Whenever I come to Boxhill, memories of my Jane Austen obsession phase ( when I was about 16) come rushing back. I’ve always wanted to do a full blown Emma style picnic on the viewpoint- complete with the customary romantic intrigue infused with her absolutely bitchy world view ( critical analysis skills from a highly qualified ex- English A-level student). It’s wonderful: the view over the Surrey Hills is stunning ( I’ll insert a picture but I don’t think the camera does it much justice).
It’s times like these that I’m reminded of how grateful I am for my blog. It has become a large part of my life recently, and I think what I cherish the most about it as the outlet that it acts as for my thoughts. Most of my content is mediocre objectively speaking, but for me it holds a lot of value. Sometimes I feel that I am over sharing, combining my twitter, goodreads, letterboxd and this blog a person can really construct a portrait of me and all the facets of my ‘personal mythology’ of which I am constituted. However, in a strange way I welcome this. I want to nourish deep connections with people, and though I make myself vulnerable thorough my digital footprint so far I’ve only reaped immense benefit from it.
Now sitting on Boxhill I get away from my home- if I don’t get out on my bike frequently I begin to feel a bit constrained ( and I kind of floated through last week- did it really happen? ). There is so much beauty in the world, in the mundane- the gems which are hidden around the corner. Yet it is so easy to get stuck in a rut, in my case in my own thoughts in my room. I need my outlets- exercise and writing. They sweep up the dust that accumulates on my piles of ideas, spring cleaning my mind ready for the next wave.
There are a lot of people on Boxhill. It is quite a touristy place, but I love places bursting with life. Edgware Road appeals to me more than the mansions in Wimbledon. The bustling markets of Fez more than the new quarter of Marrakesh. You can see little villages from the Boxhill viewpoint. What happens in those little houses, the cricket greens? The little lives that populate these green expanses- they fascinate me.
Feeling alive. Purpose, meaning, value. How to nurture these? Through Art, through experience?