Soul Searching in Shropshire

I've never really been one for birthdays.

The idea of a whole day dedicated to you and your life, to me anyway, seems a bit overwhelming.

As a result, I've lost touch with a day that I used to look forward to. I think that's a sentiment I share with many. For the most part, my teenage and adolescence left me with very little to celebrate. In fact, it was the period in which I came to terms with the parts of my life I knew very little about, and for good reason too.

Those issues, which built year on year, meant my birthday merely became a simple reminder of how crap a year it'd been. I'd done very little, not been anywhere spectacular, and as a result, looked on the year ahead with typical teenage angst and pessimism.

Naturally, there came a point where I just didn't care. My 18th birthday saw me do my history coursework in my room, my 19th came a day after yet another national lockdown was introduced and my 20th was spent worrying about my exams later that month. To me, my birthday was just like any other day, despite the best efforts of those around me.

The pandemic had its impact. Looking back, that whole period from the beginning of 2020 to now feels like a whirlwind. One minute I was 17, and seemingly in the blink of an eye, I'm 21 and no longer at the behest of an adult, but rather myself.

It feels a bit shit, though. Despite the spiritual awakening of my newly christened independence, it was marred by the fact this year was the year I'd be spending at home, or how I look at it now, my second home.

Shropshire's a great place to live. Growing up, and still now, we were never really a wealthy family, just getting by. However, where I was born meant social housing wasn't fixed up a mile in the sky, but instead nestled amongst sleepy countryside villages.

For those who don't know where Shropshire is, I don't blame you. Your experience of it - if any - has probably been done in passing, likely driving through on the A5 towards Wales.

Otherwise, it's where Charles Darwin was born. It has the longest row of uninterrupted independent shops in the UK. It's where the modern-day Olympics were founded. Hitler intended to use the local town of Bridgnorth as his personal headquarters.

Architecturally, it's home to the largest doric column in England. The first iron bridge was erected in what is now aptly named Ironbridge. The forerunner of every skyscraper and tower block you see sits alongside the final stretch of railway heading south into Shrewsbury - the county town.

It's also home to Britain's tallest MP, but less about him, he's a tosser.

Truth be told, there's a great deal to love about the place. I'm not naive enough to ignore the fact that growing up here was a blessing. I did everything a normal kid would do, but the relationship Shropshire has with nature enriched my childhood far more than I could imagine. Cycling freely from village to village through an endless myriad of country lanes, the sun's effect on my pale skin lessened by the canopy of rich and healthy oaks, birches, and willows.

I went to school in a certified area of natural beauty - the Shropshire Hills - looming over us lot on the playground as our science teacher did in the classroom. There was little to complain about really, it's not every day your PE lessons are interrupted by sheep breaking through from the neighbouring field.

But, I look back on it now and feel as though I wasn't grateful enough for what I had around me, then again everyone thinks that, hindsight and all. What I really mean is, I feel as though my enthusiasm for my surroundings, and how lucky I was, is something that's only really become apparent now, when I feel nothing but emptiness for the place.

Once I finished school, I wanted to leave Shropshire at the first chance, and I did.

Out of the blue, the opportunity to go to college and play sport in Loughborough presented itself, and it was one I couldn't turn down. At the time, I felt like it offered me breathing space, and a chance to just do things on my own for a while, despite some initial worries.

I'd come home every weekend, but as each week passed by, I fell more and more out of love with the place I called home. Admittedly, college was shit at times, and I spent a lot of it in my own head, but the silver lining was that I was 70 miles away from all the shit going on at home. So, when lockdown came, it was a fair shock, to say the least. Suddenly I was being forced to go back to somewhere I'd rather not be, as everything around me was starting to fall apart.

As most families did, we spent those three months in each other's pockets and up each other's sleeves. However, despite our garden being tiny, the springtime sun that held over the country for what felt like an eternity burned my skin while rekindling a love for my surroundings.

I ran. Like, properly ran. Every day without fail for weeks on end. I loved it, my body didn't, but my mind did. Poorly pacing myself through the areas I grew up, past the pitches I proclaimed my love for the beautiful game at, over streams and through woodlands, the connection with nature the romantic poets spoke of so freely.

Eventually, that ended, and college at Loughborough soon became university. Not much had changed really, I only lived a stone's throw from where I did for my A-Levels, but I felt so much happier than I did when I was at home.

I think it's because, unlike home, very little has gone wrong there - at least for now. I feel settled, my girlfriend's there, I have everything I need at walking distance, and have many happy memories associated with it. I say this with the full knowledge that Loughborough isn't some utopia, quite the opposite.

I don't know why I feel so crap while I'm at home, but I do. It's probably as freely as I've spoken on here, but truth be told, I've really fallen out of love with the place I called home. I feel unproductive, uninspired, and uneventful when I'm here. Maybe it's because I don't have a solid space to work, invariably found floating between coffee shops within the centre, living vicariously through my future self and his unrealistic dreams of making a living from writing.

I try every possible way of leaving this place, but each time I do, fate always brings me back for some reason. Often out of my control, but still. I love the idea of Shropshire, but when I'm here, I feel so desperately underwhelmed with myself and everything around me.

It's probably because in the time I've been away, so much has changed. Seeing my little brother now compared to when I left for college, he's a whole new kid, such is the nature of growing up. I'm so proud of him and what he's achieving, but I'd just love for him to be six again and not be so arsey with me all the time.

Each day is Groundhog Day when you're in Shropshire, at least when you're me.

I think because of what I achieved last year, that sense of isolation feels even more apparent. It sounds cliche, but I really mean it when I say last year was the best of my life. I felt as though at points, I got back in touch with myself, something I hadn't done for years, and all that happened outside where I grew up.

A year I looked at with sheer anxiety, is now one I look back on with immense pride, and it's rare that I feel about myself in that way. Out of the blue, I spent the first half of my year out from university doing things I never thought were possible, concluded by working at a World Cup.

It was all a bit mad really, I'd done what felt like a lifetime's worth of dreams in a matter of months. And when all was said and done, I had to go back home. I'd ridden a wave I never wanted to fall off, and in what felt like seconds it had crested and fallen back into the constant flow of life.

That's where I am now, a bit lost.

I spend most days doing the same thing, trying desperately to piece together half-written articles that lie wasted in my drafts folder. Then I had knee surgery just before Christmas, which didn't help things. All in all, I feel as though I've fallen back into a ditch I tried so hard to steer clear from, mentally and physically.

Saying that, I have had good days, and one of them was my birthday. I tried really hard to stay positive about it and actually dedicate some effort into understanding birthdays are a day to enjoy and not endure - the same goes for life really.

I spent it with two close mates, up in Manchester, just dotting about the city and idling in front of shoes I wish I could buy. It was a lovely day. I love my mates and have made sure to remind them of that whenever I can.

Turning 21 last week was a bit of an eye-opener for me, as it feels like the past three years of my life have shot past me, as it has for most I imagine. In what feels like a matter of seconds, so much has happened, good and bad.

As I said, I've never really been one for birthdays.

But, for a change, this year I made a point of enjoying it for once. It reminded me that I'm in control, and I hope that's the first step in finding peace and understanding what I have around me in a more positive way.