I had hoped this would feel just as exciting as it did when I first started blogging, when I wrote about everything and I had the best time. And maybe that's partly because I was the only one reading. And now there's you. And I'm so pleased that you're here, I really am. But sometimes I feel a little bit of pressure. Pressure to be fresh. Pressure to compete. And that's not your fault, it's totally mine. I lost myself a little over the past little while.
Being fresh and at the top of the game has never been my intention, so I'm not quite sure what happened to make me think that I needed to try and be something that I'm not. I fell into writing posts in similar ways to some of my favourite bloggers. And my version of their style obviously is nowhere near as good, because they are consistently being true to themselves and I was veering completely off course. They write for them and somewhere along the line I forgot to write for me.
So I paused. Took a step back. And hit refresh on almost everything.
The word change used to send shivers down my spine. I liked routine and sticking to the plan. But as of right now, change is nothing but fascinating to me. I'm turning twenty five quite soon and I think this has something to do with how I'm feeling and my need for change. It's not a bad feeling at all. It's actually an amazingly liberating and beautiful feeling.
But don't get me wrong, the past couple of weeks certainly haven't been smooth sailing. There have been many moments of panic. There have been ideas scribbled down on pieces of paper at 3am only to be screwed up into a ball and thrown across the room seconds later. I've stayed up all night to see the sun rise on a new day, hoping that one would be better than the one before. There have been many midnight conversations with my mama. True heart to hearts about life and hopes and dreams, about change and sameness and emptiness. How to know when things are right, when things are wrong and when to dream. There have been days full of immersing myself in my favourite books to completely block out all thoughts of my own reality; Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (for Remus and Sirius) and Nausea (oddly comforting). There have been tears, lots of tears. And there's been hope. There's always hope.
I looked back over some old posts and I'm so proud of nineteen year old me. I want to hold on to the best parts of her and take them forwards from here. Because she's still here, she's just a little less naive and a little braver. "Oh, you've changed!". And yes, that's true. Being nineteen is infinitely different to being almost twenty five. There may only be a few years in between, but it turns out that a whole lot of change happens even if you don't really expect it to.
So there might be a few different things happening from here on in. Nothing too different, I don't think. But I'm not exactly sure where this path is going to take me. On a whim last week, armed with a twenty pound note in my pocket I went out and got a few new things for my office. I needed things to be different, to feel different. There have been a couple of changes here too, just a little bit of spring cleaning. I've metaphorically taken everything off the shelf to clean it, rather than dusting around things like I usually do.
Thank you. For being you. For always being here, even through these unexpected moments of change. I appreciate it more than I could ever successfully put into words. But I hope you know what I mean. And even if you read this and think 'well, that sounds silly', please remember one thing. There's always hope. There will come a time when hope is one of the only things there to cling on to. Sometimes it can hide, but don't ever forget that it's there.
Take care, and I'll hopefully see you tomorrow!