia Woolf Volume Three: 1923–1928, edited by Nigel Nicolson and Joanne Trautmann, 3:473–74. 52 Tavistock Square, London, W.C.1, 20? March 1928. Reprint, New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1977.
