a trip to Lausanne

Today has been – unsurprisingly – largely unproductive. I’d intended to finish the remaining modules of my TEFL course and write an entry for the blog, but alas, it’s already 16:32, and my TEFL assignments have remained untouched. (This is partly due to a technical error that prevents me from working on them – I’m not quite willing to assume full responsibility for my lack of productivity.) At least I’ve finally pulled myself together enough to begin writing. I’m not quite sure why, but these days I often have trouble summoning the motivation to do things. Maybe it’s because of the weather – it’s not even 5pm, and yet the windows seem as though they’re tinted, it’s so dark outside. 

This weekend I took the train to Lausanne, in Switzerland, to visit a family friend. (Incidentally, I promise I am doing something other than constantly flitting around Europe!!) I don’t know whether it was the place itself, nestled amongst lakeside mountains, or the mere act of getting away – but time seemed to pass much more purposefully there. On a typical day at home, I’ll no sooner have woken up and pottered around and sat down to do a bit of work than it’ll be dinner time, and I’ll be left wondering how the day escaped me. From morning til evening, the hours slip away behind one’s back, leaving behind the empty husk of a day and the promise of a new one tomorrow. Such is the passage of time when I’m studying, or at least attempting to, from home. 

Though I was only there for two nights, the days seemed slower, and yet fuller. It probably helped that I woke up much earlier than I normally do. Yet I think it’s largely due to the geography of the place. Although I love cities and their various energies, I’ve come to love being amongst nature just as much. I’m much less likely to feel antsy or lethargic, and there’s something so soothing about walking under a forest canopy and listening to the running of a stream. Life goes on incessantly in a city; everyone is always busy, and even the hours chase each other into night. But during my brief stay in the Swiss countryside, time felt more meaningful. Being surrounded by expanses of mountainous landscape and in a context different to my own gave me cause to reflect. Not that I don’t have enough time for introspection at home – arguably, I have too much of it – but this was of a different kind. 

The family friend who I stayed with and of whom I’m awfully fond is the most amazing person. Though ethnically British, Mujin is now Swiss and a Buddhist nun who’s lived all around Asia, including Singapore, Sri Lanka and Korea. She knows all sorts of fascinating people and hosts a number of workshops and development projects all over the world. I love spending time with her, partly because of her interesting stories but mostly because she has this energy that enlivens and uplifts the things and people around her. (If you’d like to read more about her projects, click here.) 

On Saturday morning she took me to Gruyère. As we were walking back down to the village from the castle, she asked me, “What’s your dream?” I couldn’t answer. I fumbled over my words and through my thoughts, but I couldn’t think of anything that could qualify as a ‘dream’. After metaphorically stumbling for a little while longer, I came out with the lame response that I wanted to speak several languages fluently. Yet when questioned further on why I wanted to pursue this, I found myself coming up short once again. True, learning more languages means that I’ll be able to communicate seamlessly with more people – but communicate to what end? 

Mujin said that everybody has two things: “What they hope to do, which is probably what they’ll end up doing, and what they dream of.” Currently, I feel I have neither. It makes me sad when I think of how confident I was when I was younger, and how sure of myself; I knew exactly what I wanted to be and didn’t doubt myself for a second. Yet this has changed as I’ve grown older. I’ve lost that knack of complete, infallible self-confidence, and have ended up – at least for the moment – without a dream.

Probably this is normal. In a time when things are constantly in flux, it can be hard to pinpoint a fixed goal. Yet I still feel a little sad, and a little lost. In my mind, I picture that childhood dream of being an author and illustrator like a loose balloon – once upon a time, I clung to it so tightly and thought I’d never let go. But at some point my grip slackened, and it floated ever upwards, heaven-bound, disappearing into a clear blue sky.

Here I am, at the end of my unproductive day, having written a clumsy post on the countryside and the passage of time and lost dreams. I still have time to figure things out, what with several months in Korea and four years at university. I don’t mean for this post to sound pessimistic; I simply wanted to share this sentiment.

For the moment I don’t have a dream. I belong to the dreamless, the directionless, those who don’t know what they really hope to do or what they’re even passionate about. It feels liminal: like I’m in limbo. I watch the world on either side of me rush on past towards their goals, whilst I hang suspended in a fog of uncertainty and indecision. I’m acutely conscious of my dreamless state. There are times when I feel isolated and left behind; when I resent how I must always have an answer. I don’t want to be directionless, and yet I want to be free. I yearn for a passion, a drive, and yet don’t know if I’ll ever find one.

I don’t know if I’ll ever succeed in making that childhood dream a reality. But I do know that I shouldn’t subject myself to self-criticism, or submit to external and internal pressures. As much as I long for purpose, I think it’s okay to have times when we don’t know what we want or where we’re going in a world where everyone seems to know what they’re doing. We are always changing and growing, as are our dreams. We’ll get there eventually; we should allow ourselves to feel a little lost or directionless before we do.

For now, I’m just going to let myself float on the current of the present and see where it takes me. Perhaps, one day soon, it’ll lead me to a new dream and a new purpose. I hope it does. Still – I’ve never ceased to wonder what happens to runaway balloons, and to lost dreams.