Sorry, I’ve been gone a little while! Not sure where to be honest. Have had several blog ideas over the last couple of months but no time, space or emotional energy to write one. Tonight, I kind of feel like I need too. So apologies if it doesn’t make much sense!
So I’m still out of my lovely little house, bouncing between amazing friends and ever understanding family. Nunu and the pulis seem to have settled into our routine, but I still miss home a stupid amount. Not just the house, I think, but the Guildford I know. The end of town that I know. The places I used to walk, that I now drive too or drive past. The new places I go too, the new routines I have. But, the end is in sight! I think I’ll be home in about 5 weeks, and then I have no plans to leave ever again!!
To make the sense of a lack of ‘home’ easier, there have been a couple of ports in the storm. And the first was Cornwall. Beautiful, amazing Cornwall. My wonderful friend E (who’s also widowed by Bastard Cancer) won the holiday through a charity we’re both members off. It was a 7 day break in a luxury town house in Newquay. I won’t lie, I wasn’t in the greatest place before the holiday and got to the stage where the holiday was actually causing more stress than it was worth. Then Nunu got chicken pox and my stress levels reached a new level! But then we got there. And for the first time in I can’t remember how long, I felt at peace. I felt relaxed. I felt my brain stop – almost physically. I found myself standing on the most beautiful beach I have ever visited in the UK, my lovely little Nu playing in the rock pools whist holding her own pebbles that she’d carefully selected out of thousands of others on the beach, and I was ok. I breathed in, breathed out and I felt at peace. I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t stressed. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t anxious. I felt a glimmer coming back of who I used to be. I felt happy. And it’s been a long time since I felt that way. A very long time. It felt good to feel like me again. At least who I think me is anyway!
Coming home wasn’t easy. And the longer I was back, the more I realised changes needed to be made. If not by others, by me. Decisions had to be made. Sad, selfish decisions that I knew would cause sadness, but ultimately, decisions that I knew were the best thing to do for me. And if I’ve learnt nothing over this journey, I know I need to look after myself, before anything or anyone else. So it ended. And I was sad. And he was heartbroken.
But then there was Frank. Frank Turner and his 4 Lost Evenings at the Round House in fantastic Camden Town. It was fun, a really fun weekend. But mainly, it gave me that grounding that only 4 nights of music can give you. It reminded me that I’m still alive, and that is the greatest gift of all. It reminded me that it’s not always a given that you’ll finish your journey with the people you start it with. Sometimes all you can do is carry on dancing for those that aren’t here anymore. And whilst you’re there, take a picture, so you can remind yourself of the times when things were ok. That life carries on, if you don’t want it too, even if you’re desperate for that pause button. And so you have a choice to sit in and wait in fear of the next storm, or to rejoice and rebuild when the storm has passed. During this time, you might feel directionless, but with the best people looking out for you, you can lift up the weight of the world from your shoulders, leaving your enemies defeated in the mirror behind.
“Life is about love, last minutes and lost evenings,
about fire in our bellies and furtive little feelings,
and the aching amplitudes that set our needles all a-flickering,
and help us with remembering that the only thing that’s left to do is live.
After all the loving and the losing, the heroes and the pioneers,
the only thing that’s left to do is get another round in at the bar”.
And so here I sit. On my parents sofa. With a beer cracked and a future ahead of me. Who knows what that holds, but what ever it is, bring it. What’s the worst that could happen right?