Notes from a Time Traveller by Elke Stevens

The year began as though I were thrown into the heart of a mythic storm. Like a ship tossed in a wild, unknowable sea, I drifted rudderless, battered, and worn, feeling I could sink at any time. The winds howled fears that gnawed at my sanity as the waves crashed with the weight of loss. I was stripped of all the anchors I had once clung to: home, health, friends, and a sense of self. Even the stars seemed to abandon me, leaving the night sky empty of its guiding light.

Then came the tale of my cousin, a vibrant soul whose life was taken by the shadows of senseless violence. His spirit seemed to rise with the cheers of a stadium full of voices remembering his memory. But even now, nearly a year later, his loss feels unreal, as if he has become a character in a tragic ballad, sung but never truly gone.

Yet, amidst this chaos, there were gifts, not wrapped in ribbon but waved into moments of grace. Friends and ex-colleagues showered me with kindness when parting ways, and strangers on the mainland extended their hands when I thought I had fallen too far. While my heart wrestled with shame and fear. The friend who offered me a bed in the days when I didn’t have a home. It was on the mainland, in the long day’s embrace of summer, that I began to rebuild, piece by fragile piece, like a druid crafting a spell from broken shards.

Returning to Orkney was like stepping back into an ancient saga. The standing stones seemed to speak to me of resilience, while the northern lights painted the sky with hope. It was here that I met kindness, a few souls who saw my struggle, who gave without expectation, and who helped me stand when I couldn’t bear my own weight. Their compassion became a lifeline, pulling me back to a semblance of stability back to reality. They were likewise guardians, guiding me back to myself.

My new role as a lifeguard feels almost poetic. Surrounded by water, a symbol of renewal and healing, I find joy in the smiles of others, the camaraderie of my co-workers, and the simple rhythms of a job that feels like sunlight breaking through a stormy sky, but it didn’t start out like that, that only started after, the past revisited me and tripped the cords with reality, only for a short time, but it was a warning from the sentinels to be wary of the mind’s tricks.

This year, I’ve learned to grieve not only those I’ve lost but also the life I might have had and the person I used to be. I’ve learned about love, its unexpectedness, its depth, the type that if I dare to hold it too tightly, it might break. Love isn’t something we choose; it chooses us. I have learned something about myself and why I feel challenged to connect with others. “What if I am too broken to be worthy of her light?” This year has taught me to let go of expectations, to hold love lightly and let it be what it is, without demand or condition. But perhaps that’s the lesson the old myths always sought to tell: that love, like the sea, is vast and uncontrollable, yet it shapes the very shores of who we are.

Now, as I await the keys to my little cottage, I think about how far I’ve come. Homelessness stripped me down to my core, forcing me to confront the parts of myself I’d rather have ignored. And love this beautiful, surprising love has been a reminder that even in the depths of loss and uncertainty, vision persists. It’s there in the way the northern lights dance across the Orkney skies, in the warmth of a stranger’s smile, and in the tender, unspoken moments shared with someone who makes you feel the beat of your pulse.

Next week, I’ll hold the keys to the first pages of a new story or perhaps an entirely new book. As I stand before this new beginning, I feel the ripples of the past year not as chains but as chapters, each one leading me here to this moment. To Orkney, to the land of myths and magic, where even the fiercest storms are only part of the tale.

©️ Elke T.B. Stevens 13/12/2024