Tag: confidence

Fuck it attitude

For the past six months I have been busy. Busy with travel. Busy with friends and family. And then, busy personally. In my head I have been coming to terms with living in a bigger body. This has made my mind busy. 

I have always been big. I am an emotional eater. I eat when I’m happy. I eat when I’m sad. And I have PCOS which means regardless of what I eat and how much there is I will put on weight. it is also extremely difficult to lose weight. Way to mess with one’s mind eh?

Sugar. 

Fibre. 

Carbs.

It doesn’t matter.

Growing up in a bigger body meant I continually struggled with clothing and fitting (get it) in with the latest trends. But even then, I didn’t particularly like the trends of my childhood. The Schott jackets and short black skirts at school were just not my thing. I know now that if I had worn those items of clothing it would have been to fit in with everyone else and be worthy of those clothes because I fit in them. If I could have shrunk myself down maybe I would have felt normal. But then… If I didn’t want to wear the clothes others wore, would I have been their type of normal?

As my twenties turned into my thirties, I found that I drowned myself in big jumpers and jeans, which was a big step up from my dress and legging situation of a decade ago. Of course with the obligatory safety cardigan. That is until I started listening to a certain podcast, which I have mentioned before.

The aim of the podcast is to help everybody love themselves in the here and now without feeling the need to change something about themselves. Hence the name, ‘Go Love Yourself’. One early October Sunday morning saw Mr W and I wandering into our fast-becoming favourite haunt in Greenwich for breakfast and Mr W remarked on my strut into the dining area. I laughed nervously not knowing what he meant. Was I strutting? As we sat eating breakfast and sipping our caffeine hit, we talked about why I felt so comfortable. The fact of the matter was, I walked into a place I genuinely loved being, with the person who makes me walk tall and wearing my beloved black trench coat. Under said coat was a pair of khaki dungarees. It was a huge deal to be out in public in a pair of loose fitting trousers without a care in the world. Girls like me aren’t seen in dungarees. And yet there I was. The coat itself makes me feel good because it’s stylish without the price tag. I’ve had it for donkey’s years. It was then that the penny started to drop.  

Therefore in October, with holes in many of my clothes including my trusty stretchy jeans, Mr W said enough was enough and unleashed me online to buy clothes I actually liked the look of. My aim has always been to fit into clothes and not once have I stopped and wondered whether I have liked anything that I wear. In fact I have on occasion bought the same ugly top in every single colour it comes in for the pure reason of it fitting my body. Ironically I never asked myself whether the selling point of these items was the fact I liked the way it looked. I’ve never asked myself that question. The exception being my wedding dress. 

A big box of clothing turned up 4 weeks ago with various casual dresses, trousers and a rather cool hat. Mr W eagerly anticipated my transformation as I tried on each new item with disdain on my face. What on earth had I done?

This wasn’t me. Dark green waffle knit dresses. Carrot leg grey trousers. And the hat. Why the hat? I didn’t recognise this person. 

Fast forward to the 31st October when I mustered up the attitude to wear an outfit from my new capsule wardrobe for a day in London. We had a fancy meal booked using a voucher from my birthday in March, an exhibition booked at the Tate Modern and a talk at Cadogan Hall by Levison Wood, tickets I had gotten for Mr W for his birthday. It was a far cry from our usual days out in our capital city. 

I wore a burgundy dress with black tights, my new fedora hat, the trusty coat and some suede ankle boots. Team that with one of my favourite bags and I didn’t feel too bad. The hat was quite a statement piece in my eyes and I could feel the nerves of people looking at me creep in as we jumped on the underground into Liverpool Street. 

Training my eyes to watch the pavement as I walk has been a lifelong trait of mine and it’s normally to watch out for my clumsy feet. Only occasionally is it to avoid peoples glances at me. I would always wonder what they were thinking when they looked at me. Why are their eyes gazing at my neck, is it the double chin? They’re looking at my stomach, it’s too big isn’t it? You can imagine the pains I rotate through my head. 

And then, the second penny dropped. Regardless of what I wear, my chin and stomach will still be there. Why should I wear items of clothing that make me feel hidden away? When I can wear things that give me a bounce in my step because I actually like them.

