“Where are you going in such a hurry, traveller?” begins a poem found in Capela dos Ossos in Évora, Portugal. A well-timed question, indeed. By the time we arrived before these bones and gaped at their number, our family had just spent three nights in Trondheim, three in London, one in Merida (Spain), two in Lisbon, and had just landed in Évora for a week. It was the end of six weeks of “fast travel” for this weary Gap Year crew. It was definitely time to rest the bones. Time to pause and reflect- both forward-facing and back. Finally, our hurry has fallen to a hush. And the question stands ready for answer: Where are we going in all this hurry? To what destination? And to what end?
The poem by Padre António da Ascenção goes on to say, “Recall how many have passed from this world, Reflect on your similar end.” These words summon shivers. The good kind. The kind of fundamental significance and indisputable truth. Shivers that guide and remind. I’m a real fan of this exercise, pondering our “similar end.” Mortality is an ally in the pursuit of a well-lived life. Nothing like Death to prod you to live with intention, to savour your numbered days, to hold your people dear, and to wake you to the pressing passage of your limited time in this life. This Gap Year was all about such Boldness, all about claiming our lives from the flurry and fury of our previous existence. We did that. Boldness. Tick. And much more. Probably more has come to pass on this trip than we will ever have the perspective to fully behold. Life-altering, brain-rewiring, character-forming, path-determining metamorphoses have taken place. And, now it is time to consider: What might this mean for the days ahead?
This Chapel, adorned with the bones of an estimated 5,000 people of the medieval era, is an eery space of worship associated with the Church of São Francisco in Évora. An inscription above the door says, “Nós ossos que aqui estamos, pelos vossos esperamos,” which translates to: “We bones that are here, await yours.” An ominous promise, but one whose message is sage. This chapel is intended to remind us of the transience of life and the certainty of death.
This Gap Year has always been about using our time wisely and meeting our deathdays free of regrets. These bones that await us are whispering their approval, I feel. These once muscle-bound and fluidly-moving bones, now disjointed and spread in anonymity, remind us that we, too, will find our final rest one day. We, too, will be of an era gone. We, too, will be beyond any chance to fill a day with delight or to partake in any sort of human creativity. We will be beyond loving touch, sun-warmed skin, or a flavour fiesta in the mouth. All our suns will set. All our leaves will have fallen. All our breezes will have passed. We, too, will find our story’s end. But, not yet. And it makes one reflect: What is it I want to do before all of this comes to pass, before my bones are dry as these?
Now that our Gap Year hurry has passed, these days between now and our “similar end” are the subject of this downhill run’s reflection. We have only Spain left. Six weeks of familiar turf. Now is the time to consider: What is next? This Gap Year has made its impact, but who knows how? What, if any, influence will it have on the near future I am now working to visualise? I am wondering… What now? What next? And then, after that, what?
Having midwifed this Gap Year to near completion, I wonder what Life will have next for us, for us as a family and for each of us as individuals. Underlying this reflection is a fear of returning to the situation that sent us hankering for the freedoms of the trail to begin with. I fear going to sleep in life, racing away my precious days in the hamster wheel scramble of a million “shoulds.” The words of Pink Floyd’s Time have haunted me since I inspected them in a lyrics analysis project with ESL learners in NYC back in 2006:
And you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it’s sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again
Sun is the same, in a relative way, but you’re older
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death
I’m not afraid of Death, but I am terrified of squandering life. I’m fearful of how swiftly a life can disintegrate, how slippery Time can be, how silently our sands fall through the glass passage. It seems like the greatest offence one can commit, to squander a privileged life. Yet, the rat race is real. The scramble is real. Bills and jobs and child needs and all the “shoulds” are real. What choice has any of us got but to fall in line with the rhythms of modern living? However privileged these rhythms may be, there is a threat to our potency and potential in the steam-rolling nature of modern living. I fear this crush.
