A writer and a singer pass each other on the road: Me and Ed Sheeran

Today, Ed Sheeran and my mother taught me a lesson in looking back. As groundwork, I am attending a writing retreat in Clifden on the West Coast of Ireland. Funny thing is, I didn’t come here to write, really, but instead maybe to find a story, or inspiration, or something that I didn’t know I needed. Day one, I’m getting closer.

So, what does Ed Sheeran have to do with this? Well, after spending the morning with a bunch of writers and reflecting on life, stories, etc. and thinking of my mother, I decided, since I had nothing to write in the afternoon, I’d challenge myself to a nice long walk.

I didn’t know how it would go because I hadn’t been walking except for the off and on odd time that I’d go for 20 minutes or so, but nothing like the “go big or go home” notion that I had in that moment. I packed my backpack with water and my room key, a few tissues and set out to find Clifden Castle and the great lookout.

I started on a hill, simply because I had to go left and left entailed hill. I did okay, took my time and made it to the top. My heart and lungs were in symphony with the elements. Or perhaps that was my illusion, because in reality, there would have to be a hurricane on for that to be true.

On a flat stretch I heard footsteps behind me and looked back. Having a writer brain, I believed it was better to look a serial killer in the eye before you die and you can somehow bring holy hell on him if you should die, or maybe said serial killer might change his mind once they made a personal connection or eye contact.

No, I don’t always think of serial killers when somebody walks behind me in a strange land, but moments before I had noted all the large gate posts had four standing stones on top – assuming it was for north, south, etc., but I came to a cottage that had large round stones on top of the gate posts that didn’t fit with the picture. To that, I thought maybe I’d ask somebody if they were out in the yard. But, like you never know, it could be a serial killer’s house so that gave me pause. But there was a patio umbrella. Did serial killers have patio umbrellas? I was working up the courage to cross the road when in the next step, I saw vans in the back yard that gave serial killer vibes so I just kept on going intent on not making eye contact with anyone in the yard. I had just escaped the grip of a serial killer – yes my mind works like that.

So that set me up to think of serial killers when I spotted the man behind me. I turned again going forward and he was instantly beside me. “Good afternoon,” he said. “Beautiful day.”

Did serial killers really start with that. I figured I give him a chance. I could always use the throat punch move if he had ill intentions. Saying that, I am obviously overstating any bravado I might have should the situation really arise.

Anyway, the young man looked familiar. He had a red beard, and over his hat he was listening to music on really expensive headphones. Serial killers didn’t pay a lot for such things. “Beautiful day indeed,” I replied as I sized him up trying to figure out where the familiar was coming from.

He had lifted the earpiece from one side. “I’m going to the look out,” I said. Then I tried not to give away my regret for saying that because he could go there and lay in wait for me because serial killers were crafty like that.

“Good for you,” he said. “Me too.” So, I realized he’d made an assessment of my abilities in his “good for you” tone that was off putting in a way if I were somebody who’d be offended by such a thing. Maybe I could see it as encouragement instead.

“Enjoy your walk,” I said. He nodded and left. Now I was able to get my bearings. As he left I thought of Ed Sheeran. That was who I’d been speaking to. Ed Sheeran was on the road. Darn, I missed the opportunity to get a picture with him. But he deserved his privacy, and it was kind of him to say hello to me on the road. And he didn’t really have a tone. That was on me.

As I continued, there were several places to get off the road, paths to take and I wasn’t sure how far the “look out” was, so I followed Ed, who stayed in my periphery for a long time. I took some snaps and continued in my plod toward the lookout which, at every turn and hilltop I was expecting to see.

By and by, Ed was out of sight, and I stopped to take a drink rather than trying to catch him. There were times he didn’t travel too fast, I doubted he was lingering so I could follow him, and he’d have to come back, after all. But, writer brain, he could be luring me to my death.

I digress. I laid the backpack on the rock wall to get my water bottle. I looked over. Below me was Clifden Castle. I would not have seen it if I didn’t stop. Ed was sending me a message about paying attention to what was around me and not being so focused on the end point that I miss important stuff. Thanks, Ed, understood.

I took some pictures, admired the view, and packed away my water bottle. I decided to keep going. I didn’t want to go back yet as my heart and lungs were becoming acclimatized to the distance and had settled. It was truly a beautiful day. Then, I came to a fork in the road and there was no sign of a lookout sign.

I chose the coastal route. Ed crossed my mind. Which way would he have gone? Too late now, he was out of sight. Maybe, I had escaped a serial killer with my chosen path. Curiosity kicked in now that I didn’t have Ed distracting me. Several times I saw a turn and wanted to see what was on the other side. Scenery was unbelievable. I saw a sign that told me to be cautious of the bull, which I figured was an allegory for life. That made me smile.

Then I thought of my mother and how she would have loved to be here. I wore mittens she had knit, a purposeful take to Ireland because it was a place she’d always wanted to go. What would she want me to know? A blackberry thorn grabbed my mitten and stopped me. I looked out over a castle, the gorgeous ocean, the scenery, everything was just awesome. My writer brain zinged again and thought of what I’d seen by looking back, and by just simply looking. Was she telling me that while it was good to look forward, there was also something to be learned and brought into the present by looking back. The castle had been there, I would have missed it by going forward, focusing on nothing else but Ed Sheeran. But the castle would be there whether I’d seen it or not. That’s the thing about things you don’t appreciate or regrets you have for things you haven’t seen. They are there anyway, with or without you.

I looked at the hitch and realize we live a life of hitches. Mending them might be a looking back thing, a looking forward thing, but the hitch would have changed the stitching no matter what way I looked. It was a beautiful hitch. My favourite colour had been pulled out. The hitch had happened, I could mend it if I wanted, and leave it as a reminder of that moment. Maybe I would. Two beautiful memories of Mom and a gorgeous day. We often laughed at the scrapes she got into of which this was definitely not one, but reminded me of those moments. That’s the thing about the little worries and disruptions, in the rear-view mirror, they’re not that bad and are sometimes funny if you want them to be.

I had a chat with a couple of ponies, a couple of donkeys, and then a lady and a dog made their way toward me. I asked her about the lookout, the official one, because up to then everything I looked out over was stunning in an unofficial way. She confirmed I should have taken the other route and, though it was a loop, it would be long after dark when I got back if I had the energy to go around. My mind did want to keep going, but reality said differently. I went to the next turn and planned on going back. There was Ed, again. Making his way toward me.

He stopped and chatted. He’d been to Canada recently. I won’t give up his secrets because they are his to disclose. We said our goodbye’s and off he went. He obviously didn’t recognize me (laugh really hard out loud). But, I let him go ahead a few steps before I turned around and followed him to Abbyglen.

Before too long, he was out of sight. I enjoyed the views on the way back. I thought of Mom. I saw things I didn’t notice in my going. That’s the thing about perspective. You go with what you go with at the time. I believe she walked with me. I felt her presence. I felt her peace. I felt a “letting go” of sorts. A past can’t be changed kind of thing where any regrets should be left, lessons are all you can bring forward. I felt her kindness mirrored in me. I thanked her for being such a meaningful part of all that I am and all that I hope to become under her influence.

And then Ed appeared again. Out of nowhere he passed me on the other side of the road. He’d accompanied me, being there when I needed him as a guide. He’d let me go as I walked back to Abbyglen. I could find the rest of my way alone. Thanks Ed. Thanks Mom. Message received.

Two hour walk, lots of pictures and inspiration. Writer brain engaged - maybe overactive. Writing is a cure for that.

Day two, what’s ya got?