Postcards from Bath
Just to let you know, I’m sharing some of my favourite shots of Bath over on sfgirlbybay this week!
Life is letting go
It’s letting go of expectation.
Letting go of fear.
Letting go of doubt.
Letting go of the hurts.
Letting go of the disappointments.
Letting go of the needs.
Letting go of the stories.
Letting go of the untruths.
Letting go of that time you did that thing you shouldn’t have done.
Letting go of feeling foolish, knowing you were just young. Unformed. Learning. Trying.
Letting go of the need to be perfect. Correct. Proper.
Letting go of what’s expected of you, even if they’re your own expectations. Especially then.
Letting go of the voice in your head that tells you you are shit.
Letting go of the hatred of your skin. It’s just flesh. Just bones. Just your transportation on earth.
Letting go of the need to control what happens.
Letting go of feeling bad because you’re not letting go enough.
I’m starting to get it now. I really am.
Twelve minutes 53 seconds of me talking
[See that post title up there? That is what we call a literal headline - when you really can't think of anything witty or clever, go with the literal. *ahem* ]
Bindu’s 21.5.800 writing & yoga project has been extended for another 10 days, so I thought I’d post the video I shared over on her blog last week, in case you were needing a bit more inspiration for your 800 words (full disclosure: i’m not doing the yoga, as it turns out. I know. I am bad. But I am writing!) A vibrant community of 525 people has been created and as you’d expect there are SO many wonderful blogs to explore and new friends to make; even if now’s not the right time for a writing practice it’s definitely worth scoping out the links.
Okay. Back to my notebooks…
The random contents of my mental room
* All this talk/think/blog about London is making me daydream about the other places I’d like to live. Like San Francisco. Specifically, in the house above.
* I’ve been meaning to mention to you guys that I’m doing something new with the comments; nothing flash, of course, just replying to questions within the comment thread itself.
* I’m really enjoying posting my iPhone pics over here; it’s a loose daily photo practice I don’t have to think too carefully about, and that feels so creatively refreshing.
* I’ve been stalking the Londonist blog to see what’s happening in the city; I can already tell that there’s going to be so much I want to see & do I’m going to have to pace myself! First stop: Columbia Road Flower Market. and this shop. and this shop especially.
* If Wobble was a girl I’d buy him this dress.
* The new course, Living in My World, has been going great guns and I’m constantly blown away by the tenderness the Unravellers show each other there. In Unravelling #1 they’ve just started sharing a few videos too and, honestly, to be involved in all this bravery and healing goodness is so humbling and exciting and AWESOME. i really really REALLY love my job!
* While on the phone to my sister today Wobble was making lots of really cute noises. He’s gonna be an early talker, i betcha.
Happy weekend, friends! x
The Art of Manifestation
‘There is an Indian proverb or axiom that says that everyone is a house with four rooms, a physical, a mental, an emotional and a spiritual. Most of us tend to live in one room most of the time, but unless we go into every room every day, even if only to keep it aired, we are not a complete person.’ ~ Rumer Godden
I love this quote. I happened across it yesterday and immediately bought Godden’s book, A House with Four Rooms, to see what other jewels she shares with her readers. At the moment I’m existing solely in my mental room (ha!) as my head’s consumed with The Move to a house of the more traditional kind. Today I gave notice to my landlord that I will be leaving, and got my first removals quote; next week I’ll get two more, have a few days away before I begin my search for a new flat the following week. Because I work from home it’s essential I find the right place, and because I’ll be staying there at least a year, well, it’s just got to be right. The longer I’ve lived on my own the more of a homebird I’ve become; it’s such a wonderful feeling to able to shut my front door, put on some comfy pants and do what the hell I like in my own space :)
So, I have a few days to go until the search begins; I’m hoping it will be like it was the last time – the third flat we viewed on the very first day in Bath. I know exactly what I want, and as before (because it was so freakily effective) I’ve been making a mini vision board in my journal to outline my wish list; this move is so important to me, I thought I’d boost the manifestation of this new home by sharing what I want here too – I mean, if it’s blogged and out in the world, the moving fairies can’t get it wrong, surely? So, putting it into the present tense for added wings, here’s what I wish for:
I live in a one-bed flat in a safe and quiet street in Chiswick, west London. The flat is spacious and full of light, with gas central heating, neutral flooring and plenty of storage space. Built-in bookshelves house my many books, and a fabulous mantlepiece in the living room displays my treasured photographs. The flat is a modern conversion in a building with character, and every room has natural light pouring into it, including the bathroom! The gym is within walking distance. I am deliriously happy living here.
