shapeshifting

This gets better.

Monday I woke up with a migraine. Welcome to my week off. Took a pill. Sometimes the pill just zaps out the migraine and I can function pretty much at full capacity. Sometimes the pill acts almost like an anaesthetic and I'm not really safe to be on my feet. As the pill is a constant, I guess what's happening neurologically in my body must change. Migraine takes many forms even in one person.

So there I am, not yet aware that I'm about to fall into a semi-coma. I have to meet my mother at the local Te3co Superstore (see H for Hell and Holidays), along with Evie and my 5 year old nephew who is lovely but all slugs and snails and hyperactive puppy-dogs' tails. She has some clothing vouchers that she wants Evie to benefit from and frankly, we can't afford to say no. Staying upright and responsible uses all my energy so I'm snappy and impatient. I drive home (I know, I know) and then it hits me full on. I go to bed for one, maybe two hours.

Later I try to download some photos from the weekend - and there are some lovely ones among them - and also, as it happens, the photos I took of Casey on his last day. Just before we headed off to the vet.

Something's wrong with the flash card. I can't copy them off it. I try everything, every method. Even data recovery software. Nope. They're there on the card but I can't have them.

Evie has reacted to the sunscreen she wore on Sunday. She has a livid, itchy eczema all over her face and neck, poor kid.

Charlie's boss comes over for the End of Trial Period Review. When he leaves we're down an income. Face-to-face charity recruitment is a tough game - sales of a worthy product maybe, but a luxury product all the same and this area is just being really hit by the downturn. Targets are nigh on impossible to meet. Charlie tried really hard. They don't care that this could mean we have to move to a one-bedroom flat in a rundown market town. Why should they? Most of the team he trained with have also lost out.

Tuesday means another pill but luckily no coma as I'm working with the Beagles. Since the death of their lady owner/breeder her husband and son (ages, I'd guess, 90 and 60) have soldiered on with my help once a week. They can't manage and so some dogs have been rehomed. They'd said goodbye to sweet Z a couple of weeks ago. Today I go in to find that one of my favourites, lovely T has gone to a new home and the grand old lady Beagle, D, has gone to be reunited with her owner. At 15, she faded out the way Casey did. So we're down to just four Beagles. Four sad Beagles. P, especially, has not recovered from the loss of her human. Today she comes and sits next to me - not on my lap as usual but just next to me. A sad little girl, leaning against me with a sigh. She is still much loved - I think she was a favourite of her owner and so husband and son are particularly attached. I think that T and D leaving has been a bit too much for her. I reiki her while we sit in the sun and she tells me about her sadness.

At home I hear from my sister that the two big employers in our neighbouring town - the two call centres that pretty much saved a generation from disaster when they opened in the late 90s - are closing. We will be flooded with young men and women with young families and mortgages and debt, looking for the few jobs there are available. One of them will be my sister.

Today, after a quick trip to the supermarket brandishing vouchers and reward points, I pick up Evie's best friend and bring them back here. Giggling, shrieking happy girls. I don't care that they're 'making potions in the bath' or destroying some part of the house...just let them be happy. I'll clean up later. While I'm out, the vet calls. Casey's casket has arrived back. Do I want to go and collect it? Well yes, but there's the small matter of having to settle the bill and I have £3 in my bank account. So he's sitting on a  shelf waiting for me to get my working tax credits so that I can pay to have him home with me.

...

Y'know what? I don't want to live my life like this anymore. I'm am so, so literally sick and tired. I'm done with this. I live in a beautiful place and I have so much that I am deeply grateful for but I am guilty of using it as a distraction. It is the opium of this person. I have to break the habit.

...

When I think about how put things right my brain engages and then fails. I know myself to be smart and resourceful and inventive but I got nothing. The very thought of trying again just makes me fall over. Oh I have ideas. Anyone who reads this blog will know I'm always having A Great Idea but now...now I feel paralysed by it all.

And so there is only one thing to do.

Surrender. Give it up. Let go. There is a real sense of things falling away without me even having to actively release them. They are not being 'taken', they are just falling away and I think that might be okay. I understand that it has to happen.

What I need to do is return to the practice I started at the beginning of the year. Healing, meditation, acceptance and space-clearing. Once that space is clear from anxiety and panic - even for a sweet moment of respite - I can hold it open for what comes next. It will come and so will my strength but for now it's just acceptance and practice. Easy to say.

