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7/52 I [don't] want to see everything
Feb. 16th, 2020 12:24 pmYesterday I went on a road trip with three women I met via Meetup stuff (so lesbians, and vaguely connected to the group I mentioned previously without being in the centre of it). We went to Charleston which is in...Sussex. Not just in Sussex, but all of 20 mins drive from Brighton. It took us just under 2 hours to get there. So well done me on living right near it all these years and only going to visit once I moved all this distance away from it.
Wikipedia makes obscure reference to an "unconventional family" living in the house which fucks me off for a number of reasons. Firstly, the stupidity of calling anything other than a traditionally nuclear heterosexual family "unconventional" when almost no families during the entirety of human history have fitted that shape. Secondly, because the tour you go on at Charleston, and all the literature on the history of the place on offer, could not be less coy about the arrangement of the relationships between adults in that household.
Vanessa Bell (Virginia Woolf's sister) moved into the house with her lover/boyfriend/beau Duncan Grant. She was married, but amicably seperated from her husband (Clive Bell) and brought her two children with her. Duncan Grant brought his lover/boyfriend David Garnett. The three adults, plus two children, all lived happily there during WWI when Grant and Garnet were conscientious objectors and worked as farm labourers. Whilst there, Vanessa Bell gave birth to a daughter (Angelica) by Grant (but she was raised believing Clive Bell was her father). After a few years back in London, Grant and Vanessa Bell moved back to the farmhouse and this time Clive Bell came to live with them as well. Ultimately, Angelica ended up marrying Garnett, and then found out he'd been her biological father's lover, which she felt as happy about as you'd imagine
There is, therefore, a very queer connection at Charleston and I was really pleased that all the adults were introduced to us, with photos, at the start of the tour and there was absolutely no value judgements on the relationships between them as more or less valid or significant. This was a welcome way of telling history and the women I went with all felt similarly.
After this, and as Storm Dennis started making itself known, we piled back into the car and headed into Brighton. Evidently this was a pre-agreed part of the plan but it hadn't been communicated with me so I suffered a gut kick/wave of homesickness as we drove in. Was difficult not to call any one of a number of people to ask if I could come crash at theirs that night/abandon my road trip people and catch a train back to Southampton on Sunday instead. I ended up playing tour guide because large groups of people/lack of leadership on where to go/my deep familiarity with the city versus their passing or out of date knowledge/a low level anxiety which had nothing to do with any of this meant I just needed to sort everything out.
I thought I was doing ok for not being too bossy - and maybe I was - but when we got back to Southampton and they dropped me off they thanked me for being "leader" which made me squirm. Later that night one of them contacted me to say a few things including; "you must be everyone's number one travelling companion - you notice everything!"
In principle this is a lovely compliment and I thanked her for it. But it contrasted with how I had felt all day - that I was completely exhausted, overwhelmed with the number of things I felt I needed to keep managing (time keeping, social interactions with people I hardly know, directions for driver in and around Brighton, suggestions and directions for where we could all walk whilst on foot in Brighton), and I was really 'switched on' sensory wise and unable to stop noticing everything. It's like an assault.
By the time we got back into the car to drive back to Southampton it was mercifully getting dark and I could sit silently and rest a bit. Except they noticed I wasn't joining in with the conversation and ask if I'm asleep and blah.
Everyone is really nice, and then I have just nothing left. And even things which are compliments end up being about things I've noticed about myself to but am not finding enjoyable/pleasurable/don't want to continue.
All of this was especially interesting - odd? - because of Charleston. That farmhouse, stuffed with books and paintings and a beautiful garden, tucked away from the pace of life all around it, with this wonderful set of romantic and platonic relationships at the heart of it represents just the most perfect way of life I can imagine. It was pure sanctuary. The best future I can imagine for myself does include a lot less noise and movement, and a lot more connection to creativity and nature, and space and time to do that. Not individually isolated, but not needing to be in the midst of this kind of pace of social interaction which demands (or perhaps prompts) so much energy from me.
Wikipedia makes obscure reference to an "unconventional family" living in the house which fucks me off for a number of reasons. Firstly, the stupidity of calling anything other than a traditionally nuclear heterosexual family "unconventional" when almost no families during the entirety of human history have fitted that shape. Secondly, because the tour you go on at Charleston, and all the literature on the history of the place on offer, could not be less coy about the arrangement of the relationships between adults in that household.
Vanessa Bell (Virginia Woolf's sister) moved into the house with her lover/boyfriend/beau Duncan Grant. She was married, but amicably seperated from her husband (Clive Bell) and brought her two children with her. Duncan Grant brought his lover/boyfriend David Garnett. The three adults, plus two children, all lived happily there during WWI when Grant and Garnet were conscientious objectors and worked as farm labourers. Whilst there, Vanessa Bell gave birth to a daughter (Angelica) by Grant (but she was raised believing Clive Bell was her father). After a few years back in London, Grant and Vanessa Bell moved back to the farmhouse and this time Clive Bell came to live with them as well. Ultimately, Angelica ended up marrying Garnett, and then found out he'd been her biological father's lover, which she felt as happy about as you'd imagine
There is, therefore, a very queer connection at Charleston and I was really pleased that all the adults were introduced to us, with photos, at the start of the tour and there was absolutely no value judgements on the relationships between them as more or less valid or significant. This was a welcome way of telling history and the women I went with all felt similarly.
After this, and as Storm Dennis started making itself known, we piled back into the car and headed into Brighton. Evidently this was a pre-agreed part of the plan but it hadn't been communicated with me so I suffered a gut kick/wave of homesickness as we drove in. Was difficult not to call any one of a number of people to ask if I could come crash at theirs that night/abandon my road trip people and catch a train back to Southampton on Sunday instead. I ended up playing tour guide because large groups of people/lack of leadership on where to go/my deep familiarity with the city versus their passing or out of date knowledge/a low level anxiety which had nothing to do with any of this meant I just needed to sort everything out.
I thought I was doing ok for not being too bossy - and maybe I was - but when we got back to Southampton and they dropped me off they thanked me for being "leader" which made me squirm. Later that night one of them contacted me to say a few things including; "you must be everyone's number one travelling companion - you notice everything!"
In principle this is a lovely compliment and I thanked her for it. But it contrasted with how I had felt all day - that I was completely exhausted, overwhelmed with the number of things I felt I needed to keep managing (time keeping, social interactions with people I hardly know, directions for driver in and around Brighton, suggestions and directions for where we could all walk whilst on foot in Brighton), and I was really 'switched on' sensory wise and unable to stop noticing everything. It's like an assault.
By the time we got back into the car to drive back to Southampton it was mercifully getting dark and I could sit silently and rest a bit. Except they noticed I wasn't joining in with the conversation and ask if I'm asleep and blah.
Everyone is really nice, and then I have just nothing left. And even things which are compliments end up being about things I've noticed about myself to but am not finding enjoyable/pleasurable/don't want to continue.
All of this was especially interesting - odd? - because of Charleston. That farmhouse, stuffed with books and paintings and a beautiful garden, tucked away from the pace of life all around it, with this wonderful set of romantic and platonic relationships at the heart of it represents just the most perfect way of life I can imagine. It was pure sanctuary. The best future I can imagine for myself does include a lot less noise and movement, and a lot more connection to creativity and nature, and space and time to do that. Not individually isolated, but not needing to be in the midst of this kind of pace of social interaction which demands (or perhaps prompts) so much energy from me.