Distract
tr.v. dis·tract·ed, dis·tract·ing, dis·tracts1. To cause to turn away from the original focus of attention or interest; divert.2. To pull in conflicting emotional directions; unsettle.[Middle English distracten,
from Latin distrahere, distract-, to pull away : dis-, apart; see dis- + trahere, to draw.]
Being distracted; I'm working on it.
I lay there on the hospital bed today staring at the water sprinkler suspendend on the ceiling, noticing it looked like a giant metallic upside down daisy. It was a different room from usual; I'm often in a room where I have to stare at a square block of blinding white flurescent tubes for ceiling lights -- the ones that are supposed to have some kind of gauzed soft plastic covering so you can't see the bulbs beneath it, but I'm guessing the plastic fell off. An entire slab of plastic that is. Or sometimes I'd stare at the fire-extinguisher before me by my feet. But this room didn't have either of these things to look at, just the sprinkler as I was too scared to look anywhere else. Just focus on that and make up little innocent objects in my head that it reminded me of. Spending time doing that makes you suddenly realise what you're doing and that regardless you're in your twenties, nothing can stop you from reverting back to the mental age of a 5 year old who's scared stiff. However, as long as you don't show that you're scared, everything is fine.
I have this problem whenever I come out of hospital; not knowing where to go or what to do with myself because my head's lost in a sea of confusion over information they've just given me about what's actually going on. Every time I go in there, there's always something that's changed; things they've discovered or can't figure out. Sometimes I sit in a huge spacious part of the hospital which is right outside three departments, and watch people get rushed from one section to the other, feeling helpless. I don't know why I do that.
Usually, I hightail it somewhere. Get on a bus to a destination I can lose myself in and not have to think things over in my head. Today, I found myself in Charing Cross Station where I met the founder of Cranberry, a chain of dried fruit stalls that began in train stations in London and have now gone international. The Queen has even graced her presence at one. The guy who created it is 26 year old Armani, and the weirdest thing was that we had one of the most profound conversations I won't ever forget. For a start, he had no idea that his food keeps me alive (literally), and we bonded over the fact I was lugging around my rather weighty SLR camera. He happens to also be a keen photographer and chef, having worked under Jamie Oliver's wing and doing his own promo photography. The man was truly, truly phenomenal. He was so well centred, down to earth, and open about things to the point we were both standing there hugging and almost in tears. Over the space of 2 hours, we were engrossed in converastion; I learnt about the hardship he had to go through to get where he is today, he even showed me a particular war-scar to prove it -- one that consists of 12 screws keeping his arm together. Although his particular scar was shown to me for a reason, that being one of his prime beliefs; that if you believe in something, it can happen. The body can heal itself over time as long as you persist on the idea that it can, and will, heal. Obviously, our converastion went a lot deeper than this and we delved into the unknown of each other's lives over such a short space of time, but it was the fact that he was saying to me "I don't ever want to see you sad or unwell, and if I can help you with anything or you just want to talk, I will be honoured to help. I want to hear from you in a few years time telling me that you've got where you want to go and you're happy." And he said it with such sincerity. Everything he said to me was with such passion and care, it was weird, but a good weird. As if it was meant to have happened -- to have drawn me out of that weird mental state I was in when I came out of hospital, to be shown life in a different perspective.
This is one thing I like about London; no one is afraid of talking to each other. In my old village in Kent, everyone seems to keep themselves to themselves and live in a sort of dignified fear of each other. Over here, I have spoken to so many random strangers and have learnt so much by taking that time -- from speaking to homeless people, someone working overtime at Superdrug, a businessman on his way to another meeting, a man doing nightshifts in Sainsbury's, or like today, an incredibly successful director of his own company. They all have their own stories to tell, their own personal hell they've gone through or are going through, and they all have their own perspectives on life which, if you listen, you can learn and broaden your mind a bit more.
So I guess this is my distraction. To talk to strangers. But then again, it can make you feel both completely isolated (because you don't actually know them as friends, yet you know almost everything about them after one conversation) and at the same time, make you feel comforted that you're not alone. When I got home later on, and was faced with my thoughts again, I wasn't as scared as I was before, but I still can't shake it off.
Bring on tomorrow for a whole different form of distraction: Work.