Most of all, knowing that I'm done with the distraction of beauty (not the beauty itself, just the abuse of it), I'm ready to live my life the way I want to. The way I have to.

Part of that is writing about things that matter to me knowing that some readers will a) think I've finally snapped or b) laugh or c) both the above. But I'm done caring about other people more than I care about me. So I'm going to tell you that on Tuesday night I tuned into a drum and journeyed to meet my spirit animal. She's a young wolf and her name, she tells me, is Divna. We met some time back. I thought maybe her name was Irish but looking it up I find it's Hungarian for beautiful. She's certainly that and she's certainly a European wolf. This night I wait for some heavy answer to my questions but she starts dancing. And it's funny. She looks ridiculous and she's doing it on purpose. She's telling me to laugh. I see her dancing painted in broad strokes with energy shining from it

....

I've been trying, in snatched moments to return to Kathleen Dean Moore's Wild Comfort. I read half of it a month or more ago and now I'm back. On Monday I picked it up and randomly opened a page. Now, when I do this I don't usually get some profound sign, I get an advert for dentures or double-glazing. Sorry but it's true. I don't generally have good random-page-mojo but I did this day. This is what I read:

When you die, it's done, the chance is gone. So when you live? When you live, make it all. Don't wait for the rain to stop. Climb out of your tent with your mind engaged and your senses ablaze and let the rain pour into you. Remember: you are not who you think you are. You are what you do. Be the kindness of soft rain. Be the beauty of light behind a tall fir. Be gratitude. Be gladness.

Ever since, like a mantra, I hear, "You are not who you think you are. You are not who you think you are. You are not who you think you are..." and I may well still be curled up in my tent, but I'm looking out on a whole new landscape.

Thank you all for diving in on my rant yesterday; it seems I am not alone! I do hope I didn't come across as ungrateful. I'm profoundly aware of how good a life I have with my home, my family (need I add that I include 2 and 4-legged members?), my life in nature that nourishes me. I love and deeply appreciate their presence in my life.

There is a part of me that is unfulfilled and becoming increasingly stroppy about it. I swing between feeling guilty for wanting (even) more and feeling guilty for feeling guilty for wanting (even) more. Why shouldn't I want more? Because I have so much already. But why shouldn't I want more? Because...yadda yadda yadda. Dizzy.

Yesterday afternoon we got some sunshine and I went out with Nell and Jackson. We walked down a long narrow-ish field towards the Withy Bed, the old local name for the willow copse. In the field above us, farmers were turning over the earth and spreading manure, a practice that always brings in the birds. Where there are small birds there are bigger birds and when there are thermals, those bigger birds will be buzzards.

This picture of a Chalfield buzzard (maybe even one of those I saw yesterday) was taken by Charlie.

I once thought I'd seen five together, usually the most would be three at once, but yesterday there were nine. NINE. Possibly even ten. All soaring on the warm air in a bright blue sky, distinctive calls ringing across the fields. Pure magic.

We walked back along towards home and as I got to the gate - some distance from where I'd stood and watched the birds - I noticed one had followed us. I stood and looked up as it came closer and closer before circling a while over my head. It clearly took a good long look and then flew off. I've never been so close to one of these beautiful birds before.

Looking up the symbolism of the buzzard it became clear that there is a difference between UK and US terminology. In the US a buzzard is usually included with vultures; here it's a hawk. So I focussed on hawks and found this:

Intuitive ability to discern the message and seek the truth is one of Hawk’s powers that he imparts to humans. He teaches people to provide for self and family. Another lesson is to be observant and pay attention to what might be overlooked, possibly a talent unused, a blessing for which gratitude hasn’t been given or a message from spirit. He teaches people they must be awake and aware. Hawk’s medicine helps people to know how to interpret messages from spirit by bestowing upon them a higher perspective so they can see details of the bigger picture. He cautions humans to times when not to take action because they don’t have all of the information we need yet.

I haven't blogged in two weeks. February is racing through with me gasping for breath behind it!

My online time has been limited to the stuff I can do with one eye on the screen and one on something else. Twitter and Pinterest are my bestest of friends right now and oh, how I love them.