Upon arrival at the restaurant, I was complimented on said hat. Smiling nervously I said thank you. Surely, he was just being nice. And yet several times throughout the day and days since I have received similar compliments. This is beyond strange to me. 

That evening, we listened to Levison Wood talk to us and the other audience members about his travel ethos. I was totally entranced and equally as shocked when my right arm extended upwards to be picked during the question and answer portion of the night. Someone else was picked and my arm was withdrawn rapidly in embarrassment. What was I thinking? How could I talk out loud in front of 900 people? They would all look at me. It had taken me the hour since the announcement had been made that there would be a Q&A to formulate a question and gather the guts to lift my limb, let alone actually speak. And yet as the questioning continued. My fuck it attitude kicked in, I scolded myself for thinking my question wasn’t as worthy as anyone else’s and I raised my arm again. This time I was noticed. I asked my question, Levison spoke back to me and I grinned nerdily as we maintained eye contact. 

I couldn’t believe it. That was me. The one speaking out loud. As the lights came up in the venue, Mr W smiled as he questioned what had gotten into me. It was highly unlikely for me to speak up in a room full of people I know let alone in an auditorium full of strangers. My only reasoning was that ‘fuck it’ had entered my mind and taken hold. 

With my new clothes I felt I had taken on a persona of someone with confidence. It is only now I realised that wearing ‘the real me’ was the fashion that fit me best. It will inevitably take time to adjust to wearing new clothes on the body I do not like and choosing not to hide it away. I deserve to feel good no matter my size. That is what the podcast has taught me. I’m just slower on the uptake than others. Or maybe just too scared at times. We met new friends from America in London the other day and we got to talking about introverts and extroverts. They were shocked to find that I am an introverted extrovert. One of them couldn’t believe the fact that I am mostly a shy person because I was so talkative. And yet wearing clothes I love, including the hat and coat, made the extrovert appear for a fun day out. It made me realise that the clothes I wear may not be a true reflection of who I am on the inside, but they are helping me push through a little more each day. 

Fuck it attitude and all.  

Go Love Yourself

Highlight six of the NC500 – The weakness in me

This is my highlight from Day 6 of our recent trip to Scotland to drive the NC500 route. 

The links for the itinerary and recap of this day are below. I hope one day you experience this magical route for yourself. 

Wailing widow falls is 50 foot high and flows off a nearby Loch. Read the linked blog below to find out about our eventful walk to see the waterfall from above and why this part of the day was such a turn in the other direction. 

As you will gather, the day so far had been really special. Smoo Cave, pristine beaches and a shoe losing incident that had me nearly peeing my pants. Although I did have to pee behind some heather eventually or actually pee my pants. The whole trip so far had been a test on whether my sciatic nerve would let me walk where and when I wanted to. So far so good. Arthurs Seat. Duncansby Stacks. Big Burn Falls. All amazing days with the stubbornness in me pushing my body to its painful limits. 

Wailing Widow falls presented a new idea of waterfalls to this lover of the cascading beauties. It flows directly from Loch na Gainmhich and having seen it partially from above, it was an exciting thought to see it from the riverbed below. 

Advertised as being one of the easiest and shortest walks in Scotland, my feet and back were thrilled at the idea. Something that excites me about hiking is how new it still feels to me. Having travelled extensively but never really done the Uk breaks before, I have a newfound love for hiking. It started in August 2021 when we took a short break to Northumberland and fell head over heels for the challenges of hiking the hills to reach the rewards waiting at the end of the trails. This is where my obsession with waterfalls started and in 2 short days we had hiked to 4 complete stunners. We also turned our feet to the trail alongside Hadrian’s wall to Sycamore Gap. As a complete novice, my only real piece of walking attire are my boots. When I slip them on I feel powerful and I trust them to stop me slipping and tripping. Other clothing is simple layers under a thick fleece gilet and beanie hat. I am yet to look into proper waterproofs as shopping while living in a bigger body is fraught with frustrations and feelings of inadequacies. And yet, so far, the odd rain shower has not deterred us from taking on the northern temperatures and changes in weather. 

