Autumnal Otago

Haast Pass – Cameron Flat – Hawea – Alexandra – Roxburgh – Ettrick
30th April – 5th May, 2021

Last week I abruptly put the West Coast on hold and skipped ahead to Otago, so that I could witness its reputed autumnal beauty before winter snatches it away.  It’s pretty chilly here – overnight low temps have been between -2º and 0º. The landscape here is so much different to that of the West Coast; everything’s huge, open, broad and wide. It’s dry, even a bit barren. There’s lots of lakes, wide open plains, and mountains in the distance. This all makes for dramatic sunsets and sunrises, which I’ve enjoyed photographing. And importantly, there’s deciduous trees, which means autumn is splashing the landscape with golden yellows and reds.

I feel like I’ve been struggling since leaving the West Coast. I’ve felt a bit adrift, bereft of purpose.  I’ve questioned what it is that I’m supposed to be doing on this trip.  At times I’ve even felt a vague (albeit slight) sense of panic, which I can’t quite pin down.

All I can surmise is that the West Coast represented a known quantity, a conveniently shaped strip of country encased between sea and mountains.  Its terrain, people and culture made sense to me.  I had vague plans rattling around in the back of my mind, some rough ideas of places I’d like to check out.  But then I suddenly moved to a different part of the country, and it upset that particular apple cart.

And another thing: before I even arrived in Hawea, I felt a kind of shift.  I can’t put my finger on it, but something felt different about the people in this region.  The vibe felt colder, more distant; I felt more alone.  Many people here seem to avoid eye contact.  I notice it mostly in the weathered-looking older men; the blokes in their late 50s and early 60s, their ruddy complexions betraying a life of hard work, weather and alcohol.  Even when I have a conversation with them they look elsewhere – at their dashboard, or into the distance.  It comes across as awkward, stilted, as though they want to connect with others but some unspoken and immutable rule won’t allow it.  It’s probably a rural thing.  I read somewhere that folks in rural areas prefer a larger inter-personal space when conversing, and when they shake hands it’s as if they’re separated by a narrow creek – both leaning forward to bridge the larger gap and reach the other person’s hand.

But my sense of struggle isn’t about that.  It’s about adjusting to the much greater level of freedom this journey entails – and crucially, the concomitant reduction in certainty & security that comes with that increased freedom.  It’s about letting go of the need to always have a plan, to always be “productive”, to stay busy.  If I take a step back and look at the trajectory of this trip so far, one of the macro trends I can see is a reduction in things like to-do tasks and obligations.  Beginning this journey has necessarily involved a lot of planning and doing – but gradually over time it’s become apparent that most of the remaining tasks on my list don’t actually have to be done.  I’m edging towards a freer life, and greater freedom comes with less certainty and security.  And that, dear reader, is the adjustment I’m dealing with.  Waking up each day and not “having” to do anything, other than attend to my biological needs.

This isn’t an easy shift to make.  Increasing your freedom can actually be pretty terrifying at first, as you let go of all the things that provided a sense of certainty and security – however illusory and false.  The unfulfilling ‘stable’ job.  The nice car.  The beautiful home.  A predictable life.  The thing is, increasing one’s freedom comes at a cost: less security.  They are pretty much opposite ends of the same spectrum.  Yet I believe that a lot of the security people think they have is an illusion, it’s not real.  Their employer could make them redundant.  Their partner could leave them.  They could keel over and die tomorrow.  A global pandemic could happen.  So if their security isn’t as secure as they think, then why are they trading their freedom for it?

And I think that’s what my journey is about, what I’m trying to figure out.  If I take away the job, the apartment, the car and the predictable routine, removing as many obligations and ties as possible, and just wing it for a year, what might emerge?  Already I can see a couple of things.  

Firstly, the aforementioned short-term angst – withdrawal symptoms as I wean off the drug of certainty.

Secondly, the discovery that writing is a creative outlet for me, one that’s as enjoyable as it is cathartic.  I started this piece of writing having very little understanding of what was bothering me; but I just started writing into an offline notes app with no idea where it would go. And that’s resulted in a piece of writing about freedom & security.