Day 125: Guy Fawkes Night

Day 125: Guy Fawkes Night

This is a first draft. It isn’t edited. It was (mostly) conceived at 3.13am. I suppose quite a few things are conceived at this early hour in the morning. Maybe it is the quietness of 3am that invites in our new creations.

Just before I sat down to write this, I made myself a cup of tea. I looked in the cupboard. What was once an alien space, unfamiliar in its size, in its colour and texture, its height, is now regarded as plainly as glancing at my own hand. I can absentmindedly burrow through its contents and place my hands on my English Breakfast tea without a second thought. When did this place go from being so abruptly alien to now a space that is an extension of myself? In this moment, I am so incredibly grateful.

My week has been a rollercoaster of emotions. From learning to grieve for long lost friends, to the stress of exams you haven’t quite prepared for. Or rather, damn it, the feeling of not quite knowing if you were there for the course at all.

Yesterday, my head wouldn’t stop telling me that I was incapable. That I was a failure. It was buzzing and electricity. It was so fucking hyperactive, so up. It wouldn’t slow down. It couldn’t. And in those moments, the front of a bus didn’t seem like such a bad place. Almost enticing.

I am so grateful. That instead of contemplating my own demise, in the place that only three months ago was a sea of new and unexpected faces, I could reach out. And trust that someone would catch me. Instead of ruminating on my own anxiety, I spent it collecting items to make a strawman. Instead of catching myself reminding me that I was a failure, I was smothered in hugs. Instead of self-loathing exasperated sighs, I was met with sympathetic ears, and attentive eyes.

I live in my head quite often. Usually it is like an artist’s studio, organised chaos. The kind that is beautiful to admire, without ever knowing what the finished work will ever look like. Sometimes I get too obsessive about where my paints go, that I didn’t start early enough in the day, or that this piece is not reflective enough of me. I get so caught up worrying about what leaves the studio that I forget the process of creation, the process of being. The joy of so many opportunistic moments of colour and light.

I went out tonight and burned Guy Fawkes. I drank (a little) and danced (awkwardly) to old music hits. I am not pretending that it will always be enough for some arguing within their own bubble. For me though it reminded me of how important it is to just be in the moment of creation. That is what I want to run towards, that moment of being without the constant talking in my head, wondering if it is the right thing to do.

I don’t think it is the same as ‘living each day like it’s your last’, or even ‘living for this moment’. I think that is irresponsible. I want to be conscious of how my actions today may affect my decisions tomorrow. I want to have enough self-belief that I trust that my actions now, will be the correct decision for tomorrow. It doesn’t always have to be a *good* decision, but a decision that embodies who I am.

I smell like campfire.  It is the most comforting smell. It smells like moments of connection. With friends, and strangers, and new ideas.

I am so grateful for this moment.

On the road again

Day 119: Sunset

Day 119: Sunset