This, or something even better, manifests for me now.
I will report back when I have found my new home, and we can see if this manifestation experiment has worked – watch this space!
[Images 1, 3 and 6 of Liza Giles home in Elle Decoration (via here); images 2 and 7 of Nicolette Camille's home via Design*Sponge; image 4 by Amanda Johnson; image 5's origin sadly unknown - apologies to the photographer!]
Monday’s inspiration mojo
Hey hey hey! I’m over on Bindu’s blog today – on video, no less! – talking about creativity, discipline and how I keep up with my ideas… Have you been writing your 800 words each day? :)
The F word
I just read a friend’s very sweet blog post written to her father and it made me smile a wistful smile. I do not know what it is like to have a father in my life because mine left when I was just eleven years old. I’ve seen him four or five times in the intervening 26 years, but that’s it. I do not know him. He emigrated to the other side of the world.
As I sit here trying to write this post I feel so many emotions bubbling in my chest and I have to wonder if i will ever feel okay with what happened. The 11-year-old was bewildered; the teenager was angry; the twenty-something was needy and clung to a relationship, the thirty-something was blindsided by bereavement, hurts from the past following in its wake. But here i am, three years from forty, and i still don’t feel i have healed this hurt; I am still angry about it, more on behalf of the 11-year-old me than me now – me now can look after herself. Me now is an independent woman who feels more fully herself with every day that passes. But there is a little girl inside of me who hurts and i don’t always know how to help her. She will never understand why she was left; she will never understand why he didn’t want to be in her life. As an adult I understand how flawed and fallible we all are, and how becoming a parent doesn’t make you an invincible being who does everything perfectly. I see how the screw-ups of past generations are passed down to each of us, and how we do the best we can with the tools we have; I see how not everybody is cut out for parenthood. But as I near the age he was when he left, i have to wonder how he was able to turn his back on his daughters so easily, choosing to leave the country with another woman.
I guess I will never know the full story, and really it doesn’t matter any more. I worked through a lot of questions with my therapist, but even though i moved through my grief i never fully healed the hurt from so long ago, and i wonder now if i ever will. I do not forgive him. I am still angry in so many ways, more so now when i think about how he missed out on getting to know my sister, and now my nephew. But it is his loss, and the person needing attention from me now is a little blonde girl who’s awkward and unsure of herself; who’s wary of men and yet as the years pass she’ll long for love, long to be ‘looked after’, to be protected. This will never truly manifest, and she’ll discover that the safety she looks for she will eventually create herself. To this day she will not trust the idea of ‘father’ and will not understand the bond a father can have with his daughter. There is a part of my heart that has hardened – I hadn’t realised until this very moment, typing these words.
I don’t wish for a relationship with my actual father, or have any desire to get to know him. I needed a father back then when i was trying to find my place in the world. Now I just wish to find peace in my heart.
Some day.
The Weekly Wobble
This was the very first time his little soles had touched grass. How amazing is that?
Old London town
So the plan is to move back to London at the end of July. It’s a plan that’s been percolating since the end of last year, when I realised that as much as I wanted to try a few months in San Francisco (this dream remains on the back burner) I needed to start closer to home, and for me that meant London. Dirty grimy noisy beautiful London.
This is the final part of the healing cycle, and hoo boy, do I know it. While I feel confident this is exactly the right move for me to make, there is some fear anticipation floating up from inside my heart. I’ve been having dreams about you know who that leave me upside down in the morning, proving that while i may be calm during the day, there is definitely some stuff happening behind the scenes.
I left London due to the worst reason possible – the loss of a loved one. I’ve chronicled my loss over and over on this blog, and now here i am, five years and three months later, finally ready to go back to the city I love. There was a point back in 2007 when i thought i was ready, but I wasn’t. Then in 2008 I came here to Bath, and kick-started a whirlwind of work and path-finding that i hadn’t expected and am so grateful for words just don’t do it justice. I found ME, and I picked up a thread that is now leading me into the future. The move to Bath was a massive leap of faith, but something inside me knew it was the right thing to do, even though I knew no one here and had never moved to a city on my own before. And I have the same feeling now about my move back to London.
It feels right.
I have no idea what will unfold once I get there (though the rest of this year is scheduled down to the last hour, work-wise) but my gut tells me it will be okay. And that is all i have, really – my intuition. And a big ole handful of faith.
