Even In Places With No Sound There’s Still No Silence (2015).
Several years ago my parents-in-law moved to the French Pyrenees; an idyllic place where it seems to be possible to escape from reality. Something I really want when I go there for a short time. It’s a place where I really should be able to forget daily life. A place where I can enjoy the escape, hoping to find something that enriches or relaxes me. I often go there with the (unconscious) thought that I will be happy for a little while.
Once I am in the South of France, I’m always looking for remote places in nature. I go there with high expectations – no stress, no worries, just complete silence. I often want to get swallowed up in the beautiful surroundings and long for inner peace by changing my environment. But once I arrive at my destination I often realise that there is no silence there.
Since my eleventh I’m dealing with depression and an anxiety disorder. Now, after more than 16 years it still is a big part of my life. My ideas about happiness have taken extreme forms. My standard is high, almost unreachable to me. I’m always looking for new goals, places or experiences that will hopefully bring me the happiness I’m looking for. My aim is high. In reality I have all the ingredients for a happy life, but it doesn’t bring the happiness I hoped for. My feelings keep floating in a grey / black atmosphere. Practical achievements are not going to define my happiness. I stay dissatisfied with myself. I survive my life, while looking for better aspects.
To me, my journeys to France are synonymous for the ‘travels’ I make every day. I’m constantly looking for experiences that can hide my depression. But whether I’m at home, standing by the sea or on top of the highest mountain, the real world is always around the corner. I can’t leave my feelings and strive for perfectionism.
Several years ago my parents-in-law moved to the French Pyrenees; an idyllic place where it seems to be possible to escape from reality. Something I really want when I go there for a short time. It’s a place where I really should be able to forget daily life. A place where I can enjoy the escape, hoping to find something that enriches or relaxes me. I often go there with the (unconscious) thought that I will be happy for a little while.
Once I am in the South of France, I’m always looking for remote places in nature. I go there with high expectations – no stress, no worries, just complete silence. I often want to get swallowed up in the beautiful surroundings and long for inner peace by changing my environment. But once I arrive at my destination I often realise that there is no silence there.
Since my eleventh I’m dealing with depression and an anxiety disorder. Now, after more than 16 years it still is a big part of my life. My ideas about happiness have taken extreme forms. My standard is high, almost unreachable to me. I’m always looking for new goals, places or experiences that will hopefully bring me the happiness I’m looking for. My aim is high. In reality I have all the ingredients for a happy life, but it doesn’t bring the happiness I hoped for. My feelings keep floating in a grey / black atmosphere. Practical achievements are not going to define my happiness. I stay dissatisfied with myself. I survive my life, while looking for better aspects.
To me, my journeys to France are synonymous for the ‘travels’ I make every day. I’m constantly looking for experiences that can hide my depression. But whether I’m at home, standing by the sea or on top of the highest mountain, the real world is always around the corner. I can’t leave my feelings and strive for perfectionism.