As someone who has and does travel for pleasure, I have questioned myself quite often in the past year as to why this new found enjoyment of walking has become so embedded into who I am. The pleasures I usually find on holidays are wandering around a city or laying on a beach. I sometimes wonder if this new obsession will run its course, as is so often the case for new found hobbies, and yet we are already in the midst of planning two more hiking holidays. I think something I don’t want to face up to a lot of the time is not having the confidence to do these things. I will still catch myself looking at other people on hikes and wonder what they are thinking when they are looking at me. Are they questioning whether I should be on these walks? Hell, on Arthurs seat, I came down from the top scooting on my bum and felt quite embarrassed as it is one of the first hikes we have done where we have been surrounded by hoards of people. The usual places we go to are really quiet. I scooted down the sides of two secluded waterfalls in Northumberland last year, got covered in mud and didn’t care an iota. I hate the part of myself that desperately clings to others’ perceptions of me on the path of loving myself. 

I believe the reason I have enjoyed hiking so much is coming to realise that the body I live in and have hated for so long is capable of so much more than I give it credit for. Having spent many vacations walking around cities and the odd day spent trailing across London I know that my walking endurance has always been there. Yet something about the hills, rocky slopes and stumbling pathways of the UK feels different. It feels like an accomplishment to return to the car, coated in grime and sweat, having been out in the elements relying only on my body’s strength to get me through. There have been times when a simple guide on the internet will describe the walk as 2 miles and yet when you are on trail you realise this is most definitely not the case. But by the time your brain catches up with your feet and logic kicks in you are invested and it no longer matters. The journey is just as important as the ending. The legs once so fat in your mind’s eye are pushing on. The only thing that stops them is you.

That is why when planning our trip to Scotland it was less about Edinburgh and the towns and more about hikes and rivers and lochs and everything in between. Both Mr W and I feel such a great need to keep this new love for the outdoors alive that we have approached travelling in this fresh way without too much trepidation. 

Maybe that is why when my confidence came crashing down around me I took it so badly. 

As I said above, the advice online about the walk to Wailing Widow falls said it was a short and simple walk. We had already noticed that the western side of the Highlands was much soggier than the east and yet armed with our boots we ventured onto the trail heads held high. From only about 10 metres into the walk we noticed just how different this was from other walks we had taken in the UK. Where most trails were signposted. This was not. Where most walks had clear pathways. This did not. Where other walks had rails or even trees to cling to. This DID NOT. In fact the only picture I can paint in your mind is this. Imagine a fast flowing river on your right. It isn’t deep, it’s very clear and it is very cold. Rather than running alongside a well defined river bank, there are rocks and custard thick pools of mud that meet the waters edge. In front of you are a few deeply set footprints in the mud which help you navigate the way. The ‘path’ is not flat and seems to follow a very up and down pattern much like a constant seesawing motion along the riverbank. When the ground levels out there are enormous boulders you have to climb, stretch and pray your way over. You pray that the mud on your boots won’t cause you to slip. The rocks in the ground are not steadfast and they too seesaw in their muddy grottos under your feet. 

Now, I am a stubborn person. I will always try before walking away. In fact we made it over 60% along this trail before I realised that my anxiety was taking over and my brain was no longer operating my limbs. For every step I took Mr W was checking the route beforehand. If the mud wasn’t threatening to slide my legs into the river the moving forwards were going to throw me in. After 30 minutes or so, my anxiety exploded out of my body in one of, if not THE, worst panic attacks I have ever had in my life. My whole being sensed the danger and I started shaking and crying. I clung to my husband with actual fear flooding through my veins. He tried to get me to calm down and yet I felt like I was going to die. Looking back, I know if I had fallen in the water, other than being cold and wet, I would not have died and I would have been able to stand quite easily in knee deep water. And yet, on that riverbank, with the unsteady boulders and boulders and thick mud, my brain and the logic it brings with it, shut down. 

