Caught up with another Suffolk pal today who was, up until a couple years ago, a Lewisham ‘neighbour’ of ours. We went inland to meet her and her husband in their new home. We were the first visitors it seemed. Much catching up on their considerably eventful year. Lots of moments demanded furrowed brows. Some struggles. Quite a lot of stoicism. Felt unexpectedly proud of them. We don’t see them often but it’s always fantastic when we do meet up.
I was excited about the way their working lives have changed. Gone is the salaried position; in its place a myriad of exciting opportunities. There’s something incredibly seductive about what they’ve achieved. I can feel myself calculating what opportunities we might be able to create for ourselves. Christmas holidays are they worst time for falling for such temptations.
Some compliments received for my writing. Came as a surprise and was very much appreciated. A nod too for the ongoing commitment to blogging. How did I keep it up? “It’s an addiction.”
The exchange did get me thinking later on about why I always feel like it’s a sign of failure. It’s not being published, it’s self-publishing. It’s not being commissioned or produced, it’s commissioning and producing oneself. It’s interesting how there’s a yearning for it to be different, as if I’m stuck doing this because it’s easy and that the next step is being commissioned and published by someone else. At that point I’d have achieved. Until then, I’m just biding time. Need to work on that. Look for some opportunities in the new year.
The lower back pain I woke up with this morning has now gone. Relieved. This morning I was finding it difficult to get a deep breath. A quick trot around the town and along the seafront put a smile on my face and got a bit of movement in my back. The iPad takes brilliant pictures in bright sunlight.
Back to the cottage early evening to hoover up the last night of the lasagne and mulled wine.