We had just spent a few days in Edinburgh, watching awkward Fringe shows and catching up with my brother. (Nothing like a puffin-thriller-turned-autistic-meltdown-metaphor to foster sibling bonding.)
Ben had just moved to the Scottish city a few weeks prior, having uprooted his life in Wellington in favour of a fresh beginning. His move involved months of planning and paperwork- to apply for an ancestry visa, he had to dig through historical records and send documents to and from the other side of the world. To pack up his apartment, get rid of hundreds of belongings, and decide what to cut into a couple of suitcases. To figure out a place to live and apply for as many jobs as he could. Moving to a foreign country is an incredibly daunting endeavour.
But what really amazed me was Ben’s enthusiasm and openness for this new city. Every flyer that was handed to him, every new activity suggested… he was all in. Why? Because he had nothing to lose and everything to gain. And with a background in improv and a penchant for “yes and…”, Ben would find himself with some exciting perspectives on the city.
This energy was infectious.
When in doubt, say yes
As Finn and I stood on the tiny 15-person ferry to go to an equally tiny island in the Inner Hebrides, we wondered what the hell we were in for. To get here, we had scrolled through dozens of advertisements on Workaway and somewhat arbitrarily landed on Kerrera Tea House and Garden. I don’t know what made us choose this one when there were hundreds of promising options.
Next thing we know, we’re on a video call, trying desperately to understand Martin through his strong Scottish accent and the weak WhatsApp connection. He asks us if we’ve ever seen his favourite movie, “Eagle vs Shark”, and tells us his band opened for Fat Freddy’s Drop in London. And now we’re here, crossing the Sound of Kerrera, about to raise the island’s population from 45 to 47 people for the next two months. I thought of Ben, who took a similar stride into the unknown a few months prior. There was no chance to go back on our decision. This ship had sailed, so we might as well go forth with full throttle.
I live by this motto which sums this up pretty well. I’m not sure where I first heard it, maybe from Eva, who famously embodied it when she went on a blind date through the uni magazine. The motto is “do it for the plot”. It’s about saying yes to things, seizing opportunities, and doing something just because it adds richness to your life story. It might scare you half to death because it’s so far out of your comfort zone. But whether it ends in total disaster or becomes one of the best things you’ve ever done, it’s always worth saying yes, just for the experience alone.
During our two-month stint on the Isle of Kerrera, Finn and I had a lot of opportunities come our way. And I said “do it for the plot” quite a lot. So, in honour of finishing up at the Tea House, here’s a compilation of some of the things we said “yes” to. I’m dedicating this one to Ben and Eva.
The Samba Band
I think the first one was the hardest. This opportunity came hurtling at me from out of the blue. I had a little warning, though thankfully, when one of our coworkers Amy told me one afternoon that Aideen (Martin’s wife) had asked her to fill in as a dancer for an upcoming samba drumming gig. Amy had a background in dance and had even worked professionally as a showgirl for some time, so it was no surprise that Aideen had asked this of her. It was a surprise, however, that Aideen invited me.
Look- I am not a dancer. And I made this quite clear when the question arose at family dinner that evening. I did “time for dancing” kiddie classes when I was five, but that’s about the extent of my professional training. But Aideen assured me that we wouldn’t need to do much dancing anyway, it would mostly be a matter of wearing some bright costumes and waving flags about. How hard could it be?
So I said yes. And then promptly forgot all about it. So when the day finally approached, I remembered with dread what I had signed up for. But it was too late now, so we all caught the ferry into town after work, and Amy and I tried on the costumes in the local pipe band hall. The costumes were the best part. They were gorgeous, big hoop skirts that didn’t fit through doorways, long feathery headpieces and brightly patterned sashes. We listened to some quick songs from the band and had a whole ten minutes to practice, before we were ushered out the door and down the street to the outdoor performance space. All eyes were on us, and I was terrified.
Now this is the part where I tell you that it all went perfectly, and you should face your fears. But I’ll be honest, it didn’t go smoothly at all. Dressed up to the nines, Amy and I were the focal point of attention- a bold move considering the band were the ones who had done all the practice for this performance, and we were the ones completely winging it. I was sooooo out of my comfort zone. But we put huge smiles on our faces and twirled and waved our flags like our lives depended on it.
At first, it was fun, in an adrenaline-fueled kind of way. The crowd was excited to see us flamboyantly dressed, and that egged me on. But then by the fourth song, I was wondering when it was going to end. We had run out of dance moves two songs ago and had no idea how many they were actually going to play. Our headpieces had fallen off, and my cheeks were starting to hurt from fake smiling.
