Advent Writing Prompts

Day 1 – Something that gives you peace or robs you of it

As I’m currently experiencing my first period of living away from my family, I remembered the other day that this year I don’t have anyone to buy me an advent calendar, and buying myself one felt far too self-indulgent for a student budget. So, in an attempt to kill some birds with a number of stones I’ve decided to fill each of my advent days with a separate writing prompt in order to build the tension towards Christmas and to force myself to do something productive for a change. Click here for the entire list I shall be going through: https://tracimsmith.wordpress.com/2015/11/29/advent-writing-prompts-25-days-of-writing-writing-write-writingprompt-writersblock/

So, as the heading gave away, I was to kick this writing challenge off by writing about something that either gives me peace, or takes it away. I decided to go with the former, because focusing on something I find chaotic and aggravating would probably be the straw that’d finally break me.

I remember the walk so vividly. There was nothing that put my mind at ease more than those 15 minutes I would spend with her. Down the street, crossing over at the bridge, always intrigued as to whether or not the flood control pipes were open. Then down by what once was the abandoned factory but is now hills of rubble and dust. Strangely enough, it was more relaxing with the construction. 

I guess the noise didn’t matter since it never overpowered the music passing through my headphones into my mind. The combination of no responsibility other than walking and making sure she doesn’t run off mixes quite well with the transportive power of music, I always thought, to create some sort of small adventure in my own subconscious. Allowing my constantly distressed thoughts to focus on nothing but the story that the music was taking me on. It didn’t matter what story the song told, or even how I then took that song and made it my own. Sometimes I would be the loved-up protagonist putting his heart on the line, or other times I was instead performing the song, imagining how I would take the different parts and details of the recording and then amplify them on stage.

With my mind elsewhere, I was free to relax as we would walk through the retail park, only ever slowing down to see if the guy I know at the sofa shop was on his break. For such a seemingly mundane and uneventful place, I can’t help but reminisce on the few memories I have had there. Some good, some bad, as all memories are. This is also the part with variation. Do I turn immediately and walk past the shops, or do I continue on ahead first and walk along the main road. The choice itself is rather inconsequential. No matter which, I will walk roughly the same amount and arrive home at the same time, yet it always ended up a big decision for me. I guess if something so trivial becomes a big decision, then that’s something to be thankful for. Could always do with more triviality in life.

Now we reach the home straight. This street and I have always had a strange relationship. It’s home to my primary school best friend, so I’ve a few random memories of it that all stopped once we went to different secondary schools. I barely walked down it for years after that, only on occasion to go to the very shops I just spoke about. This all changed when it became apart of my dog walking route. Now I have many new memories of the street, albeit some far less eventful ones.

Finally I reach my street. A street I’ve walked down more than I’ve walked any. One so entangled with my memories that I could hardly find a single part that wouldn’t spark something often neglected in my head. Clearly Grace recognises it just as well as I do (impressive considering she can’t see colour and has lived there 15 years less than I have) Whenever we come back across the bridge we crossed at the beginning she seems to find a small burst of energy, trying her best to both rush ahead and stop for every different smell. I’d guess that she must think about how excited she suddenly is to be home where it’s warm and where there’s food. That or maybe she just doesn’t like me… though obviously that isn’t it. 

As I reach the front door, the keys pulled out of my pocket about five houses too early, I return to my natural head-space, of over-thinking and under pressure. I step down off the stage as I take my headphones off and I return all the memories I had brought up back into obscurity neatly folded up. Though, I’m always comforted with the knowledge that the dog will always need a walk. Which is why I’ve never wanted to go home more than now.