Lockdown

This is day 40 of the lockdown. There’s a Garda (Police) checkpoint around the corner, I must go through it to drop off my daughter to creche. I drive through it every day; I get stopped every day. Twice as I drop her off, twice as I pick her up. That’s 4 times a day, 5 days a week, for 5 weeks now. 100 times. As I pull over, it’s the same jazz:

Good morning.                                                                                                                                                  Morning Officer.

What’s the purpose of your travel?

For 100 times, over the past month, I have heard myself reply to the officer, behind my face mask. I have heard this question so many times now that I have fallen into a philosophical rabbit hole. What is the purpose of my travel?

Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to run away with the circle. In my teens, living in Italy, the purpose of my travel was to flee from myself. To dismandle my sense of home. To undo my identity. I travelled to London a dozen times. I caught trains from London to Lisbon, from Milan to Amsterdam. Back to London, then a train to Santiago. I hitched-hiked through Spain, flew to Seattle and drove to Portland. I visited Rabat, Athens and Tokyo. I lost myself in Cairo. I briefly got a job as a TV extra in Hong Kong. I drove from Perth to Melbourne, and ultimately I settled in Bribane, Australia.

In my formative years, living in Australia, the purpose of my travel was to reconcile with my identity. To find a new sense of home. To grow, professionally and personally. I briefly moved to Poland, visited Prague, hitched-hiked from Kiel to Amsterdam. I travelled through Thailand, New Zeland, Fiji. I got stuck on a tiny island in Vanuatu with no cash on Christmas day. I went to England, Wales and Ireland for conferences.  Stopped in Seoul with a friend. 15 years on, I left Australia and drove from Italy to Portugal to catch a plane to Toronto. Ultimately re-settled in Ireland. I went to Madrid and Budapest for research. While living in Dublin, I travelled to Los Angeles and drove to San Francisco.

In my recent years, my travels acquired a different purpose. Finding my soulmate, having a daughter changed my purpose of travel. We boarded 9 planes while I was expecting, 6 planes in her first year. Then COVID-19 struck, and changed everything. The purpose of my travel, now, is rediscovering a sense of home through the eyes of my daughter. We live by the sea. We enjoy short trips to the beach. Walking on the sand. I don’t need to go anywhere to travel. My town is multicultural. I work with international students. My practice takes me places. All of this is in my head, as I drive through the next Garda check point, and I get asked about the purpose of my travel. As the old Irish saying goes, ‘a  Guard wouldn’t ask you that’. But wait, he did. More than 100 times!

Yesterday there was a welcome variation to the theme:

Good morning.                                                                                                                                                  Morning Officer.

What is the purpose of your journey?

As Haiku Master Matsuo Basho wrote: ‘Each day is a journey, and the journey itself is home’. My journey? I am creating my sense of home as I go. What journey shall I tell you about? My research journey? My professional journey? My journey as a teacher-artist? My journey into motherhood? I am on many parallel journeys, Officer. And so are you. I feel mine is worth sharing. Hence, this blog.

My journey, in progress. As a reflective practitioner, as a teacher-artist, as myself.

Thank you, Officer.

Image credits: Where’s your creativity? By Aaron Rosen