As I stood in absolute fear and panic, two women walked towards us having completed the trek. I turned quickly to hide my face. It was a response I didn’t question at the time but it is only now I know why I didn’t want them to see me. With my face strewn with tears and my lip quivering I didn’t want to be the fat girl who couldn’t complete the walk. Who am I to think they even cared about me, albeit if you see someone crying, you naturally want to check if they are okay. But who am I to think that they are considering my weight and my ability over their own footfall. My god, I need to get out of this pattern of thinking. At that moment in time, those ladies were watching their feet and the sketchy landscape around us a whole lot more than thinking about my dress size. 

The truth of the matter is, and something Mr W and have spoken about at length, is that trail is really dangerous. Upon further investigation online I found a lot of advice about the walk that said how risky it was. With a clear mind upon our return I naturally started thinking about each day and visit and what they entailed. When I thought of this particular visit I started piecing together the images and realised that the slopes of the riverbank had slipped and we had been navigating the aftermath of rock and earth.

I am also now very aware that my confidence in hiking will take a hit now and again because no walk is ever going to be the same. Just because my ability is better than I thought it initially was does not mean I can do everything. When I see other people looking at me in such a mess I naturally think they are seeing my weight and coming to their own conclusions. Fortunately I have given myself a massive figurative slap round the face. My weight does not stop me stepping onto muddy river banks. Nor does it stop me balancing on a rock that is moving under my feet. My fear stops me doing those things. I am afraid because it is a new situation. I am still learning about my abilities in this new hobby. 

That day, my confidence took a massive hit. I stood shaking and hysterical amongst those muddy boulders clinging to Mr W with my entire being because fear had finally found me. Why then, have I set out to describe this visit as a highlight to you?

Sitting in the car afterwards, I felt the flooding of anger replace my fear. As we drove to our next stop I watched the mountain ranges and let their calming influence take hold of me. This was one moment in a wonderful day. You have to take the bad with the good. Not two hours before had I been bent double, clenching my legs together, unable to breathe through the laughter. This was not a bad day. It was a bad paragraph in what was a pretty phenomenal chapter.  

I still sit here and regret not overcoming my fears that day. I regret that so far I haven’t seen that waterfall and I regret crumbling so much like that riverbank. My fear in the moment engulfed my stubbornness to carry on and I learned that as much as I need to recognise the strengths in my body, I need to acknowledge the weaknesses too. There was a reason for me to be scared that day. I had reached the limits of what I was used to and what I could push myself to do. As someone living in a bigger body and hating that body for my whole life I will always blame my size for my physical limitations and yet that day it was my mind that stopped and said no. As someone who has been bigger than most people my age in every situation I will also put limitations on what I should or should not be doing. Don’t get up and dance at the wedding reception, I tell myself, people will only stare. Don’t wear the dungarees, it’ll show your belly in a way people aren’t used to. Don’t hike that river, your legs can’t carry you. 

What a load of bull. Since covid I have danced at parties without the need of an alcoholic drink to stop that voice. I have bought dungarees and am slowly starting to change my wardrobe to reflect the style I think I like. It is hard to say if I do like something for sure or not because I don’t think I’ve ever found a style I am comfortable in, but that is one huge other discussion I will find time to go over at some point.  I have believed my legs can carry me over hills, rock faces and treacherous river banks. It is only when my mind shut my body down that I recognised the weaknesses in me deserve a voice. And they have nothing to do with my weight. 

NC500 Day 6 – Itinerary

 

NC500 Day 6 – Smoo Cave, Wailing Widow Falls and Ardvrech Castle

Travel is a universal language

Sticky notes lay out in various colours across my bedroom floor. My friend and I had some planning to do. Our first trip abroad was looming and we wanted to make the most of it. We were 17 going on 18 and New York was calling. My friend had wholeheartedly been on board with going on the trip however when I asked what she wanted to do she had no idea. The pressure was on to make sure she had the best time. In my mind I had wandered those streets thousands of times. Now I was preparing to make those walks a reality. 

As we sat there on that wooden floor, we used the post it notes to piece together a plan for our 5 days in Manhattan. We put them into columns based on which days they would work best on and used a map to pinpoint which stops were close to one another. This was way before I was confident using the internet and so the process took us a few hours. And yet it was exciting. 

