We ran as if to meet the moon

For my 23rd birthday, I dressed up as the moon. People have occasionally asked me why I love to point out the moon so often, why I need to know where it is each night. And I've never really had an answer that wasn't some bullshit about the moon just 'kinda being there'. That was until Tuesday.

But first, to rewind. 5 years ago I was a new Londoner, full of fresh naivety and a false belief that I was a grown up and very worldly indeed. Two weeks into city life, I made an unfamiliar journey from where I was training in North London to Waterloo, to meet my boyfriend. It turned out that he had arranged this meeting with a motive - to break up with me. I cried alone in the station as people pushed past without seeing me, blinded by either the thick smog of the Big Smoke or the size of their own problems. I went on to do huge things that year, things I don't think I would survive now. I lived alone, worked until 2am for a fiver an hour, and gave up the thing that, at the time, defined me. I walked home past harshly lit chicken shops, dodged drunks and drivers in the dark, to sleep for a minute before starting again. And the whole time, the whole goddamn year - the moon was there. Straight ahead as I marched through night bus hours, shining through the window as I slept unsoundly in a flat of my own. High above me as I stayed away from Waterloo and forgot how hard a heart could break.

Back to Wales and then a new home in Surrey, looking back it seems all the years have passed in such a rush. Ups and downs, of course, that's a cliche, but the moon was always up in the sky looking down. Waterloo became a part of my day as a 2 hour commute sandwiched a fulfilling new job. I know where the Starbucks is, and which escalator comes out where, and that you don't need 30p for the toilets like it says.

Tuesday just passed saw a full day in work with a house viewing instead of lunch, followed by more house-hunting, before reviewing a show. I sprinted out of the theatre with a dwindling battery and a desperation to get the train that would get me home before 11. I rose up from underground to see my train disappear from the departure board. It wasn't the end of the world but every niggle and failure of this day had been entirely avoidable. I was tired and felt so alone. My eyes welled up and I realised it was 5 years almost to the day, since I had first cried in Waterloo. 

To me, a connection to faith is as much about logistics as believing. Despite spending much of my younger years in the pews, I never found faith in religion. It might be the teachings, but it might just as well be that churches are too echo-ey for me to hear anything in. I walked home on Tuesday, cursing and hurting, hating myself for failing such easy hurdles. Charge your phone at work Jessie, say no to shows you're too busy to review, don't trust the bus to be reliable in its journey time. The moon was there, static and bright. The moon doesn't tell me it's okay or fix my problems for me. It doesn't charge my phone or stop my tears from falling. But it's there and it has been wherever and whenever I'm crumbling. It was the same size in Oz as it was in Phuket, and it smiled in New York as it did in Paris. It saw me cry 5 years ago at Waterloo, and saw me do it again on Tuesday too. 

Trusting in the moon feels like faith to me. Not many people know I've been through my worst this year. I feel strong and determined, and I get it from the moon.

x