Month: December 2015

Ah, Christmas.

That often queasy alignment of hope, expectation, fear and loathing. I hope yours has been good.

As I write this, eating champagne truffles and drinking tea, I can reflect on a day that has been successful. A good gift exchange where everyone got something they wanted, even me. No real disappointments. Sometimes you have to settle for small mercies. Compared to previous extended family, show-stopping, all-stops-pulled-out-and-no-quarter-given Christmas days, this one has been quiet. Just the nuclear family, and that’s fine. We’ve listened to music, eaten a lot but not too much, and spent the day together in the sitting room. That in itself means a lot, when normally we are scattered in separate rooms or insulated by headphones.

We are together, however briefly.

I have learnt to let go of outcome and forgive imperfection in myself and others, at least sometimes. I may not have the perfect Christmas any more, but in its place, something more. Relaxation and gratitude for what is, while letting go of what is not, is a more certain recipe for contentment. And that is no small prize in a frazzled life.

The photograph above was taken on a week’s holiday in Mallorca. A very un-hip island for many, but we loved its northeast corner, Puerto Pollensa. It boasts a small marina and a beautiful sweeping bay that never feels crowded, and really is as beautiful as many a more exotic locale. Cala san Vicente is a quiet corner, and just what I needed then.

Work was crazy and it was great to get away. The reward for dragging suitcases down 128 steps was this view. I’ll relax now, I said. The whole of the first night, I didn’t sleep at all. A migraine pounded and battered my head, like the sea raging in a storm. Pain crashed in waves against my skull with every heartbeat. I’d never had one before or since. It was my body’s manifestation of stress, rage, words bitten back, unspoken frustrations. It left me weak and shaky.

I longed to escape. But I did not. I took it all with me. It was a ticking bomb that exploded the minute I tried to relax.

And I find myself wanting to escape again.

After NaNo, I want to rest, and escape into a good book. I adore fiction, and I’m picky…it is harder to read for pleasure now, with a critical writer’s eye. I am better at self-care and I know that creating is as essential as breathing for me. Just now though, I want a rest from making; to delve into someone else’s world and close a book with a smile. I want to read past midnight in the face of all reason, because what happened next? I want to be entertained and transported, to be slipped a truth disguised as a lie. I want to forget these dull work days and to see through different eyes.

I cannot physically travel, nor put down my responsibilities at this time. That’s why the right book is absolutely what I need. Finding it is a challenge worth spending time on, because life is too short for bad books (that is, the wrong books). I may even revisit an old favourite pastime, wandering round a bookshop sampling new authors and new stories. New escapes from the same old stresses. And, new ideas for my own works.

I will come back to creating, refreshed.