My etsy orders are all up to date at last and I've listed some new little plates. I have a new idea for some special magic to add to the store but I think I have to wait until March before I'll have time to make it real. I've also learnt...have things ready before you list them.

I've also found that Reiki and I are supposed to work together for people as well as animals. In my spare minutes I've been playing with my 'front page' to reflect this change. Early days yet but I want to add much more as time goes on. The first step is to get out there and do it. Cash flow dictates my timetable with bigger projects so I have a portable couch and my insurance to cover before I'm really out there, but this will happen.

My extra day's work a week - with the Beagles of Lurve - is wonderful. It feels good to be outside doing the kennel work, keeping my body working hard while my brain takes the chance to get stuff in order. The second half of my time there is spent bathing and grooming and yes, okay, cuddling these lovely dogs. I finish, I run a couple of errands and then it's Evie's home time. The change in days I work at the office has thrown us all a bit and the question,"Wait...what day is it?" is bounced around the desks while we adjust. New rhythm is settling in though.

Through these minor changes Evie has been my priority. She's suddenly grown up a lot and with that development have come big questions about China and her birth family. Her understanding of her story has deepened - she's been told an age appropriate version of it since before she could talk -and with it has come a wave of grief. I'm not going to write about her feelings here but I can tell you mine were shaken when - as she sobbed and I rocked her to an "it's okay darling, it's okay" mamamantra - she looked at me and wailed,"But it's NOT okay Mum...its NOT okay." And no, it's not. So she reminded me of the underlying truth of our family, easily forgotten during these early innocent years, that adoption is built on profound loss. Adoption following (possibly enforced) abandonment...oy. Time for me to dust off my adoptive parent certificate (oh if only) and remember the full width of this path that we've chosen (and that she hasn't). I know our bond is strong and I think we've built strong, loving foundations around that original loss. I have healing tools that I can add to the mix and this, here in our own home, will be where they will be called on most.

Charlie spent a few days in Spain this month on a blogging gig that - I could feel his pain - also involved a large amount of birding. and just as his feet hit the ground he's off next week for two days training on a new fundraising job for the RSPB. It's half-term week so Evie has no school, Auntie has a new full-time job, Nana is not too well and already booked up with the cousins and we've been caught on the hop a bit. I foresee a bit of work-experience in charity marketing for a certain five year old. Thank goodness for an old-hippy-workplace.

So. Yes. Life! I feel as if I've been shifted into second gear after months of grinding along in first. I've found endless strength and support in Reiki, journey work, nature, family and friends to whom I owe many emails. I have so much that is precious in my life and looking after those things takes time and energy that sometimes perhaps I'd rather spend on something more about me-me-me and my personal path. Yes, life could be easier but it would be infinitely poorer too. These are the lessons for an introvert.

Are you as ready for Spring as I am?

x

He'll kill me for saying it but Charlie is 50 tomorrow. We grew up a generation who believed that 50 was 'old'. The age of grandparents and dodderiness. Now here we are with a four year old daughter, a 9 year old relationship, big dreams for our future and a belief in our own relevance.

No one can teach you about ageing when you're young. You don't get it until you've done it and seen really how little and how much it matters. There are days when you remember every moment, every lesson hard-learnt and every trouble. There are days when you feel truly above the pull of time and gravity and no, it ain't nuthin' but a number.

It is what it is. We are who we are. Wherever we stand in the picture.

With Evie starting school in 5 weeks, Charlie finally quitting the airline and mapping his path forward and me learning how to live life instead of attempting to steer it, this is a time of change for us as a family. It has been for months and months - years even - but suddenly it's starting to make sense to us. And that's good.

One thing is clear to me: in my drive to secure life around me and us I've gathered a lot of weight. In my body, my mind and my home. It's impossible to stand here now and not feel over-burdened.

First, thanks to the translation skills of my holistic therapist, I learnt again how to listen to my body which was telling me it needed to drop some serious ballast in the forms of stored memory, pain and adipose tissue. And hair. The hair goes tomorrow. Couch to 5K starts today. Eating when I'm hungry is already underway.

A more daunting project is clearing my stuff. Seriously. I'm a thrifter and a collector and that's fun but I take it too far. I see lovely things that I want to buy to sell and then I keep them and now my feng shui is seriously fenged up.

