Overwhelmed. Overwhelmed that I am here. Writing, self meditating, filling a void that has only been creeping up on the thoughts I assumed were long gone. It’s the good kind of overwhelmed. Quietly overwhelmed. And this is okay. It’s not dramatic and it’s not quite heart wrenching. I can still breathe.
I’m overwhelmed that the people around me are inexplicably tolerant and loving of my flaws and needs, though different to their's they remain justified - simply because I feel them.
And when your dearest friend sits across from you in a small coffee shop and tells you how envious she is of the life you lead, driving, photographing views she only sees from her window, believe her. She’s exploring too, seeing different things and learning. And she is happy. And she lives surrounded by light and love, and she knows it. Yet part of her still longs for what you have, she still believes it to be tangible.
There is a lesson in this. Be open to it.
Perhaps everything that has just happened is an invitation to a new adventure.
All adventure requires is curiosity. And curiosity, I have in abundance.
It's Sunday. And I'm still here. Beat and a little bruised, but nonetheless I am here.
Long drives with blissful, high views kept me sane and grounded. The kind of seats that give you nosebleeds. I was wrapped in a duvet of thick sky and icy wind, with nothing but my camera to capture it all.
Sometimes I think of how I’ll describe these moments in my life, when I am fortunate enough to look back.
"It was beautiful."
"You'd have loved it."
"Oh I wish I could have stayed a little longer."
"I was happy in that moment because you were too."
I suppose what gets me most is falling exhausted in to bed dreaming dreams not so different to the days I'm living.
You have a warm feel about you. Summer's said its final goodbyes and the orange glow that lit the sky for so long now litters the ground.
I've missed you, October. The way you allow the darkness to fall a little earlier in the evening. How you grant me the much missed permission to wrap up in big jumpers. How the fog that graces most mornings is nothing but tranquil and the little bit of haze I need to feel grounded.
Change is coming. Change is always coming. I want change. In fact, the more I want it, the more elusive it becomes. We'll synchronise in the right places and battle in the wrong, but it'll work it. And the process, though occasionally brutal, is mostly thrilling.
Three months until the year is up. Three months to kick ass. Three months to go out in a blaze.