The trip in the Spring of 2004 was amazing. Perfect even. And therein started the development of my skills towards itinerary creation. Since then I have created itineraries for family, clients and Mr W and myself. It is an absolute joy. There is something so soothing to create something particular and bespoke. A blank piece of paper transforms into a carefully crafted and researched travel bible.

I’ve never really had much confidence in my ability. It is a mixture of self esteem issues and a bad experience working in the travel industry. Recently I have felt particularly crap about it all due to my client list becoming practically nil due to the pandemic. 

Last week, I had the best time talking to a new friend on zoom. She lives in America and we met on a facebook group in March 2020. The group was a place to talk about Italy and at the time was being flooded with questions about Covid and how the country was doing. It became very clear very quickly in which way the new virus was going and it became a space to share fears and tips on how to salvage our bookings.

Over two years later Carrie and I have shared pleasantries online. We have a similar travel history and I was able to share our trip to Italy in September 2020 with her as she is yet to rebook her own. Just a month or so ago she told me the very exciting news that she would be coming to England for the first time. She asked if I would look at her list of plans and let her know if I could recommend anything she had missed. 

I said it might be worthwhile talking ‘in person’ and after a few hiccups we finally ‘met’ last week. I’m always nervous meeting a new person but having been laid up with a bad back all day and only remembering that I was due online at the last minute I felt exceptionally unprepared. As someone who is trying to remember that the least interesting thing about myself and others is the way we look, I annoying found myself finger-brushing my hair and thanking my low-light lamp.

No worry was ever needed less. Carrie was so friendly and intrigued by my accent that we spent a good 20 minute talking about all sorts of things. Afterwards, we got down to the nitty gritty and talked incessantly about London. Although Mr W and I spend a lot of our free weekends in our capital city I do find that we avoid tourist traps and feel that our days there would not be too impressive to an out of towner. It soon became clear that the index in my mind was so much bigger than I originally thought and I found myself smiling as Carrie took copious notes. It was as if a light had blinked into life in my brain and I sat for over an hour unloading everything I knew. We agreed to meet up when she comes over and I sat in quiet contentment at my ability to spurt out knowledge so quickly. There was another half hour or so of chatter about Paris, Italy and how we generally approach travel and I felt the prickles of twinship with another soul.

With promises to share our Scotland trip with her and glance over her London itinerary upon my return I signed off for the night. I sat for a while smiling. A new friendship across the Atlantic ocean was forming and based on something so very special to me. 

It was a great pleasure to be reminded of just how much travel is embedded in my very being. I’ve been quietly simmering with pride ever since. It also reminded me of how friends can come from anywhere at any time in our lives. I am revelling in a new experience however small it may seem from the outside looking in. 

Note to self, this is just another reason to take a chance when you maybe aren’t feeling your most confident.

Imposter, post 101

Imposter syndrome used to confuse me. 

Not that I didn’t understand it. I had just never heard of it before. 

It affects people who have a clear ability to do something and yet doubt it at every step and find it hard to accept accomplishments and accolades. 

I used to think it was a confidence issue or an inability to accept compliments. But recently, I started to see it as both. When it used to come to my writing, I would do it for me. Something to put my thoughts down and out of my head. It was mostly gibberish that could not be wholly understood by others reading it. A spew of consciousness flooding the page before you like a spilled glass of water. 

Today, there is still the occasional spew, but more often than not I talk about my life. I talk about living with PCOS, home life and a majority of the time travel. How can it be hard when you talk about something that is such a large part of your very being? 

I suppose in a way, talking to you about PCOS is a form of therapy, it is definitely cheaper. I also like to think that in a way it is spreading awareness and in turn that awareness will make society more accepting of women like me. I hope in time that someone who looks like me and has fertility struggles won’t feel so alone. I hope that those who read my PCOS blogs who live with the condition themselves will find a friend and those learning about it for the first time will be able to understand the woman in the corner of the room who shies away from prying eyes. 

Then there are the days when I give you the ultimate treat of discussing our lives and the very interesting things that happen to us. Including but obviously not limited to a deflating pool, buying tinned food and the very real saga of why owning a house has its pitfalls! Intriguing, no?