Now, I'm not about to leave my sanctuary here in Wiltshire for the coast of Queensland (except perhaps to visit with Evie's sister there) but I do dream of travelling lightly through my life. Of being able to sit still in my body without constantly having to shift to bear the weight of my stuff. So with thoughts of shedding skin already in my head and heart I was inspired by Bindu Wiles' most recent post. Synchronicities like this make me feel even more as if I took the right turn. 

You'll maybe be glad to know I've settled on a new blog design too. Although as of tomorrow - Thursday - there'll be a rather fierce-looking woman in the profile pic. Or, someone in a balaclava.

Thank you. Thank you for reading my angst-ridden post yesterday and for proving that my faith is sound. That there are people who treat each other with respect, love, wisdom and understanding even when they don't agree. It means so much.

I know at least two of you - you know who you are - are screaming,"Then get out of the fucking water!" at the screen as you read this. I know that must look like an option.

But I also know this: sometimes love is tested and stretched and kicked and exhausted and that is when you get to see what lies beneath. And I see my best friend (who will be reading this by the way) of whom I am immensely proud. In whom I see a tenacious hold on his beliefs and his desire to do something with his life that he considers important. I see someone who could abandon everything and everyone and walk into that life with his oxygen mask in place (and if he doesn't know where they are then no one does. heh.) but he doesn't.

We know we're in a tough place. We know that this phase of life has taken its toll on our relationship but so far, it refuses to break. We know nothing is indestructible and we know that both of us need to have our needs and dreams seen and heard if we're to make it through. Now is not my time. It's not my turn. My turn will come and soon. And I am shit at talking about this stuff which is why I write. My hands are waaaay better at talking than my voice. I'm not easy to understand.

Back in the practical, outside world my employers need to know how much I want to work come September. And they need to know last week. My immediate boss is also a good friend who understands what's going on in my life and is being as accommodating as she can be but she's under pressure from above to get this sorted out.

I can't make that decision yet. I need to wait for other decisions that I can't make, that aren't mine to make. I know what I want for me, but what the family needs may be something else.

Thank you for being there and enduring this. It makes an immeasurable difference. I do indeed love the internets.

As my darling daughter said to me as she fell asleep on Sunday night,"You are important to me." If you get even 1% of the buzz off that that I did, we're in a good place yes?

Sometimes the Universe puts up signposts.

During a recent trip to our local town of Bradford-on-Avon I picked up a pile of leaflets from some of the people advertising therapies in the area. B-on-A is a bit of a hub for That Kind Of Thing; one of the reasons I love it.

One leaflet was for a woman who offers hypnotism and various other things, including creative kinesiology. It got left in a pile on the coffee table. Somehow, that particular leaflet ended up on top of another pile in Charlie's office and he thought it was me dropping a not too subtle hint, because we'd been talking about him getting hypnotism to help with the vestiges of a stammer he has from his schooldays (it wasn't). So he called and made an appointment.

And it was astounding. Not just because a day later, he didn't stammer once during the type of phone call that would usually have found him completely locked on a consonant, but because it also opened up memories that his mind thought it had forgotten. His body hadn't.

So I decided the time was right for me to address my emotional eating issues before my poor old bones crumpled under the 30 pounds of extra weight I'm carrying. Or my body became so toxic that it fell into serious illness. Or my exhaustion got so extreme it tipped into CFS or something. Or my head exploded. I made the appointment.

The first one is 90 minutes - 30 minutes consultation over a long questionnaire you've already filled in and 60 minutes of treatment. I'd thought hypno was the way we'd go but the kinesiology just took off so we went with it.

In brief, my energy, immune system and strength/resources are all running at about 50%. I thought this was great - way better than I'd imagined - LK did not. She was pretty horrified.

She was more horrified by my confession that I don't really drink water. And I don't get thirsty. She muscle-tested me with water (I held a glass of water in my right hand, against my stomach, while she tested my resistance with my left arm) and - as my arm repeatedly flopped like a limp lettuce - said,"That? Is not right."

My body rejected the water as an unknown substance. Which meant something on a meridian somewhere was broken. She worked on a couple of points (think acupressure) and tested me again. Loving that water. Arm as strong as an ox.

She muscle-tested me while asking my body how much water it needs a day and it said 2.1 litres. So that's what I'm drinking. Minimum. And for once it's actually easy. I want it. I feel thirsty.

