The thing that happened last weekend, somewhere between the smudging of sage and the juicing of kale, was that I remembered myself. On Sunday morning I went out to get the papers and took a slow drive through frosted country lanes to Cirencester: no deadlines, both phones were unblinking with no-reminders, no expectations, no to-do list. Peace. I pulled onto the verge to take a photo of a stone wall and the fields beyond. It was freezing outside, shockingly cold. And I looked around me and took a deep breath and felt my whole entire mind, body, spirit and soul just relax.
I am so fucking tired. Of not loving what I do but resigned to the fact that this pays well and I am quite good at it. And who am I in this economy to want more? But I can’t shake the feeling of being a little trapped, of knowing that I am not creating anything that is mine.
Ultimately this current gig ain’t exactly smokin’ my tyres.
Later on Sunday afternoon I was lucky enough to have half an hour tucked up on the sofa in front of the fire: just me and Emma. We talked about what we had dreamt of for ourselves when we were little and how easy it is to end up somewhere without really consciously choosing a path. It was a giggly dreamy kind of conversation that didn’t seem all that life-changing. But since then squllions of right-brain neurons have been firing off in all directions.
I have been remembering and reflecting on all the bloody scary-brilliant growing I needed, to get to here. How I have managed to start again a couple of times over (in a couple of different countries). I have pushed myself, educated myself, paid off my student loans myself and managed to not get myself in any more debt. And I have learnt to be kind to myself, to be consciously amazed at my very own body. I have glimpsed at despair and managed to haul myself out of the hole several times. I have had my heart opened up on an operating table aged four-and-a-quarter, and then continually broken and mended until I closed it up for business for a while. And then I let myself fall in love again. And because of all of these things and perhaps because 40 is winking at me from around the corner, for the first time in my life I feel whole.
I feel like I am finally getting it: the big IT: my purpose on this here rotating orb. I have been thinking about the things that make me tick, that are central to the very core of my being, without which I will wither to a dry husk. These are five very simple, un-extraordinary things: ideas, words, food, connections – all fuelled by great coffee. And this realisation is forming into a plan for my future that feels so real I can taste it.
It makes my heart beat and my eyes water just thinking about it.