About forgetting
Yesterday was our first month anniversary after moving down to a sleepy village on the North Cornwall coast. It was also a typical day to forget all about it.
Several times a day we remind ourselves: “This is where we live.” This place still feels like a holiday on which we carted all our stuff and have had to do some work. We still need to remind ourselves that we do not have to go home; we are home.
The familiarity of the objects around us is the main cause and yesterday was a typical example.
I spend most of my working day staring at the same computer.
I see little in my field of view that suggests I am anywhere special other than at my desk.
I need to drop an envelope in the postbox, just across the road.
Walking through the large entrance hall to the front door does not trigger anything.
Walking across the gravel drive feels unfamiliar.
But it is not until I reach the road that I register the quiet and that we now live in a peaceful, rural village.
It catches me out every time.
If you’re already sick of me gushing about living here, you’re just going to have to suck it up – there’s much more to come. But don’t worry, I suspect I’ll be cussing once the peak holiday season kicks in and we’re choked with temporary neighbours!