And then, there are the travelling bits. The reason my stomach flips and what makes me so very happy. I’ve been compiling itineraries for over 16 years, over half of my life, fucking hell, lets speed past that little fact… And it brings me joy like nothing else. I worked in my ideal job for over 2.5 years doing just that and I think I have a knack for it. And I am constantly told, you should do this for a living. Welcome to the stage the Imposter Syndrome. He’s here to point out why you can’t do it. HE’s here to drag your accomplishments through the dirt. He’s here to muffle all the voices of the people who have said they love your writing and how much they love tucking themselves into bed at 10pm just to settle down with your blog. 

Yesterday, I posted my 100th blog. Look at me! I’ve had 3238 views and 1987 visitors to my site. On July 18th I reached a new high of 170 views in a single day. I often find myself refreshing the statistics page of my blog app because it doesn’t feel real. Sometimes I wonder if it is the need for validation to shut up the Imposter guy but lately he doesn’t sound as loud. In the beginning, I kept my writing all very hush hush and other than sitting at a table in front of some family members when the time to write is upon me, it is very much a behind closed doors activity. Although, lately it has been a very late night, laptop on the bed with the lamp on, annoying Mr W to no end kind of activity, but let us forget about that for a minute. I don’t like the idea of sitting in front of people and typing away, it feels like those writers you see in Starbucks writing the next great American novel. Too flashy for me. I also find I don’t like discussing my blog. If I don’t discuss it I don’t have to hear negative comments or the ‘what if you said it in this way’. It’s like I feel the need to change my voice. And in all honesty it’s taken me a few years to recognise the voice I have and realise that I don’t want to change it. 

Recently, I’ve had the most wonderful comments about how I should write a book. How my travel pieces are transporting people from their sofas to a Piazza in Italy or a hiking trail in Northumberland. I sit their mouth tightly closed because I simply do not know what to say. There will be a little nervous laugh, some kind of look to Mr W and a response like ‘oh no I could never do that’. And the truth is, I don’t know if I could do it. Not from a writing perspective, my writing comes from my brain like a stream. I hardly stop to think. If I think about what to write too much it becomes so involved and pompous I’ll CTRL-A and delete that crap despite the time spent on it. I just can’t do it. It doesn’t feel like me talking. I’m very aware right now that the CTRL-A may be lost on some of you, but I am also aware that’s how I wanted to explain it and I’m the only one to please. Selfish? No. Staying me, only slightly, yes. 

Maybe I will write a book one day, it’s not the writing that scares me. It’s the idea I need to have to write it. Everything I write about here is real. It has happened. In real life, past, present or near future. I’ll discuss plans and ideas. Who wants to read that in a book? I sometimes think that’s the point, write something that shouldn’t work and just maybe it will. 

I sit here, smiling, how on earth did I get to 100 blogs? When I started Mr W said it would be great. And I didn’t listen, I was just stubborn enough to aim to write every day for a year. To set myself the challenge. Maybe now, the tack on to the challenge is to start believing that the imposter guy is wrong. That when someone shares one of my blog posts it’s because it resonated. I didn’t know they had done it, I don’t  know this person from Adam, but they did it and it was the best feeling. Something I wrote spoke to them. They owed me nothing. They don’t even know who I am. That’s often the thought that conflicts with the voice in my head. That when people bring up my writing they are doing it to be kind. Lately I’ve come to realise that mentioning it at all means something, surely if they didn’t like it, if it didn’t mean anything to them, they would keep quiet?

That’s the voice who needs to win this battle against the Imposter guy. 

I suppose it’s determined by who can shout louder on any given day.

For now, here is to blog 101. In all it’s determined glory!

Photo by Dave Watson

Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com

Comfort Zone

Today I saw my friend who is visiting the UK from New Zealand. 

We met in school over 20 years ago. I remember him from school. I don’t know how close we were. But reconnecting on facebook a number of years later led to very long conversations on summer nights in the garden. We spoke of our time in University and how life had changed or stayed just the same. We spoke so freely and unlike any other way I’d encountered until that point and when he left to go home I remember sitting and replaying the evening over and over. It fascinated me. 