We did some other minor adjustments and then got onto the eating stuff. She took me back (asked my body what age it wanted to return to) to when I was about 5. We talked and tested over an issue that I had at that time that has stayed with me as deep shame. I was horribly affected by the birth of my second brother at that age and my jealousy was HUGE. I so wanted to take it out on him (I didn't) and we talked through those feelings. Where in my body I was feeling them, what words were coming up in my head, anything I was feeling. I felt it in my arms as an almost overpowering urge to push, reject and shove and had interpreted those feelings as being how I felt about my brother (whom I've always adored btw).

Cut to the chase, through various tests and acupressure and sitting with my feelings and just spilling what was coming to the surface, I came to see that my issue was not over the jealousy - I was FIVE and my Dad had a new favourite, how else was I going to feel? - but over the depth of my feelings. ANY feelings. Because I am someone who feels things BIG and my family liked to feel things small. Big feelings are undesirable. Inappropriate. Unlikeable. Wrong. Inconvenient. Not welcome. Not nice.

Hi, I'm British.

And so I learnt that I needed to suppress those feelings by hook or by crook. I had to be good. And in the past I've used nicotine and running away to deal with them but now that neither of those options are available to me, I eat. I literally push down those feelings with food. I swallow them up.

I also learnt, throught the consultation part, that I'm a textbook kinesthetic learner which makes perfect sense to me and puts a lot of things I already knew into a nice tidy package that I can refer to.

So that was the first session. It rocked. I have another booked for later in the month. We have no idea what will happen then. More of the same or something else to look at? We'll see.

Weirdest thing? I've had chronic knee pain now for a couple of months. Very bad. Almost unable to drive bad. It's gone. I haven't had it since I walked out of LK's therapy room and yet we did nothing to directly address physical problems.

We talked about my (recent) inability to commit to regular exercise. What could I do that would stick? In my childhood and teens I was a ballet dancer. In my 20s I was a farm-hand, a waitress and later an aerobics queen. In my 30s I taught various kinds of fitness. In my 40s I got a desk job and 30 pounds of extra body.

I'm over aerobics and its many cousins. I like the idea of running but not the reality. The gym bores me silly and my schedule is a mess so it's easy for me to skive. Money and childcare keep me from regular classes of any kind and yes, I'm great at making up excuses.

After my appointment the internets brought me to Bindu Wiles's brilliant 21.5.800 for which I duly signed up. And then yesterday, freewheeling through blogs, years after it was actually cool, I discovered hooping. And fell in LOVE. Within a couple of hours I'd been shopping and bought the makings of a hoop for me and a hoop for Evie. I'd watched numerous hooping videos on youTube and subscribed to some hoopy blogs.

This morning, at about 7.30, while Evie and her cousin (who had a sleepover last night minus the sleep.) played in her room, I was in the garden with the chickens. Trying out m'hoop. It's a humbling experience when you realise you've lost all co-ordination and can't spin a hoop for more than four spins without it knocking seven shades out of your anklebones. I persevered and pretty soon had it up to 17. Which probably sounds a bit crap but it made me skip around the garden punching the air.

So, kinesiology, water, yoga, writing and a big old hoop. It's feeling good.

I'm loving the process.

Before our little 3 day jaunt to Wales I was on something of a roll. You see, I'd done a little commitment ritual under a full moon with a candle given to me by the lovely Meg and it had really taken hold. I got ready to market/advertise Wag Bark Love. Then I took a break.

It was much needed and much enjoyed but blimey if it didn't take the wind out of my sails. Is that relaxation? I'm not sure that it is. I'm not complaining, it had been too long since I'd been to the sea and water connects me to the PTB like nothing else, but I'm having trouble finding my feet again now I'm back on dry land.

I can't get my Twitter rhythm back. I don't have time to write the blog posts I want to write. Home is in a state of flux that is not conducive to focus. Situation normal. Heh.

So I'm going with it for this week. Evie has her first afternoon at school today and that's huge. Charlie is facing multiple challenges on his road to full health and needs support even if it's my pretty crap kind of support. Work is busy and I have to take more time off because of school induction for me. Idgie is broody and won't move or eat except to beat up her sister.

I am inspired by my vision of what I really want.

I am inspired by the realisation that I am a good long way on the path to getting it.

