My New Norm

Driving to work this morning, I pulled up to a junction in the road as a huge tractor toting an equally huge trailer whizzed by. It didn’t even faze me, the fact of which suddenly occurred to me as strange. When did this become my norm? 

I’ve been here almost two years and it’s no big thing now to drive the narrowest roads I’ve ever been down, see a badger waddle across the pavement in front of me, or have to reverse to a wider bit of road in order to pass a car coming the opposite direction. It is completely normal for me to walk down the middle of a lane enjoying the seasonal scents wafting from the walls of hedgerows, eating my weight in wild blackberries as I wander. It is entirely normal for me to experience the fairy tale qualities of the back roads here in Cornwall – seeing the colorful wildflowers reaching out from the hedges, and watching butterflies and bees float and hum around me – as if some sort of wood nymph is going to leap from the hedges and say hello in a chummy Cornish accent.

I see the sea every day. I watch the waves lap over the rocky beach and crash against the cliffs. I see cows grazing the bright green fields of the rolling hills and watch newborn lambs jump and leap in sheer joy of life. 

In just two short years, this back road, country life – hours away from the sights and sounds of the bustling and buzzing city – has become my norm.