And Then We Moved On

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Some memories land differently with age.

Last week I didn’t write.

Not because I didn’t have anything to say. If anything, quite the opposite.

However I just wanted to write something lighter. Something a little more fun and less heavy. And certainly less tangled up in the state of the world and whatever part of it I seem to be emotionally wrestling with that week.

But annoyingly, as these things are, I was blocked.

Every idea I had somehow circled back to the same underlying feelings and questions I have been writing around for a long time now.

I guess for those of you who regularly read my articles, you have probably realised by now that my writing is often me trying to work through things.

Or maybe more accurately, trying to work through my reality of the things affecting all of us.

And this heaviness that seems to occupy my writing lately, I realised this weekend it also extends far beyond the page. Or should I say, beyond the screen. 

I became aware of it at the least expected moment.

Saturday night I celebrated one of my dearest friend’s 50th birthday in Amsterdam.

She had flown in from London with her “entourage” for a weekend getaway. And honestly, entourage is probably the right word. Many of the people I didn’t know, but for a few of us, we had not seen each other in over twenty years.

And somewhere between the wine, the laughter, and everyone trying to piece together memories from another lifetime, I started noticing something unexpected.

The conversations kept drifting back toward the past.

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The strange thing about getting older is realising some memories were heavier than you knew at the time.

Gregg the Artivist

Of course, there were the funny stories. Remembering this situation or that one. That time. Her friends all eager to hear what probably sounded like her and my endless late twenty something year old shenanigans stretching from London to the Caribbean.

And Then We Moved On Through It All

At one point during the night, my friend laughed while telling a story about when we first properly caught up again in Amsterdam a while back while she was travelling there for work.

“Well when we first met up again after who knows how many years, Greggie was all doom and gloom. Climate change. ‘Don’t move to Spain because it’s becoming a desert.’ I just wanted a nice walk and a drink, not hear about how we’re all going to die.”

Everyone laughed. Including me while trying to defend myself.

She was exaggerating for effect in the way old friends do when they know each other well enough to turn observations into comedy.

But like most good jokes, there was also truth sitting underneath it.

If I’m honest, it’s not the first time in recent years I’ve flattened a conversation by bringing an abrupt climate reality check into the room.

Not intentionally, of course.

But maybe without fully realising how differently people are holding up in a world already saturated with noise, uncertainty, and exhaustion.

I think many of us are quietly trying to figure out how to stay emotionally present in a world that often feels profoundly overwhelmed itself.

And as the night carried on, another realisation quietly crept in alongside it.

The strange thing about getting older is realising some memories were heavier than you knew at the time.

As we continued reminiscing, I found myself reflecting on how many things we laughed about that probably were not actually funny. 

But we were young.

Navigating life. Navigating work. Navigating relationships. Navigating ourselves.

And often, our way of coping was simply:

“Well… that was really fucked up… Let’s get another round.”

And then we moved on.

How Awareness Quietly Reshapes Us

As I write this, I can see this interesting connection between those past emotional survival mechanisms and present emotional awareness.

I think this is partly why I found myself blocked trying to write something lighter this week.

Since investing so much time exploring climate and social justice, I am aware something has fundamentally shifted in me.

It is not that I think there is no joy left to be had or that everything is hopeless. Far from it.

But once a certain awareness settles into you, it undoubtedly changes how you move through this world.

For the most part, I actually feel better for it.

Even if I sometimes realise it might seem strange to others how much this awareness has reshaped parts of my identity.

The types of conversations I have. The things I notice. The questions I ask. Even the emotional weight I sometimes carry into rooms without fully meaning to.

I find myself reflecting now, that maybe getting older is partly about recognising this in ourselves.

Recognising the ways we coped. The things we normalised. The realities we avoided. The heaviness we carried without language, and dare I say the maturity, for it at the time.

Over the past year, I have increasingly found myself reflecting on what it actually means to build healthier relationships, communities, and ways of being together.

And Then We Moved On Together

And somewhere between all of that on Saturday night, there was also something really special.

Sixteen plus people travelling across countries just to celebrate someone they love.

Our friendships picking back up without needing explanation.

Her friends gathered around hearing our stories repeated for the hundredth time.

And the laughter.

Laughter loud enough to momentarily drown out the state of the world and all its noise.

So maybe what I needed wasn’t a lighter story to write, as much as I needed this experience that was the lighter thing I was searching for after all.

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FAQ's - And Then We Moved On

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Sometimes it feels like we are all trying to emotionally navigate a world increasingly saturated with noise, uncertainty, and information overload. Here is an interesting article from The Guardian.

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This article was written by Gregg Hone. The words, structure, reflections, experiences and opinions expressed are deeply personal. AI was used to generate the FAQ section, and for technical SEO page construction.