Day 265

I woke up this morning in the predawn with salty sea breeze on my skin. The curtains were open and drifting and the birds were warming up for their crepuscular chorus. I didn’t sleep well. I often don’t, but especially not in strange beds with pillows that are somehow always both too soft and too high. Kicking off blankets as I overheat and wake up chilled.

It is strange to be in a hotel room by the water, listening to the very gentle swell as it murmurs against the breakwater while not being on holiday. All the elements are here – the hygiene sticker on the spa bath. The small fridge with the chocolate bar of indeterminate age. The tiny hand soap by the sink. It’s a Bluey episode. I ran on the beach this morning. But I’m here for work.

The last night I spent here was in 2012 when I drove here arriving late from another regional town after work so that I could make the 10 hour drive home the next day in one hit. Before that I had driven through a handful of times. Always with Bingley, always passing through on the way North or home. Which is ironic because I was born here and for someone so attached to feelings of place and belonging I feel no tether to this place. I keep waiting for some sort of epiphany or sense of belonging or unlocking. But all I feel is a strong desire to get in my hire car and start heading home.

There are 100 days left of this year. Many of the 265 days of 2025 have felt like I’m passing through them. Stubbornly determined to get back home. There have been highlight days and epoch days and core memory days but a lot of this year has been clawing desperately to get back to a feeling of belonging. A balance in the force. Home. I see glimpses sometimes. Off in the distance, glinting in the afternoon light. But I can see it now and there were periods I wasn’t sure I’d ever see it again. And it’s not here by the water listening to the swell.