Soon after he left the UK and travelled. I maintained my habit of working to pay for my travelling and then upon my return from Australia in 2013 my life changed drastically. Me became a we and I became an us. We would be travelling to Spain. Both of us made choices in our lives. As life does, time moved on and before long those chats with my friend seemed a distant memory. If it wasn’t for social media and emailing, the friendship would have struggled. 

It was in 2016 that we reconnected while he popped back to the UK and then flitted away again. And yet our emails remain to this very day. We are both married and settled. I was lucky enough to watch his wedding over zoom last August and was grateful to be one of the few who graced that group. Our emails now speak of how life is treating us and the next big goal we each have. 

He flew into the UK last week and his parents held a garden party today for family and friends to see him and his new wife. It seems I am the last friend to stay in contact with him, he points out that he also lost contact with others, taking ownership of his actions as usual. I felt extremely appreciative to be included. Mr W was there, naturally, but I felt extremely nervous to be surrounded by people I did not know. This was cushioned by the fact that after 6 long years I was seeing my friend again.

I was being flung between the zones of comfort and excitement. Something that took me by surprise was just how ‘known’ I was. His parents and sister all knew more about me than I expected and I felt like it acknowledged this friendship we had all the more. After 5 hours of talking and laughing with strangers I felt almost confident to step outside the comfort zone. To talk freely about nothing particularly important but let it bolster my nervousness and say ‘hey, this is how you grow.’ Would I see these strangers again, possibly not. But does that mean you don’t bother engaging with them? No. I think it goes a long way to have a voice no matter where you are. Or who you are with. I know that this time last year talking to strangers was really difficult for me. I felt I needed to be asked questions or find an instant common ground. But now, today especially, it felt great to just talk as if I’d known people for years because that’s when the ‘I’ comes out in me. How interesting it is for the other person I’ll never know, but it goes a long way down the path of self-awareness and acceptance. 

The biggest example of this dare I say ‘progression’ is discussed in ‘Coffee for four’ (link below). The best way I can describe it is feeling as comfortable talking to strangers about nothing in particular as talking to a loved one about something deeply personal. It resonates on a different level, from a different zone but gives you that same feeling of warmth and acceptance. I’d like to think it opens me up to new ideas and opinions. Which ultimately is what we seek in travel. To have our eyes opened to new cultures and places. So embracing that ideal in our home lives can’t be a bad thing. I think it’s just something that’s more accepted when you travel. As if your brain is ready for the onslaught of everything new, shiny and exciting. When you are at home it’s almost as if you don’t need to try. You are comfortable. 

Fundamentally, this is a question of confidence. It reminds me that somewhere inside still exists the girl who chases horizons and finds joy outside the comfort zone.

Coffee for four

One piece at a time

STOP placing your sense of self worth in other people’s hands. 

I saw something online during the pandemic that completely resonated with me and yet has taken me this long to fully incorporate into my life. It was a simple phrase. At first I thought it sounded quite bitter. Something a narcissist would say. However, as time has gone on and I’ve recalled it in times of sadness or doubt, it’s helped me look after myself and my own. My little circle of people. The people I take a picture of my garden for. The ones I let know that I’ve arrived at my destination in one piece. A funny memory that has popped into my head. A joke I’ve heard. Good news or bad news. 

‘It’s funny, when you quit texting first, you realise who was putting in all the effort.’ 

Let that marinade for a while. 

Are there people in your life whom, if you didn’t reach out first, you’d ever hear from? It is a scary thought and truth be told I wouldn’t necessarily stop reaching out to people to test them. They’re not lab rats and there are always plenty of situations that cause us to be flakey and forget other people for a little while. 

I’m talking about the ones who hurt your heart. The people who you try and try with and still get nowhere. Each time you may approach it differently. Wonder if you’ve done something wrong when you are ignored or cut short. Wonder if that is just how they are and why you’d want to be around it in the first place. When you see it happening to a loved one, who builds up such an image in mind of a yearned for relationship, only to have it crash around them you naturally want to help. You step in and try to play the matchmaker only to find the same attitude directed your way. It’s heart wrenching. 