I am inspired by reiki.

I am inspired by my vagabond tribe. Yes, I called them a vagabond tribe and yes I'm including you. Two feet or four.

Quick. Not much time. Bath running. Stuff waiting. Here we go...

Unchocolating: it was filmed as a TV show by film and sound production degree students. V amusing and distracting. The closest I'll ever get to being on Oprah. I sat on the sofa in front of a huge table of chocolate goodies while the thoughts of 50 teenagers yelled,"Sad old woman who can't resist fattening food. Poor cow." Whatever.

Tessa, she was the therapist, waved a lot of Galaxy chocolate under my nose, we chatted and then she hypnotised me. It worked. I don't know how long it'll last but I have no desire for chocolate. It's not a strong, nauseous anti-chocolate thing. I just don't want it. The weird thing...the strongest feeling is that I don't want to touch it. She asked me to hold a bar of Galaxy and I couldn't. I was going to buy some for Charlie today but couldn't bring myself to pick any up. I hope it lasts.

I've been experimenting with spray varnish on the stones I painted. It's not really working. I think I'll have to brush clear varnish on to them but I'm scared it'll smudge. I've used acrylic paint on the pebbles. What can you experienced arts and crafts types advise?

I also played with carving stamps to brand the little bags I have for the stone sets. Don't like it. So I'm going with Plan A on that.

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for Love Thursday

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Glove puppies. Oh yeah, they're back. I'm warming up my puppy muscles on a birthday present for Evie's best friend. She (the friend) is very fond of Jonesy, who goes to nursery with Evie three times a week, so hopefully it'll be a hit.

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The Threadgoodes are proving to be prolific layers.

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Paypal is not my friend.

Lisa is. Please support her if she can. She's wonderful, she's talented and she's doing this for all the right reasons.

Laters, taters.

<o:p></o:p>Spring is almost here in Wiltshire and as usual I’m coming back to life. I’m feeling quite proud of how my family and I have made it through this winter without disaster. The vicious viral circle started in November and at least one of us was sick right up until Evie’s little bout of chicken pox last month.<o:p></o:p>

<o:p></o:p>Add in the fact that Charlie had been off work with stress and depression since October.(Sorted)<o:p></o:p>

Add in the fact that I was hormonally challenged like never before.(Mostly sorted)<o:p></o:p>

Add in financial insecurity.(Yeah well...ongoing)<o:p></o:p>

Add in facing a change to our lives (in the shape of Charlie’s new career) that thrilled but terrified me.(Embraced)<o:p></o:p>

<o:p></o:p>Oy.<o:p></o:p>

<o:p></o:p>But we made it in one piece and with relatively little drama. <o:p></o:p>

<o:p></o:p>So here I am and here, of course, are lots of other people too. All around my blog reader I’m seeing women emerge from the winter with fresh plans, fresh thinking. They You are discarding old patterns and embedded stories and I empathise so profoundly that as I read I hear deep, cell-changing harmonies. <o:p></o:p>

<o:p></o:p>The days are longer and I’m falling back into my natural rhythm of waking early, in the light, spending time outside after work and going to bed at A Reasonable Hour. I’m moving back into my flesh and blood life, away from the computer where I hibernate through the darker months, letting it bring me hope and sunshine and company.<o:p></o:p>

<o:p></o:p>In fact, I’ve been reassessing the way I live with the internet. I am, as I’ve often said, a fan. It’s brought me so much that has enriched my life and I hope it will long continue to do so. I love the way it has empowered people, women, to talk about their lives, dreams, plans and to take action, supported by the kindred souls they’ve met online.<o:p></o:p>

<o:p></o:p>But I think I’ve been doing it wrong.<o:p></o:p>

<o:p></o:p>Not long ago I read The Element  (if you haven’t, do) and found that in the last 12 months I’ve rediscovered my element but not my medium. I’ve been thinking that the internet was my medium. Now? Not so much.<o:p></o:p>

<o:p></o:p>There are thousands of women out there who have found a way to come alive online and also make a living out of it. Which is awesome. Because I wanted so badly to be home with my child and my partner and my dogs and the pesky chooks and the land, and because I’ve previously made a living out of print journalism, I thought that somehow blogging could help me do it. While still providing me with an outlet for my inner voice. I thought it was my medium.<o:p></o:p>

