Dancing Through Life: Travel with Children pt. 2
That afternoon we lifted the curtains of our worlds to each other, as we danced around an imaginary fire, embracing our femininity. I could almost hear the music as we slowly circled together, lifting our hips to a silent rhythm, twisting our hands in the air as we moved around the tiny room.
In that moment I was privy to a part of a culture that I wouldn’t have seen, had I stood at the front of the classroom and tried to teach an unruly and excited class of 8-15 years old kids in Kosovo. The organisers decided to break the class down into two groups, my friend taking the younger group, and me staying with the older girls.
That afternoon, in that tiny corridor of a teaching centre in Kosovo, there was a mutual understanding. We were real people with our own struggles and lessons to learn, that life can be tough, and it was quietly accepted.
I realised the girls trusted me, and trust is something I struggle with; I do not let people into my inner sanctum easily. It didn’t matter that we couldn’t speak the same language; that afternoon, we bonded: I let my guard down and relaxed. We saw each other with kindness, without judgement or expectations, without the need to be or doing anything other than just be ourselves that afternoon.
It was an escape from normality for all of us that day. The pressures of being a single mother disappeared. Knowing Tom was safe and happy and fulfilled in the next room and enabled me to relax and enjoy myself and just be me. We were safe.
I was asked what had happened to my finger. I told them that it was hit with a hammer, but that’s another story for another day. They wondered why I wasn’t married, I explained we grew apart, it happens, you can’t stay with someone if you don’t love them anymore.
How can I explain the complexities of the breakdown of a marriage? I still feel guilty about letting my marriage fall apart, that my son must deal with the emotions of missing one of his parents at any time.
Working full time and bringing my son up on my own is tough. The need to strive in my career, but not being able to fully commit to it, as well as the desire to be a great mummy and make the best decisions for my son, to play and protect, run a house or pay the bills, push me frequently near exhaustion.
Parenting is challenging, and no matter what your circumstances are, the daily battles of it don’t vanish - even in another country. I still spent too long chasing my son around trying to get him to have some semblance of basic hygiene, we still needed to eat and sleep. We each needed to juggle the needs of four different personalities during the time we were away.
Taking my son out for some much-needed one-on-one time and an ice-cream sundae one evening, meant we could all have some breathing space. It also meant that we both discovered that Pristina comes alive in the evening. The cafes and bars are full, the cakes utterly divine, the coffee strong and the whole place is full of people having fun.
We watched a pro-basketball match in the main square together and just let loose together for a few hours. I didn’t want the whole trip to be a virtuous exercise of life lessons, it was our summer holiday, we were there to enjoy ourselves, so we did.
The cheeky shot of tequila on the way back from buying bread one afternoon was a moment of selfish bliss. The privilege that my life affords is not lost on me, just standing in another country shows I could afford to get there, something that most people in the world cannot do.
Travelling is partly an escape. I still baulk against mediocrity and routine and process. It scares me. I don’t want to get to the end of my life and regret not living one. I have always allowed my flight mode to win, but in recent years I’ve chosen to stay still build roots, to provide stability for my son – and myself. But just maybe, this trip has proved that it is, occasionally, still possible to run across the world and take my son with me, and to come home again.
It taught us both just how much we are capable of, that if we really want something, we can achieve it. It forced me to break through fears of inadequacy and lack of confidence. The decisions I now make are my own.
But being single also brings certain selfishness, I have quickly forgotten how to compromise. Maybe my next life chapter is learning to be brave enough to love deeply my new partner from a new-found self-belief, one that is hopefully instilled in my son early. A love that can compromise without sacrificing my need to explore life and the world.
Written by Sophia Sanders
Sophia Sanders lives in Wells in Somerset with her seven-year-old son and two cats. She works in projects and compliance in Corporate Real Estate and Facilities Management at a housing association. She is 41 years old and writing and ballet are her two favourite hobbies, as well as trying to balance on the yoga mat. The charity she volunteered for last year is called The Ideas Partnership.