Only today I encountered something similar. And then snap. The missing puzzle piece snaps into place. The picture is complete. All the edges have aligned. And yet the image is foggy, blurry and confusing. No more trying for people who don’t want to be involved, no more hoping they’ll say yes this time and no more excuses. It’s time for a clearer picture. 

I believe it’s age or experience that has made me sit up straight and swear to myself that the no bullshit approach is the one for me. Remember, the ‘he’s just not that into you movement’? The guy takes the girl on a date, says he’ll call and never does. Then the girl’s friends all swarm around with speeches about how ‘of course he likes you, he’s just busy’ and ‘he’ll call any day now’ or ‘maybe you’re just too pretty for him.’ I mean, how crazy can it be to be honest, he’s not calling, because he does not want to. And the same goes for friends. The same goes for family. 

It is not easy to be blunt. It’s often misconstrued as being a horrible person when you are. I’ve only ever done it once. To my beautiful friend who juggles her dating life with more than a little fear and trepidation. I’ve seen her confused, angry and hurt more than a dozen times in as many years and seeing her hurt more than enough times has led me down the path that leads to Blunt-town. And the truth is, it isn’t an attack on her. It’s an attack on babying her. And leading her to more heartache. 

The truth is, when dating, we build up a mock up of what we want a date to be. Then we build up a mock up of how the next one will go. And soon enough a whole relationship is plotted in our minds because it’s only natural to do so. The fact is, you create for you, to suit you, the other person has their own image and future puzzle pieces. You might have them cut out to fit into your picture, but you might not be in theirs. Maybe you’re sitting in a temporary pile waiting to be picked up. Or maybe discarded. It’s sad when you build up an image in your head only to have it ripped up. 

However, how can this be the other person’s fault? Unless you rolled out the image, pointed at the gap where they fit, and say, so what do you think? I’m unsure as to how they would know what is expected. I’ve been in that situation, I put my heart out there, he watched it jump out of my chest and took a further 3 months of my life to give me it back. It was bruised, exhausted and shaken when I put it back in my chest but if I had been honest I knew when he didn’t nurture it from the start that I could have saved myself a lot of grief. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. 

There is a limit to how many times we can build a picture of expectations up before it lays in tatters and we question why we aren’t good enough. Why don’t they want us? I wish I could reach through this screen and comfort you. Because you are enough. You do not need to chase the people who aren’t chasing you. You need to let go of those expectations. Focus on the puzzle pieces that fit into your life by choice. Not by hammering them in with a closed fist and telling yourself it works. It ruins the beautiful aesthetic of your life. Do you one of the most beautiful things that can happen when you stop chasing, you get messages and calls and they light up your day. Ring ring, this person is thinking about you. Ring ring, answer please, they want to talk to you. Ring ring, you matter. Ring ring, you’re enough. 

Playing devil’s advocate is a long running role for me. I’ll always try and look at things in a multitude of ways just to cover all the bases. But there’s an endgame when it comes to matters of the mind and heart. If your mind is racing through scenarios of why and what if and you can sleep at the end of it. Have at it. But if at the end of the race, you’ve found no consoling scenario, your night was sleepless, your tears are streaming and your heart hurts. You are the only puzzle piece that takes precedent. You are wonderful and you deserve everything because you are enough. Take a step back and realise not everyone thinks the same as you. Not everyone has the same image, picture, puzzle or expectation. We are all built differently. Some of us are laid back, easy going, like those wooden puzzle pieces with the plastic pins that fit into the wooden board. Some of us are intricate, with 2000 quirks and stories. You get the 3-d puzzles that just won’t cooperate. The double-sided dilemmas. And the box with the missing pieces. 

You can’t control the outcome. You can only control how you handle your expectations. The beauty is that unlike a puzzle, life is an ever changing picture. You don’t have control over it and the truth is if you did it wouldn’t be as beautiful. It would be forced. The picture is there waiting. We just haven’t seen it all yet. But piece by piece, one at a time, it’ll all fall into place.    

Photo by Dave Watson

Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com