Quiet thoughts

Yesterday, as I worked, I thought about whether I would move back to London again. For months this has been the expectation, that eventually I will remake my home in the city and pick up where I left off. But I’m starting to see that that might not be me anymore. Living in the capital had always lent me a certain confidence, an identity, but that no longer fits. Now I live by the sea, and having dealt with the fact that it’s my hometown, which to begin with felt shameful, as if I had returned with my tail between my legs, a failure of some sort, I am finding a new appreciation of space. The sea and the surrounding countryside speak to me. I went to the beach this morning; the sky had clouded over after days of non-stop sunshine and less people were around, and I sat quietly, drinking a frothy cappuccino and watching the horizon, everything so very blue. Maybe it was the tide that called me back home last year – perhaps growing up beside the sea means you will always be drawn back, the tumultuous energy caught in your soul. I don’t know if this is where I will stay, but London no longer holds such an appeal for me – this is a new feeling.

I think there are cracks forming in the armour I wear, fissures that are letting the light in. My first instinct is to get out the soldering iron and draw down the portcullis. This whole ‘feeling more alive’ gig is, frankly, terrifying. If I open a door in my heart it will all come unraveling out, like a parachute, and no matter how much I try I won’t be able to fold it back in again. I think I was more comfortable being Miss Haversham… I will wait to see what the wind brings me, painfully aware of the fact that the roar of my heart could overwhelm whatever comes.