Then came the issues with my flag. It was made of a telescopic pole, which had somehow come loose during the performance. As if in a cartoon, the entire thing started lengthening with each swing, until it was comedically long and floppy. Then, when I would try to shorten it to its normal length, it would slide all the way back down so that it was short and stubby. I was fighting with this thing while trying to look carefree and lost in the music. But instead, I unceremoniously knocked a bottle off the table behind me. I was so embarrassed!
I kept stealing glances at the band behind me, and to my surprise, they looked like they were having an incredible time. Nobody seemed to mind that it wasn’t a professional quality performance or that we had some teething issues- they were just happy to be around the music and in the company of friends. So while I would describe this experience as slightly mortifying, it was also super fun wearing those costumes and trying something spontaneous. At the end of the day, even if it was embarrassing, I’m never going to see these people again. So I think it was worth a bit of social embarrassment for some self-development.
Time to Face the Music
Max was the next one to risk some social embarrassment and “do it for the plot”. When he heard of an open mic night at the Marina Bar, he decided to put his name forward. He hadn’t sung in front of crowds much before, but he practiced some songs for a few nights before the day. I could tell he was nervous when we entered the pub and found it was full. But armed with an old guitar that had two strings missing, he went up on stage and absolutely smashed it with some crowd favourites. He must have been buzzing when he sat back down.
But as if he hadn’t challenged himself spontaneously enough, another opportunity approached him that night. Another guitar player had taken to the mic and expressed that he usually played with a singer, who was sick that night. He played one or two but opted to finish his set early rather than attempt to sing Hallelujah. I could see Max thinking about volunteering to sing for this guy. I knew he was shit scared at the prospect of not having practiced, wondering if he even knew the words well enough. But also, I think he knew he would regret it if he didn’t at least try. So it only took a small bit of encouragement from us for Max to volunteer himself. It was so lovely to see the guitar players’ relief and excitement, followed by Max’s similar feelings after they finished, when the crowd went wild and someone else invited Max to join their regular jam sesh.
A Sport We Never New Existed
Another opportunity that unexpectedly came our way was when we heard Max and Amy would be visiting the annual international Stone Skimming Championships on Easdale Island, not far from here. We had never heard of such a thing! It was only with luck that our day off was that Saturday, and that Amy and Max (who had finished at the Cafe) would be staying nearby with a car to give us a lift. When the stars align so well for an opportunity, it would be an insult not to take it. So we went, on a bridge across the Atlantic and a boat across the small channel, to the sacred stone skimming capital of the world.
Though the event does get incredibly competitive, we heard it was open to novices as well. So we were really hoping to participate. But unfortunately, all the spots had been filled within four minutes of release (that’s a quicker sellout than Glastonbury!). So though we couldn’t technically join in on the competition, we managed to sneak away to another quarry lake on the other side of the island and have a couple of throws with the famous Easdale slate stones.
& Other Surprises
There were a few instances where we heard about an opportunity mentioned briefly and in passing. They were things we could have easily missed, and would certainly not have resulted in anything if we hadn’t caught onto a snippet and run with it. For example, I mentioned to Aideen one evening that I love live music. She said that she had heard of a traditional Celtic jam session that the locals held at some pub or other. She’d never been before, but when I followed up with her again, she said she’d look into it. It happened every Sunday, Aideen had discovered, at the Whiskey Vault. We only had two Sundays left, and Martin and Aideen were going away for the first. So, on our last evening in Scotland, we convinced Aideen to let us close up shop an hour early, and we all piled onto the ferry into town.
We arrived in the pub to find about 20-30 musicians gathered in a circle, clutching guitars, violins, accordions, banjos and a traditional Irish frame drum I had never seen before called a bodhrán. Musicians of all abilities were joining in on lilting folk songs, occasionally accompanied by a lone Celtic mezzo-soprano. As soon as one song finished, someone would roll into another, and gradually recognition would spread, amplifying the sound. The jolly rhythm was so infectious that Aideen – who had spent a career drumming around the world for the stage show Stomp – couldn’t help but join in, banging away on a stool. We even had the opportunity to do a wee whiskey tasting to try some of Oban’s famous liquid gold (I didn’t like it so much, but I wasn’t going to say no, was I?)
Other instances included visiting a local beachside sauna, which we happened to share with a trio of visiting Celtic singers who gave us an impromptu show. Or when we agreed to do shared cooking for a vegan (well, technically veggie and dairy-free) diet. This one was tricky, but we learnt some great tofu recipes and that there’s a dairy-free substitute for everything!
So, in our two months on Kerrera, we saw a lot of opportunities come our way. I realise how many moments could have easily slipped by if we’d hesitated. Some opportunities were terrifying, others delightfully absurd. But for all of them, I’m proud that we said yes and followed through, again and again. Because if I’m the author of my own story, I’ll be damned if I let it be a boring one.
Signing off,
Milly
