Image courtesy of @MichaelSchultzPhotography
I don’t hold much truck with wishing life away, however I am embracing this new year with hope and a big sticky dollop of gratitude that 2017 is no more.
Frankly, it couldn’t have ended fast enough.
For my little family, it was a massive year of adjusting and of sustained emotional exhaustion. Oh yes, there has been the good stuff, too. Juicy, joy-filled stuff. We have rekindled old friendships, have made wonderful new friends and have the living, breathing blessing of our community by the sea. We have soaked up time, sad and happy, with our New Zealand family – including Christmas spent snuggling this gorgeous babe pictured. We, along with our hundred friends voted in a gorgeous Prime Minister who cares about social justice and equality in all its forms. And even though we don’t have it written anywhere in our house: We laugh! We love! We live!
But emotionally and creatively, moving our whole life down under has been full on.
To an outsider’s eye, our home is a nest that appears we’ve been living here for decades and have missed several crucial spring clear outs. We have objects and books and junk and art on shelves, on walls, collected from either side of the planet and places in between, found on adventures, gifted from friends and family. Many things are made from our own hands. Everything has its place, and there isn’t a box left to unpack in the whole house. Actually, there is a box in the shed that has random teaching resources that I am willing to bet hubby will never, ever look at ever again, but that doesn’t fit where this little rant is going. So pretend I didn’t mention it.
As far as I’m concerned, there are no physical boxes left to unpack.
The tricky cartons we are yet to get to are inside of us. That is where the headspace is hiding that will help me write consistently, the great rush of satisfaction of taking something that is pinging, without form in my head, and expressing it in words. It is where that extra magic time for busy hubby will be hiding, that will see him get lost in drawing in his studio. It is where I’ll find the resilience I need to keep chipping away at a project in between all the noisy life that takes up most of the day. The self-belief and the faith.
All these boxes, their contents roughly scrawled on the outside with a permanent marker long ago left in England are right at the top of the to list for this year. The tape is worn and ready to rip off with one little flick with a fingernail. I know, because that loose tape is really irritating my insides. It is scratchy and ticklish and tells me those boxes are waiting for my attention on a daily basis.
Bring on the unpacking, 2018. And you reading, have any boxes hiding? Go on, get them out with me.
Linda writes contemporary fiction for both adults and children.