My friend Debbie has a theory on this thing we call life. She reckons it happens in seven-year seasons, and that every season will eventually fade to make way for another. She tells me now that this season is almost over. That the universe is nudging us towards change: hers a gentle shift on the map, mine a beautiful, cataclysmic all-embracing upheaval.
This week Finley has been at home and my usual routine has been turned on its head. It has in fact been something of a lesson in real-life: time away from what is my greatest addiction without the usual cold turkey I am prone to suffering whenever reality insists I switch off my beloved laptop. And I felt it Readers: that switch in focus Debbie foretold only this past weekend. Not for me this time that gnawing sense that I am missing out on something on-line, but instead concentrated effort to make space in my life for the new little family we will become when Richard moves in.
So much is changing now. The next month is likely to bring huge change as Rich loses a job and starts a business, lets his house and transforms mine into a home we can all thrive in together. We will be a family. I will be a wife. No, really. ME. A wife!
Being a single parent has been a gift. Though five years ago I could not even have begun to imagine writing that sentence, I now know it to be true. Single parenthood has taught to be emotionally and financially independent. It has shown me that I can be brave, fearless, occasionally even reckless and that even in the face of adversity I will survive, still smiling, still clutching my babba, still lighting my candles and hoping for a better tomorrow. And now perhaps for always, perhaps only for a while, (never say never) single parenthood is over and though I welcome the opportunity true partnership will bring, I wouldn’t be telling the truth if I did not admit to feeling apprehensive too.
But life doesn’t stand still does it? I have said it before and I no doubt I will say it again. If there is one thing I hope I have taught you in seven years of blogging it is this: that there is no sense in fearing change, that it will happen regardless, and if it doesn’t, our most essential selves will rot. I hope you have seen me trust my instincts enough to draw back when I need to: to gather my wits again and get back on the road. I hope I have taught you to listen to what your heart tells you and keep on keeping on doing what your head tells you. I hope you know now that your authentic voice is the only one worth listening to…
Things change. People change. Our purpose in life is shaped not just by ambition, but also by circumstance and we are obliged to adapt too. To take on new roles and find a way of shaping our personal ambition to suit them. For me this means re-focusing my work on-line. You see I have been coasting for a long time. Dithering. Afraid to change the status quo. Sometimes now I suspect I am repeating myself. Forming the words you know I am going to say. Feeling constantly pressured. Muddly and fuzzy brained. Boring us all!
We have of course been here before. I am in the habit of re-arranging the furniture whenever I sense tedium setting in and I am not afraid of it: I am not afraid of saying my life is changing and this pretty parallel universe of mine must change too, if a swift decline into monotonous oblivion is to be avoided and my passion for blogging re-ignited all over again. And so I am signing off for a while. To concentrate on making space in my head for a new life. To write some stuff I am proud of. To finish a few projects that are still undone. To make MUSE as good as I know it can be. To re-design BrocanteHome and really question what it needs to become to remain a meaningful part of my new life.
To lie in the sun. Read. Enjoy my home. Choose curtains and kitchens and skirting boards. Take a holiday. Hug my little boy. Kiss my grown man. Argue about paint. Deny my love for Cath Kidston is getting out of hand. Live. Write. Yes most of all write.
I will still be available on Twitter. Posting Instagram photo’s from my day there and sharing all the usual nonsense. The BrocanteHome newsletter and my darling MUSE will continue to arrive in your in-boxes, my lovely little SHOP will still be open and this I promise you, my dear precious Housekeepers, the moment Richard delivers his much talked about proposal, you will, I promise be the first to know.
I love you all. I hope you understand.x