Sample chapter from A Meaningful Life
I’ve thought long and hard about this first chapter for Fennel’s Journal. Should I present a romanticised view of life, contrasted by the harsh reality of our existence, explaining how and why the Priory is relevant to those who seek escapism? Or should I write about something more powerful and personal than that?
As a Friend of the Priory, you have a right to know – at this early stage of our journey together – why I wrote this Journal and why I have put so much faith into a cause in which I truly believe. To do this, you need to know something about my past. You need to know what happened in 2003.
September 2003 was the darkest time of my life. I’d worked a gruelling seven hundred hours in five weeks, trying to complete everything my employer asked of me before my wedding day. I finished the tasks, only to return home to discover that my fiancée of four years had left me. I felt the weight of the world collapse upon me, muffling all senses and entombing me in a state of confusion and self-pity. Within two months I’d lost my job, my house and, in an effort to avoid bankruptcy, had sold virtually all my possessions. I retreated to a place behind my eyelids, where the world was quiet.
My next memory is of me lying in a bed at my parents’ house. I felt like I’d had the longest and most rewarding night’s sleep of my life. I looked around the room. There was a birthday card on the bedside table. It read, “Happy Birthday, from Mom and Dad; May 2004”.
Six months? How could this be? Silly question, really. What I’d lost from memory I’d gained in understanding. A voice in my head was saying, “The only person to blame for your situation is you... It took time for you to recover... And besides, aren’t you glad to have escaped that life anyway?”
It was laughable really. The world that had collapsed, that I’d worked so hard to secure, was completely alien to what I truly valued. I’d hated my job, yet prioritised it over everything else. My free time was spent being dazzled by the neon lights of late-night bars, pursuing the gratuitous follies of a reckless life. Most regrettably, I’d turned my back on the person I once was, opting to reinvent myself as a corporate drone with a sharp suit and a slick haircut. It wasn’t me. It never was. But I maintained the charade because I believed it to be necessary. I needed to be perceived as successful. The reality was that I was skint, unloved and unhappy.
My world was a far cry from the simple life I’d once had, before I’d decided to ‘sell out’ to the system and place myself firmly in the pinch of the corporate nutcracker. My earlier life had been a contented one. I was a gardener on a country estate. I cycled to work and thought that ‘abroad’ meant travelling to the neighbouring villages four miles away. It was a country life, a precious existence. I would tend to roses during the day; fish, shoot, or write each evening; I’d eat food grown just thirty feet from my back door and always have time to savour the changing seasons. I was completely happy. But someone, at some point, must have convinced me that this lifestyle wasn’t enough.
It was probably a bank manager or mortgage lender who told me that I was too poor to buy a car or a house; too penniless to buy new clothes; too pathetic to court ladies and too shy to ‘hit the town’ (a lovely expression). For some reason, these things became imperative. I dropped my gardening tools, threw my bicycle over a hedge and went in search of fortunes laid beneath the hangman’s noose. It led to a breakdown and eight months of non-living.
Fast-forward to 2004 and my awakening: as I lay in bed, thinking about the consequences of my past life, I realised that my situation was not so much a turning point as a raw and exciting beginning. I was presented with an opportunity – to make a fresh start and undo the mistakes that had cost me my identity, and purpose in life. I would reset the ‘Fennelometer’ and return to my earlier life with the wisdom and experience of the wider world.
Extreme circumstances can trigger the most powerful of responses. I decided, there and then, that I would never again feel embarrassed about, or compromise, my beliefs and values. Being a country lad from a small village, who feels more at home in woods and fields than I do among the concrete of the city, is nothing to be ashamed of. I decided to champion this rural lifestyle and demonstrate that it is possible to be happy and successful by living on one’s own terms.
I could have opted for the life of a hermit, away from societal influences. I could have joined a monastery and lived simply. But I knew that such isolation would be unhealthy. As a farmer friend once said, “You have to feel the bite of the wind to appreciate the warmth of a winter coat.” So it is with society and the ‘real’ world. We need to suffer (to a degree) the reality of life – jobs, stress, bills and conflict – to appreciate the value of a quiet rural life. Conversely, I knew that a rural life working the land could be one of the most brutal experiences – especially in winter. So my perception and understanding of both had to remain honest. I decided, therefore, that I would only return to the world of work, mortgages and social gatherings if they enabled me to enjoy as much time as possible doing the things that held true beauty.
True beauty. I pondered what this meant. I looked at my past, seeking inspiration from the things that inspired me as a child. Things like the process of creation, writing words onto a notepad or drawing lines in a sketchbook; the freedom of being outdoors; the beauty of nature, of feeling the heat of the sun on a winter’s day or hearing the trickle of a mountain stream; seeing a trout rise to a fly; growing a plant from seed and then seeing it bloom; the closeness of family and true friends. Most of all, I cherished the ability to say I love something or someone without having to give reason. My future life, I determined, would be based on these values.
That was two years ago. I’ve since rebuilt my life, getting a new job, new home, new possessions and a new fiancée. I’m settled now, which gives me the courage to fulfil a promise that I once made to myself, which I will now make to you:
“Life can be impossibly tough. At times it seems like there is no escape from either the pressure or monotony of a world where you are corralled into being something or someone you are not. But there is an escape, to more peaceful and gentler places, and a happier state of mind. It requires a conscious decision to view the world in a certain light, searching for and spending time at these places. Not everyone can pursue this dream to the full. My promise to you is that I will do everything I can to live this life as completely and happily as possible, and to share the journey with you.”
This is how Fennel’s Journal came into being. It is why the Priory has such meaning, and why the coming years are so important. We each need to believe in something, a dream that gives us optimism and faith.
If we spend enough time dreaming, then the dream might eventually become real…