Well now lovely readers, I want to welcome you to the New Year here on Brocantehome. I know what you are going to say. I know you are going to try to convince me that it is April and not January at all, but frankly I have had the year from seven kinds of nightmares so far, and so in a fit of pique this morning I have decided to call today the first day of the rest of my life. Are you scared yet?

So yes. Happy New Brocante year Sweetie! I have spent the week so far sitting in the midst of calendar, planners, vision boards, magazines and the kind of self-help books that do not so much gently persuade you to sort your life out, but rather insist that you pop a rocket up your bottom before apathy and disillusion send you halfway to hell in a handcart…

(If you are interested  The Desire Map is rather wonderful for re-awakening a shaken spirit)

I have sat on my bed for three days nibbling at a rather crazy culinary combination of pot noodles and rose and violet chocolate (get thee to a Marks and Spencer food store as fast as you can – they have new BARS of dark chocolate flavoured with such!) for I am a woman of much contradiction and while I munched I thought, and dreamt, and worried, and hoped and tore my hair out and threaded it back in again and generally worked myself in to a rather giddy frenzy of possibility and wonderful ideas. And then I took myself around to my Dads and told him that I didn’t quite know what to do with myself or how to pick up BrocanteHome after the trauma of the past few months and he said, stop thinking about it and bloody well get on with it! Rude, mais non?

Mais oui! Rude and sensible. But it doesn’t account for the intense amount of shame I seem to have accumulated in the past twelve months: as I watched life fall apart and could not fathom how to pick it up. So I told him this and he said it is just mighty fine to tell the truth. To say that through no fault of my own, life was made incredibly difficult. And authentic writing impossible. That most of the work I did last year is trapped on Richard’s computer and I will never again have access to it and so must start from here, re-creating those same words, and giving it everything I have got…

Shame is a new feeling for me. I don’t understand it yet. But I am reading Brene Brown and finding sense in quotes like this one…

Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy—the experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.

And though I am not quite ready to own my story yet, nor am I willing to spend the rest of my life running from it. I love BrocanteHome. I belong here. And after all these years it still gives me oodles and oodles of joy because being able to cobble together a living from something I stay passionate about is a gift I remain grateful for.

So today then is the beginning of the rest of my life. A whole new year on BrocanteHome! Later I will have news of both a new School of Life course, a new download and a new membership group (all now available again after I have muddled my way through the #euvat drama) and I truly hope you still have enough faith in me to join me as we continue on our path to creating a life less ordinary….