I’ve had two friends recently return from long-term family travel, and both have said the same stabbing words: “It’s like we never left.” F*ck. That is not what I want to hear. All this focused effort, all this powerfully-channelled energy, all this conjuring of immense realities, and we end up back at Square One? No, no, no, no. No. I suppose it is not totally unexpected, but, still, this prospect is tough to face. I have found that I don’t want to live a travel lifestyle for a dozen reasons. This I have learned for sure, but I don’t want to be whipped and driven through my days, battling the influences of technology in the lives of my children, fending off all the invites to gauge my success by the accomplishments of my peers, and stealing slivers of time to pursue the things that make me feel alive. So, I’ve decided. I’m just not going to let that happen. I don’t know how. But I won’t.
Sure, the school apps will appear on my phone, the uniforms in the wash, the group chats, the trainings and games, the homework conflicts, the excursion prep, the lessons, the lawn, the weekly workflow, the meal planning, the mortgage, the holiday traditions that are hard to fully enjoy in the midst of an over-booked life. All that will be the same. But, I will not be. (Hopefully, we will not be.) I haven’t figured out how just yet, but I’ll be damned if we do a full surrender to what the rest of the world says we “should” do. Over my dry bones will I go back to the way things were. I just need a plan. It’s coming to a boil. It will probably be, like most things, a shifting of the mind that saves me.
We are off to a fertile start, at least. Unlike my friends, who returned to their former happy homes and lives, our family has a different homecoming ahead. Our family will be heading off to set up a new life in the state of South Australia when we return to the country in October. We will find a new home, new jobs, new markets, new vistas, new normals, and, hopefully, a place in this world that feels like belonging. For us, the exploration continues a bit longer. A second quest awaits. Something new begins when we arrive “home.” A fresh start is at hand. And, I do love a fresh start.
So, until then, I get to consider these bone-posed queries with a real void in which to manifest some interesting answers. As we envision our fresh chapter and build our new routines, as we meet our new friends and explore our new habitats, how will we be sure to keep the Gap Year spirit of Boldness alive? How do I want to spend the rest of my time in this skull? What do I want to do with these sturdy bones while I have them?
I want to flesh out this new life, keeping in mind that all of it will be dust someday. As the bones advise, the certainty of mortality and the transience of our time in this world will guide us in this new endeavour, guide us to our new practices of wakeful and mighty living. I need a life that is evolving and stirring. It doesn’t need to be immensely peaceful or jarringly stimulating or look nearly as vigorous as this Gap Year has been, but I need a life that wakes, a life that presses the best out of me. What a privilege to be free to even entertain such noble pursuits. I guess we’ll just see what happens.
Until then, I’ll offer a backwards vista: Portugal. Watch us play in the art of the Portuguese pause. As Padre António da Ascenção ends his poem, “Stop … for the sake of your journey, The longer you pause, the further on your journey you will be.” I love this line. What my brain doesn’t fully get, the follicles of my hairs understand.
Hanging on a pillar in Capela dos Ossos, this untitled poem:
| Aonde vais, caminhante, acelerado? Pára…não prossigas mais avante; Negócio, não tens mais importante, Do que este, à tua vista apresentado. Recorda quantos desta vida têm passado, Reflecte em que terás fim semelhante, Que para meditar causa é bastante Terem todos mais nisto parado. Pondera, que influido d’essa sorte, Entre negociações do mundo tantas, Tão pouco consideras na morte; Porém, se os olhos aqui levantas, Pára…porque em negócio deste porte, Quanto mais tu parares, mais adiantas. | Where are you going in such a hurry, traveler? Pause…do not advance your travel. You have no greater concern than this one: That which is now before your eyes. Recall how many have passed from this world, Reflect on your similar end. There is good reason to do so; If only all did the same. Ponder, you so influenced by fate, Among the many concerns of the world, So little do you reflect on death. If by chance you glance at this place, Stop … for the sake of your journey, The longer you pause, the further on your journey you will be. |
| —Padre António da Ascenção | —Padre António da Ascenção, translated by Father Carlos A. Martins |
Obrigada, Portugal. We did not give you the attention you deserve. Not even close. Pardon the lack of gusto. You caught us on a bad week… and you were sweltering, to be fair. We shall return thirsty for all your offerings next time round. Maybe not in summer… A loving adeus for now.
Mapping the Gap 
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