North America, Part I

Matthew McAlpine
Jul 20, 2017 · 8 min read

June-July 2017

Raleigh, NC

In my Aunt’s lounge room in suburban North Carolina, a delightful elderly woman named Margaret shares the moment she truly knew her late husband was losing his mind.

“Raymond was a stubborn man, in a good way of course, but he was never good at relying on others for help. He’d spent so many years as a pillar of strength, my rock through everything. I suspect he knew his mind was growing weak many months before he dared admit it, but the writing was on the wall. Dementia with Lewy Bodies, apparently severe but it’s all relative I suppose. It started out innocent, forgetting little things — names, words, appointments. He held on to his independence fiercely, and for a while was so good at masking his episodes of confusion that I wondered if it really was that significant after all. I was so afraid of losing him that in many ways we both willfully ignored the gravity of his illness, and the speed at which it was consuming him.

One afternoon we were driving home from visiting family and Raymond needed a drink so we pulled into Macdonalds, he insisted he would be alright on his own so I stayed in the car. It had been almost half an hour so I went to check on him, but he had disappeared. There’s only so many places you can search a roadside restaurant before it became clear — he’d wandered off and had 30 minutes head start.

I phoned 911 and the lady insisted I couldn’t report a missing person until 24 hours had passed. I tried to stress his frailty and condition, that on a bad day he could be like a 6 year old lost in the city, and how incredibly vulnerable he was. She was understanding and sent out a car, and the police began searching the area. By this time a lot of our family had come to help too, but as the evening wore on he remained unfound. I wasn’t much use looking, I just sat on a chair outside Macdonalds trying to put myself in his mind to trace his possible steps. There was a dense forest behind us, and that seemed the most likely place for him to wander, but that was the most horrifying prospect; alone in the woods in the late autumn air— confused, cold and lost.

At around 8, well after dusk, a kind officer came and told me to go home — that there was no point of me staying and getting cold myself. I did as I was told, only to spent the whole night at home terrified and fearing the worst. With every passing hour the chances of seeing him again were fading, and a helplessness gripped me like I’d never felt before. All I could do was wait; pray and wait. For 12 hours I sat by the phone. Praying, waiting, dreading what felt more and more like the inevitable.

The sun rose without any sign of him. By lunchtime I was pacing at home, preparing to go and help in some way, when there was a knock at the door…and there was my Raymond, somehow alive. The officer said he had wandered back to the Macdonalds around 11 that morning — cold, frightened and shaking uncontrollably. Apparently all he could say was my name. Over 24 hours spent alone in that forest, disoriented, confused and alone.

We couldn’t deny it any longer.
‘Margaret my dear,’ he said, ‘I think I’ve lost my mind.’
And I’m not sure he ever found it again…

It’s only been a few days in the States, but I’m learning that this month is going to be heavy. There’s pain here that runs deep, and the beautiful and incredibly kind people I’m yet to meet all have a story to tell. A story of loss, fear, pain and thankfully some hope. Some stories too sacred to share, but all leaving me with much to consider about life, faith and the importance of friendship and community through the darkest of times.

New York, NY

It’s safe to say I made the most of my week in New York. I was only half joking when I said I needed to double my daily budget when entering the states, but was fully serious when I had to double it again for this place. What I saved on the couch of my cousins girlfriends apartment in Chelsea and with dollar slices of pizza, I spent on some extraordinary experiences which were absolutely worth it. Here’s an itinerary, happy to chew anyone’s ear off with the details.

Thursday
- James Vincent Mcmorrow @ Brooklyn Steel
Friday
- New Yorker Magazine offices in the Freedom Tower (One World Trade Center), my cousins friend welcoming us to play ping pong on level 68.
- 9/11 Memorial, Wall Street
- Sleep No More (outrageously brilliant — an interactive Macbeth production from 11pm-3am through a 7 story industrial building. Holy shit do this.)
Saturday
- Titus Andronicus
- Sigur Ros @ Forest Hills Stadium
Sunday
- wedding of a friend’s friend, star of yesterday’s Shakespeare, marrying a German model out the back of a bar a few weeks before her visa expired. Drinks for dayyyyyyys.
Monday
- Central Park — stuck in a thunderstorm with my pack between couches!
Tuesday
- United Nations
- Brooklyn Bridge
- Book of Mormon on Broadway (5 stars, don’t take your parents)
-
Times Square
Wednesday
- NY Yankees @ Yankee Stadium

