A perfect summer, long ago

A few years ago, I spent some time living on the west coast of Scotland in Argyll and Bute. I’ve been lucky (and unlucky) enough to live in many places, but the dramatic landscapes, mossy forests, and delightful people I found in Scotland make it stand out among the rest.

One morning, my partner and I decided to go for a long drive to a coastal town we had been meaning to visit. It was summer, and the weather was the kind of cliché perfect usually reserved for films, dreams and computer screen savers. The sky was an unbroken blue, the hills were green, the roads were empty and the lochs and ocean glistened in the sun. In the car, a playlist of songs from our youth played as we laughed, teased and joked with each other.

Just a year before, we’d made the ‘reckless’ decision to quit our jobs, give away our possessions, and hit the proverbial road. With little cash or prospects, the journey thereafter didn’t prove easy. Yet somehow, we managed to find ourselves in this perfect time and place.

Nothing particularly extraordinary happened that day. Actually, I barely remember the town we visited and our feet spent much of the day in the footwells, bar a few stops to rest and breathe in the salty air. Nonetheless, we both still recall the day as one of the happiest of our lives. My partner later recalled that it felt like the future had opened up to us, like some chain to monotony had come loose and now anything was possible.

For better and worse, things have changed since then. They had to. We couldn’t live on the road forever. We’ve settled down to a quieter life, our adventurous spirits giving way to practical, homesteading ambitions. The future still seems bright, perhaps brighter. But sometimes, it also feels more narrow.

That’s the reality of growing older. You have to make choices about the paths you take. And no matter how good the view looks in the rear-view mirror, you can’t keep doubling back on yourself every time you feel sentimental, nor can you start over every time your feet get itchy.

Still, occasionally, we do talk about going back to that part of Scotland, even if for only a long weekend. However, I worry we’d be chasing a feeling that’s passed - that the road we took will never look quite the same again. Besides, there’s so much more of the world still to see. Maybe it’s better not to spoil what was and look to what is ahead.