How did I cope with Storm Éowyn, my first night in my modular home?   Well, it’s an easy question to answer.    I slept right through it.   Tiredness had overtaken over my weary body and I have to say it was one of the best night’s sleeps of my life.  I felt snug in bed, and miles away from the cold outside world.   Every time I cross the Michael Davitt Bridge into Achill Sound I feel that I am stepping away from the outside world. It’s a wonderful feeling.  

I suppose I had been carrying a huge bundle of stress on my shoulders.  I loved living in the caravan that I had booked initially for three months.   However, due to electricity failings, I had to leave a month earlier than planned.  And there was huge concern about finding somewhere to rent. Ireland has a huge housing crisis. I did not want to face homelessness.  The thought of returning to West Cork filled me with a wearisome dread.  Despite loving West Cork, I was just too tired to travel, so  I made the decision to stay.   In addition, a lengthy period of being tormented by loud music in my previous residency and the constant screech of traffic had taken its toll on me.  In the comfort of my warm bed, I could release all the heaviness of noise and worry, which lulled me into dream time.

So here I am in magical Achill, well, for at least another six months.  I will concern myself with ‘what’s next’ when it comes nearer the time.  At the outset, there were a few challenges, one being that my location is remote.   I am at least ten kilometers from a shop, so lists have become a very important part of my day. Once I forgot tea bags, which, for a tea jenny, made the evening rather long and unenjoyable.   I am fortunate that there is a bus, but I am hoping to purchase a bike.  Achill has a greenway, which I desperately want to try out.

I have observed that there is an incessant hollering wind which never ceases, and as one resident told me, and which I attest to, it is the kind of wind which really gets under one’s skin.  I have never heard this type of wail, and one night it did actually sound like the wail of a banshee.   Not good news for someone whose surname starts with Mc.

However, as days morphed into weeks, I noticed the advantages of remote living.   I am surrounded by beautiful landscapes, wildlife, and there is very little modern noise pollution.   Slowness came into my life.  I had stepped off the conveyor belt of fast pace, fast pace, fast pace. It is a joy to have breakfast watching the birds pecking seeds from my bird feeder, and it has been most gratifying getting to know my two neighbouring ponies. I am beginning to learn to communicate with them without the need for words.  As I ambled along the mossy paths, I began to home in on the beauty found in the hedgerows despite it being winter. 

Solitude allowed my own thoughts to come to the fore.  No other voices were drowning them out. One evening, I finally came to the realization that crowds and noise affect me rather badly, and as I sat with this insight, tears began to slide down my face, which allowed me to say goodbye to that sense of inadequacy.    

In my thirties after I left the Isle of Arran for Glasgow there is a strong possibility I was misdiagnosed with agoraphobia.  Away back then I was shunted into a category with no real in-depth research into an accurate diagnosis.   I paid for private therapy but even then, it was assumed that I was agoraphobic. Perhaps being overwhelmed by loudness, disliking crowds and the inability to do anything with speed is not  a recognised disorder but whatever was ailing me then it caused misery as I had frequent anxiety attacks.  

Moreover in my youth the consequences of being ripped apart by contrasting noise and the effect of not keeping up caused great stress for me so much so that I totally gave up and left school early.   I shall go into this more at a later stage.   

Now there is a sense of relief as I have come to terms that it is just a part of my nature to require withdrawal space in quiet surroundings.  

In my early years I had a special tree by the river.  It was my haven, a place where I could escape the continual frenzy of modern noise pollution.   I would venture there at least once a week.   I loved watching the heron with the coal black eyes.   Perhaps that is the reason so many people like fishing.  Time by the river away from a world that is ever increasingly noisy.

At this point I have to say I was never physically or verbally bullied, but there was a message in the body language of my parents, teachers and perhaps some of my peers that there must be something wrong with me.  What is normal about wanting to spend time by the river or reading comics on one’s own especially after primary school level.  I had the blessing of two close friends with many fond memories of them.  So I was never thrust into total aloneness.

Nowadays, crowds and loud, contrasting noise are everywhere. It seems to me that we are being propelled to have large networks and thousands of followers.   I learned a few years ago that some publishing houses want to know Twitter handles, as X was known back then.  Large numbers of followers are viewed as a sign of success and can actually contribute to the acceptance of your work.  Influencers with millions of followers are held in high esteem, role models to be followed.  So where does that leave someone like me?    In one word – happy.

Sound bites reverberate everywhere, there are always messages declaring how to stay in vogue. The continual pursuit of something that we can never really attain because Vogue constantly changes its cloak.   

And as for social media, it is often a place of loud and angry words.  One cannot change the world by bawling.  Words written to make people feel less than, words to ridicule, words to blame and words to stroke one’s ego for a moment of puffed upness in the belief that one is totally right. Social media is a place of extremes culminating in a heap of documented evidence on you.  I am so very grateful that in my youth there was no such thing as a mobile phone.  Yes, I have cringe and embarrassing moments.  I was not a quiet, timid little girl.  Furthermore, respectful discourse seems to have walked out the door banging the door behind.  

I don’t have many connections, and by today’s standards I am certainly not popular.   I wouldn’t know how to do popular.   My nature makes me easily side-lined and I don’t expect special treatment to make people jump through hoops.  I wouldn’t like that anyway.  I am more comfortable observing, creating new stories.  So, I am happy to be navigating social situations in my way.  I excel in one to one conversations, well so I am told.   It must be said that I don’t really like those team building exercises whatsoever.  I leave exhausted.  Large amounts of money go into workplace psychology for companies to maximize their workforce for profit.   Narratives are created to assist the flow of capitalist endeavour so wouldn’t it be safe to say that large networks benefit organizations?  In the past, the categorization of people into racial groups allowed for slavery to be acceptable, so much so that it became woven into society, and very often those who opposed were deemed mad.   We must be aware of the part narratives play in our lives.  

Likely, there is now some scientific and/or medical term for individuals like me, and if so I think that this leaves a lot to be desired. This suggests that there are defined personality traits, and I would say surely there are a lot of complexities with regard to human nature. There is nothing disorderly about my personality.

In essence, living in Achill has allowed me to be my wonderfully ‘weird’ self.  I write that with a smile on my face, knowing my type of weird is good.  I have no ill-intentioned bone in my body wanting to cause harm.    

I have found a small pub where I can sip my tea and allow my eyes to wander outside without the background noise of a big screen, and despite loving music, it is lovely just to listen to the natural soundscape of pub life.   May I take a moment to add that once upon a time in the era of Fionn and his mighty warriors, hospitality was so important that there is a story of how a poet cursed a king because he failed to show warmth and kindness to him.  Well, back then, it was also considered a hospitality ‘no, no’ to have an alehouse without a storyteller.  Yes, I would be fine with that.

To be continued.