Following my heart

One of the gifts of the book tour was getting to spend time with some of my dearest friends and deepen my connections to pals I’ve made online. We talked about life and work, mused on our plans and dreams, and made space for plenty of laughter and gossip, too. Nothing unusual about any of that, for sure, but what was most interesting — and useful — to me was how often the topic of dating came up. In my “real life” at home I have no single friends — everyone I love and trust is coupled up with a significant other. Literally, everyone. So to be able to talk with single women about the twisted path we have to traverse to find love was so… fantastic. Liberating. Galvanising. Life-changing.

These women were aged from 29 to 49, so I’m not just talking about chicks my age. I got to hear about so many different experiences and peek in on so many different viewpoints. Earlier this year I dipped my toe in the online dating pool and found the water far too chilly for my nervous feet. But here were these amazing women boldly swimming in the water, surfing the highs and holding their breath for the inevitable lows. With every conversation I felt more excited to don my water wings and get back out there. Because it wasn’t just me who struggles with all this. They all do. And they are still trying, and hoping, and keeping their hearts open to the possiblity that someday somebody wonderful will walk into their lives and make the twisted path make sense.

Three and a half weeks away from home was enough time to cut the ties to this town. Living out of a small suitcase reminded me that home is not the place I live — it’s a feeling I carry inside me. Soaking in the energy of every city I visited made me more and more excited to take the leap to the place that has been calling my heart home: London.

So I am back in Bath, but it’s not for much longer. I’m currently down-sizing my possesions, letting go of anything I no longer need. My book collection has been reduced by three-quarters; 80% of my cameras will soon be listed on eBay. I’ve given away furniture and clothes. I’m working my way through every cupboard and shelf, editing my possesions down to the things that i absolutely love, absolutely need or absolutely can’t get rid of just yet. My college dissertation? Gone. The knitted cat my mum made while pregnant with me? She stays :)

This is the third time I have declared I’m moving to London on this blog. This is the first time I have been truly — TRULY — ready. To me, London means expansion. It means stepping into the life I want, the bigger, braver, bolder life I am ready to inhabit. And, frankly, it means being in a place where there are more boys to meet. Because, hey, that’s important too. Bath has been beautiful to me and I will always come back to see the magnolia trees bloom in the spring. But it’s time to move into the next chapter and there’s much to do in preparation. As I’ll be out of the country for much of October I have set my moving date to the first week of November.

It is done.

And, honestly, I couldn’t be more thrilled. Or more ready.

This I know for sure

About the book, taken from the introduction:

This is a book about unraveling the layers of our lives and exploring what we find in order to better understand ourselves, our relationships, and our path. Sometimes it seems easier to go through life holding everything in, wrapped up, breath held, eyes forward, but life will always rub up against us—that’s how the pearls are formed. So unraveling is not a bad thing in this context. It’s not coming undone or losing control. It’s letting go in the best possible way, untangling the knots that hold you back, unwrapping the gifts you’ve hidden for too long, unearthing the potential that’s always been there, finally ditching the labels and should-haves, and letting yourself be what you were always meant to be. That’s what I did and what I continue to do to this day. Living mindfully, appreciating what I have, learning to let go of what I no longer need, and practicing kindness as often as I can—especially toward myself. Every layer I unraveled during my recovery taught me something new, and this book explores each layer in turn: how grief reshaped my life, how I found new meaning in the world around me, how I reconnected to my creativity, how I began to understand my past, and how I faced down my own reflection to try to accept the body I live in. Unraveling also helped me learn to appreciate my own company and nurture my important relationships. It is how I found my place in the world and the work I feel compelled to share.

So this is a guidebook of sorts, a collection of my thoughts and theories, illustrated with my beloved Polaroids. At the end of each chapter is a Reflection—a small creative exercise to help you think about the ideas and stories presented in the book. I hope these pages let you see that you are not alone, that your struggles are my struggles too. I don’t have the answers—I’m not sure if anyone really has the answers—but I do have a hell of a lot of questions and perhaps you do too. Some days I wake up and realize that I know absolutely nothing and that my birth certificate must be wrong because I am, in fact, still a child. But I know more than I did at twenty-one and I know more than I did last year. By the time these words are published I will know even more still; but for now, I’m going to record what I know today. As life is one long tangle of todays, this plan should work just fine. I don’t worry too much about tomorrow anymore. All we have is today.

This I know for sure.

______

Today sees the start of my small-but-perfectly-formed book blog tour!

Monday 4th — Poppytalk

Tuesday 5th — Ali Edwards, Chookooloonks, Rachel Cole, Tara Mohr

Wednesday 6th — Shutter Sisters, Scoutie Girl, Roots of She, Kelly Rae Roberts

Thursday 7th — Intuitive Bridge, Lisa Sonora Beam

Friday 8th — Kind Over Matter

Friday 15th — Boho Girl, Sfgirlbybay, Brene Brown

So we don’t pass them on

Thank god for friends who listen and support. Thank god for kind souls who read my words and leave comments for me to find. And thank god for six-year-olds who see i’m sad and make a book to cheer me up.

I’m having a strange experience of my book today, not wanting to pick it up because I feel so far from the woman who wrote it last year, yet opening a page and finding a passage that resonates so loudly today it’s like a bell sounding in my head:

“I believe that by being the best and most healed version of ourselves we can truly make a difference in the world. I’m not an activist or politician, and I’m not able to have any direct impact on the areas of the world where help is needed. But what I can do is make a difference in the small pocket of the world I call home. I can live with integrity and be honest about my feelings, even when they hurt. I can put my whole heart into my work and pay forward the generosity that was shown to me when my world fell apart. I can look after myself, knowing that by healing my own hurts I won’t be passing them on to anyone else. In a society like ours, filled with so many emotionally wounded people acting out their pain, this is possibly the most important work we could ever do—heal our hurts so we don’t pass them on.”

from This I Know, page 271.

The truth

There are moments when being on your own is excruciating.

I have been on my own for seven years. The first half of that I couldn’t contemplate being with another man — how could I, when my whole heart and head was still attached to another? Bereavement is a difficult beast, a space where you experience the past as if it were the present, when every memory is relived — every conversation, every argument, every moment, is examined as if it were happening now. I grieved for years. I relived every moment of our relationship. I relived the flaws and the magic; I felt ALL OF IT. And then I moved through it. I found work that meant something to me; I found a way to live through the pain — to accept it — to process my loss and find a place for it. I found my way to the other shore.

I survived.

And here I am, on that other shore, filled with hope and expectation and the small tentative belief that if I just let myself be seen, if I let another SEE ME, I will find love again. And it scares the shit out of me. Even now I find it so hard to believe that all I have to offer — all that I am — will be accepted by another man. That I can be loved. That I am loveable. That I am worthy of love.

And so I took a chance. I took that first wobbly step out into the world. I knew it had been too long — I knew I was still bruised, still so full of doubts. But I did it — I reached out. I took the training wheels off and rode out into the world of dating. And then, when I least expected, I was shot down. And it’s so curious to be sitting here now, with the heavy weight of disappointment pressing me to the floor. Because it’s not just me. There’s another person who’s dealing with their own shit, their own confusion, their own fucked up head. And I can’t help them—i am not the person they need. And that’s a hard one to sit with, because I’m so used to being the healer, the one who makes sense of it all. But when they look you in the eye and tell you they can’t do it, all you can do is smile, and nod, and say yes, you understand. Because in some strange, unexpected way, I do understand. I get it. But it doesn’t stop the disappointment.

I know this is just another chapter in the book of my life. I know this is just the beginning of the future path I have stepped onto.

But, fucking hell, it hurts.

This is my truth tonight.