When I come to write this at the end of January, two weeks ago, my notebook was bare. Mother Hubbard-style. What had I been doing all that month? Certainly plenty of good things: a holiday in the mountains, back in London and coffees with friends and drinks and nights out and yoga class on Mondays. Worrying about money too; it had been a long six weeks from the early payday of December.
People have said to me recently, you haven’t done your blog in a while and I was flattered and frustrated in equal measures. Flattered that it is something that people might look out for and enquire about, frustrated that my writing has fallen into a bit of a predictable routine. The act of ‘doing’ my blog in itself feels odd, that it’s a process I feel I should go through.
Perhaps my reluctance to scribble anything down and my delay in writing it up signals something new. I feel as if it’s become a bit formulaic, a bit stale and I can’t just be content with writing about cycling around the city and walking along canals or the shape of my friend’s new haircut. I have felt at times that this shows only a certain side of my life, the stream of good hidden within the ordinary, like a milk skim on the surface. Good but not challenging.
I’m inspired by my friends who are always posting new things, who are truthful to themselves and know I need to do the same. I’m going to try not to worry about the reader or be aware of who is at the other side of the screen.
I’d like to do something with the little pieces that I’ve been working on and we’ll see where they end up. If anyone has words of advice for trying something new and for breaking out of routine, I’d love to hear them.