A Year of Unquantifiable Proportions
At the end of the year, we look to the lists of learned men and women to tell us how it all went. They’ll tell us what happened, what we might have missed, and what we listened to and watched. Personally, we might look back on a year of two holidays, three weddings, and a promotion. “It’s been a good year,” you might think. Progress made without any significant hindrance. Maybe you quit smoking. Maybe you got a dog. Maybe you began a relationship with “the one.” Whatever you’ve done, it’s worth some self-congratulation. In fact, simply surviving and making it to 2025 is more than can be said for the just-over-60 million people who died in 2024.
This is the first year of my life that hasn’t followed a socially-accepted pattern of upward trajectory. Throughout my life, I’ve been able to look back on a year of education or work and say, “Well, I did what I was supposed to do, and next year will be more of the same.” It simplifies things when you do what you’re supposed to do.
Passed exams, promotions, and pay-rises are modern-day tokens of social success.
Even after a year of travel, it’s so easy to look back and think about things in terms of the concrete and definable: 15 countries, 3 continents, 57 subscribers, 450 miles ran.
But what does it all mean?
Not much, I suppose.
I probably won’t be able to understand or comprehend the influence or effects of this past year until I’m home. A friend asked me yesterday if I think I’m a different person while travelling than the person I am back home and I couldn’t help but wonder who the person back home was, or if he still exists somewhere. I like the idea that my home-self is waiting patiently for me at Chorley Train Station, ready to resume suburban mundanities when all this is over. However, I can’t help but think the person who I am now, or the one that returns (whenever that is) is my new permanent self. But then again, maybe I haven’t changed much at all.
There’s certainly a level of anxiety that I’m missing out on things at home. I have a baby sister who I haven’t met and my best friends have gotten married and had a child. Everybody says that things don’t change much at home in a year but I can’t help but feel this isn’t quite true. Relationships mature, weaken, stretch and decay, while all my relationships remain suspended in permafrost. But what happens when they thaw? Will they prove to be hardened, thus reinforcing their strength, or will they be permanently changed, like a soggy lettuce?
It’s hard to know, and frankly, it doesn’t really matter. We are who we are and we will be who we will be. These things don’t change through worry or doubt. Although, this does bring me onto my next New Year’s Musing.
I’m sure you’re familiar with The Ship of Theseus, where, over time, this ancient ship underwent so many repairs that there was no longer a single panel belonging to the original. If every element of the ship has changed, down to the last screw, can it possibly be the same ship? If you say that the ship has changed so much that it is no longer The Ship of Theseus, then you would also be tied into the logical consistency that you are no longer the same person once all your cells have undergone regeneration, every 7-10 years or so. And maybe that works for you. After all, none of my friends would say they’re the same person who wore Topman Rihanna tees, beige chinos, and TOMS ten years ago, but I have photographic evidence that says otherwise. Regrettable fashion choices and awful hair-cuts aside, I think most of us would say that we’ve always been the same person. We might’ve matured, we might’ve balanced out a little, but we’re still generally the same person. Since I can remember, I’ve always been a loud-mouthed, competitive, over-eager contrarian - only now I hold my tongue more often (still not enough).
So what is it that makes me me? And what makes you you? Well, it all just comes down to vibes, doesn’t it? If I return home and give my friends and family ‘Dylan’ vibes, then I suppose I’m the same person. Despite my regenerating cells and incomprehensible life experiences, I’ll still be the same person. If I’m still bringing up obscure (and undoubtedly misunderstood) philosophical concepts at the dinner table and talking about Christian shame to strangers, then I’ll still be me.
In fact, I think a lot of things can change about a person, and their friends will still hold onto whatever faint whiff of their former self remains. I think this because the idea that someone can change beyond recognition fucks with our sense of consistency in a world that is generally chaotic. Knowing that our friends and family will remain unchanging no matter what life throws at us is a huge comfort blanket in our fragile, ego-centric experience of the world. This is one of the reasons that seemingly reasonable parents can have such a hard time accepting their children are gay, trans, or simply don’t like football.
Also, for those who don’t travel, it’s comforting to think that travel doesn’t actually change a person, and they’re no worse off for not doing so. After a year of globetrotting, I’m no less the wiser on this subject, as I’ve met some staggeringly repulsive individuals who have been to more countries than Britain has invaded. It seems as though travelling brings out the best in good people, while giving awful people a sense of legitimacy in their repugnancy. I also think that the older you are when you travel, the less it’s going to mould you as a person. I think of it as adding sprinkles to an ice-cream sundae - I chose my flavours in Chorley and Bristol.
In spite of my waffling, I’d like to thank everybody who has signed up to receive my monologues at the wall every week. All 57 of you. You’ve given me a sense of accountability in my writing that I’ve never had before. And while there are still so few of you here, I can’t help but believe that I am going somewhere, no matter how long the journey takes.
If you’ve got your own thing that you’d like to work on, whether it’s words or pictures or photographs or collecting sick bags from niche airlines - go and get it done. We’re all stumbling around in the dark looking for the light switch, but you’ll never find it if you sit down and watch Love Island.
Keep fumbling and it’ll come.
That’s what she…
never mind.