Retreat

| By Jess Rippengale |

I have been listening to author Katherine May's podcast ‘The Clearing’, where she invites guests to discuss their fantasy retreat. It's an anything goes opportunity and in the same way I have agonised over which eight tracks I would take to a desert island (because of course, one day I will be asked onto the programme, just after appearing on the now defunct Top of the Pops), I have been planning my own retreat, in preparation for Katherine's invite.

So, if I could go anywhere, where would it be and more importantly, what would I be retreating from?

After thinking about remote Scottish bothies and off-grid cabins in the forest, I realised there was a glaring problem with the whole idea; I would be taking myself with me. Not in a spiritual sense, I am a solitary creature by nature, but a corporeal one. The body I inhabit is multiply dysfunctional and regularly steals the 24 hours other people take for granted. Chances are I would spend at least half of any time on the retreat in bed, sleeping off a migraine or just too bloody tired to do anything useful. So I will be humbly requesting a retreat from this body, and I would like it to last the length of time that pain, fatigue, anxiety and depression have taken from me. I estimate it will amount to years, but boy will I make the most of them.

Each morning, I will wake up with my body battery full to the brim after a night of multiple complete sleep cycles free of nightmares, pain or being woken by the slightest rustle of a leaf half a mile away.

I will get out of bed at least two inches taller as my spine will be straight and strong enough to support me all day long without complaining from the moment I wake. My mind will be clear of foggy weather, and my thought train will not stop at Traumatic Memory Central or need to plan and rehearse days in advance to make a simple phone call.

The first thing I will do is get a proper job. I miss having one more than I ever thought possible, I miss feeling useful, being appreciated, having a purpose and being financially secure. I would work with animals for sure, perhaps in some rescue capacity, or wildlife and environmental management. I'd wear a polo shirt with a logo on one side of my chest and have to take my boots off outside when I got home.

My days off I plan to start with a walk, a long one, perhaps with a swim at the turning point. I will climb hills as the birds welcome the day with me and take wrong turnings that double their length but also their joy. I will allow my curiosity to get the better of me and discover lost holloways, snacking on berries and wild damsons. I will forage mushrooms and plants and bring them home to make a brunch of omelettes with eggs from the chickens I have the energy to care for.

I will spend the afternoons either crocheting, writing or weaving and my fingers will not tire, my joints will not make their presence known and I will be able to sit upright in a chair for a whole hour without pain or the side effects of painkillers.

I will not need to sleep during the day and I will still have the energy to cook for myself in the evening even though I have also had a shower.

Freed from pain I will have enough energy to keep my home clean and to read a book without falling asleep.

My mind will be so clear I will once again be able to retain new information and I will finally get my head around the baffling industry contained within the engine room of the barge that is my home.

I will be strong enough to grow food, turning the soil with a fork I would currently struggle to lift in any useful way, and able to bend low enough for the plants I can't eat to hear my apologies as I pull them up and send them to the compost heap.

I will be dextrous enough to play an instrument and confident enough to sing out loud, Infront of other people, the album's worth of songs I have written over the years that nobody has yet heard and only a couple of people know about. I won't spiral into self-doubt if I make a mistake or if no-one likes them.

I will be able to not only tolerate but enjoy the company of more than one person at a time, I will cook for a group of friends and they'll be able to rely on me to be at the end of the phone when they need advice or help with a practical project. I'd be able to reciprocate equally and feel like part of a community.

No-one will feel the need to tell me to think positive or that worse things happen at sea and my teenage son won't spend his time worrying about my (imagined) untimely death. He'll be too busy trying to keep up with me as I parkour my way through a worthwhile, joyful and energetic life.

At the end of every day I will collapse into bed exhausted, as I do every night, but with the crucial addition of satisfaction at a good day's doing, looking forward with certainty that I will get to do it all again tomorrow. It’s going to be fucking magnificent...