<o:p></o:p>Somewhere I lost the balance. Instead of living my life and blogging about it for pleasure, I started to live my life around what I wanted to blog. What would fit the vibe of the blog, what would look lovely, read well, be honest and true but also fit the ‘niche’. I guess eight years in marketing can do that to a woman. Especially a woman with a need to be free from the shackles of a desk job. I was searching for my authentic voice and in doing so, lost it and without authenticity, nothing really ‘sticks’. And on the internet, time slips away in a fashion that is so seductive to an arch-procrastinator like me. Put that all together and you have me, trying and trying to find something that was maybe never there. Trying to force something that was never going to happen and having a great time doing it with lots of fatuous reasons to keep on doing exactly what I was doing – wasting time.<o:p></o:p>

<o:p></o:p>At some point last week, after spending time thinking about who I’d be without my story (haven't read it but the question is a great prompt) and about what rules I’d set on my life without even realising it, I thought, “What would I do if the internet broke? What if there was no blogging? No Twitter?” and immediately I felt something deep inside me say, “Oh thank f*** for that. Can I relax now?” swiftly followed by something on the outside of me responding with, “Wha’…wait…WTF??? I’ve been doing this for you. And now you tell me you don’t like it????”<o:p></o:p>

<o:p></o:p>It’s not that simple of course. I love blogging and will be doing it for a long time to come. I have some little bits and pieces that are perfect for selling online. Being here makes me happy. Blogging about life is brilliant to write and to read. But somewhere along the line I got so fixated on the possibility that the internet could be an escape route for me (to what? See, I didn't think it through.)  that I started to believe it was the only one. Now, as I step back into life, I’m beginning to hear the tired, lonely and frankly pissed off voice that’s been saying,”Step away from the computer some more, there’s something magical out here.”<o:p></o:p>

<o:p></o:p>As is often the way, when the student is ready, the teacher appears. I have many but there are two who seem to be in charge of this semester. First up is Clarissa Pinkola Estés and WWRWTW is the best text book ever. I’ve just finished reading the chapters about relationships and applying her wisdom not only to mine with Charlie, but also to mine with my spirit.<o:p></o:p>

<o:p></o:p>Then along came teacher #2. I wandered into a second hand shop and found, leaping out of the shelf into my hand, Oriah Mountain Dreamer’s The Invitation. I’ll confess, in the past her name has been enough to have me walk away but someone I love and trust, loves and trusts her so I brought it home.<o:p></o:p>

<o:p></o:p>I found that, of the many things it is, for me it’s a workbook for someone looking again for their path. Who thinks they may have taken a wrong turn, even if it was off the right road. It’s far more down-to-earth and real than I’d been expecting. Oriah talks about being exhausted from trying. How she longed to just stop trying to be someone (not someone else, just someone), something, somewhere. That was when I heard the echo of my spirit saying, “Can I relax now?” That was when all the thoughts I’d been having for the past few weeks revealed a pattern.<o:p></o:p>

<o:p></o:p>I’m crap at this anyway. I like to change my blog all the time. I post every day for a fortnight and then nothing for a couple of weeks. I join in with blogging groups and weekly prompts and last about 10 days. Look at all the pro-blogging tips and I do precisely none of them. I’m rubbish at marketing myself and not because I’m not authentic but because I am. Authentic me changes. Authentic me is a shapeshifter and that's wonderful unless you want to build an online persona because, er, where’s the brand consistency? Ha. See? Wrong. Bloomin’. Medium.<o:p></o:p>

So. There. This probably means very little in terms of this blog. I’ll still do random posts and photos but now I won’t beat myself up over it. I'll be here a lot and telling you everything, then I'll be away and not really saying anything at all. I’m going to stop dreaming of being in the Olympics when I’m rubbish at sports. I’m going to be kind to myself and stop worrying about whether my day is a potential blog post or if it fits in with Tambourine Tuesdays or Witty Wednesdays. I’ll be reading them of course for verily, I loveth them. I’m just going to stop trying and resume the search. Maybe backtrack a bit and see what I've dropped along the way. I am, as Lady Dolly of Parton once said, going to find out who I am and do it on purpose. Only this time I’m going to stay way more open to possibility. I’m excited.<o:p></o:p>

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<o:p>Last night I dreamt of comets.
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