Boston, MA
Portland, ME

I’m having dinner at a fancy seafood joint in Cambridge, with an extraordinary woman named Jane who my mum became friends with back in the Stone Age, whilst studying in the US on a Rotary exchange. She splits her time lecturing here at Harvard School of Government as a Professor of Corporate Social Responsibility (an oxymoron by any standards), and working with the UN and international corporations, to promote (and hold them accountable for) human rights protection and environmental sustainability. It’s a whirlwind of an evening, trying to keep up with this exceptionally intelligent and passionate woman who whilst epitomising accomplishment has the humility to take a genuine interest in my nomadic journey.

Not surprisingly, having such an extraordinary CV and formidable intellect has meant that Jane has never married and is refreshingly comfortable with having spent most of her life single. As such, when she kindly asks ‘does it get lonely, doing all of this by yourself?’, there’s a nuanced credibility that invites an honest answer. Little did I know the answer was just a day away…


I leave Cambridge on a Greyhound to Portland, Maine where I’m picked up by Clare, a Canadian girl I met at a wedding in the Bahamas with unrivaled enthusiasm and a contageous smile. It’s the day after she graduated from her Family Medicine Residency but the gear is ready, and we head straight to the mountains. We clamber and climb for hours to arrive with just enough time for a freezing swim in the lake before we set up camp in a clearing overlooking the valley below. There’s spades of spontaneity and banter for days as we try to keep warm around a fire, drink rum and basically just enjoy each other’s presence. She’s got a story to tell, I’ve certainly got a few and the only way I can describe the way I felt is pleasant, and at ease. Simple emotions but worth more than gold.

We wake before the sun to hike to the top of Tumbledown Mountain, and in silence we watch the dawn break. A smile is enough to know that this is a special moment, and a panorama doesn’t capture the glory of a new morning brings. Six hours later we’re back in Portland, and I’m on my way to Quebec. One day is all I needed to be reminded that I am not alone, that companionship is the most beautiful thing — and I had the perfect answer for Professor Jane…


Naturally there’s a world of difference between true loneliness and simply being alone, and in that respect I don’t feel lonely at all. I’m fortunate to be introverted enough to enjoy my own company, yet typically able to muster the energy and enthusiasm to be extroverted when a situation demands; such is the nature of my current life — many hours on my own, broken by moments of wonderful yet intense human interaction.

However whilst I don’t feel lonely and am so thankful for the extraordinary 25 years I’m so fortunate to have lived, there have been countless moments where I long to be less ‘alone’. And that is by no means exclusive to my travels. For many years now I’ve been palpably aware that I am happiest, and most excited to be alive when in the company of those I care about, sharing experiences with people I can hold memories with for a lifetime.

Yet for every shared memory, there’s a gig I go to alone which changes my life for the better, countless solo sunsets and mountain tops where my heart fills with awe and my spirit is awakened anew. Absolutely, I embrace these moments and will never forget — but my heart can only be so full before it overflows, and I yearn for a companion to overflow around. I’ve tasted the joy that companionship brings, and nothing I do alone compares.

I’m constantly reminded of how much joy can come from sharing this incredible journey with another, where the beauty of moments like these are magnified by seeing joy and excitement on the face of a friend. Knowing that in that moment they are free and at peace. What greater feeling than to know someone you care for is truly well. So just as I embrace the moments when I’m alone, and make the most of every sunrise regardless — I trust that this is just a prelude to a life where my heart overflows with joy and peace to the ones that I love.

Friends, I love you.
My future companion, I love you.
Mum, Dad, Melinda, Christine, Ben, Macie and Oliver — I love you.

Believe me when I say that I am happy to be alive, and my heart is full.
This adventure is bittersweet without you.

Build me a home inside your scars,
Build me a home inside your song,
Build me a home inside your open arms,
The only place I ever will belong.

I am still running.

)

Matthew McAlpine

Written by

Adventures and reflections of a twentyfive year old junior doctor from Australia.

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