The Space Between the Notes (Or: Why I Missed the Ferry)

I am writing this from a B&B in County Meath, Ireland. Outside my window, the fields are a shade of green that looks oversaturated, like someone messed with the contrast settings on reality.

I was supposed to be here two days ago.

The official story is that the ferry backlog from the storm kept me in Orkney until Wednesday. And it’s true, the ferries were chaotic. But if I’m being honest—mostly to myself—I didn't try very hard to get a ticket for Tuesday.

I spent that extra day using the phone number that was written on a beer coaster in my pocket.

When you turn your life into a blog, there is a temptation to commodify everything. Every sunset is "content." Every meal is a review. Every interaction is an anecdote to be polished for strangers.

But Tuesday? Tuesday is not for the blog.

I realized something important this week: The best parts of travel are the ones you don't photograph. They are the quiet, unscripted hours that exist in the space between the notes. Tuesday was private. It was small and warm and it belonged entirely to me.

Leaving was harder than I expected. Standing on the ferry deck, watching the Old Man of Hoy fade into the mist, I felt a physical pang. I missed the silence of the North before I’d even lost sight of it.

The journey south was a shock to the system. The bus to Inverness, the flight to Dublin, the noise of the airport—it all felt incredibly loud. I felt like I had lost a layer of skin.

But now I’m here. The Boyne Valley feels softer than Scotland. The earth here feels deep and forgiving.

Tomorrow, I go to Newgrange (Brú na Bóinne). It’s a passage tomb older than the Pyramids, built so that the sun hits the central chamber on the Winter Solstice. Aunt Lenore is vibrating with excitement about the "ancient frequencies."

I’m looking forward to it, but for different reasons. I want to stand in the dark and think about time.

RNG Update: The pendulum is currently packed deep in the bottom of my backpack, wrapped in a wool sock. I haven't taken it out since the pub.

I didn't need a rock to tell me what to do today. I knew exactly where I wanted to be.

Current Status: Tired. Wistful. Here.