I’ve been reading 17th Century literature by James Joyce and Laurence Sterne and Nathaniel Hawthorne.
I’ve been writing essays and sitting exams.
I’ve been cooking nourishing foods and still trying to save on our weekly budget by not buying takeaway.
I’ve been organising taxes and paperwork and payslips for my husband’s business; printing business cards and making plans and dreaming big.
I’ve been watching Netflix and rediscovering crochet and enjoying knitted throws keeping me cosy on cold winter nights.
I’ve been planning women’s gatherings, and hanging with creative tribes, and taking photos of newborns and speaking at mama’s groups about the crazy ride that is toddlerhood.
We’ve taught the kiddos the card game ‘Spoons’ and spent every evening for over a week competitively playing and laughing.
We’ve holidayed down south, drank daily coffees or the occasional chai tea, opened our home, loved on our family and splashed in muddy puddles.
I’ve sat and had tea with my kiddo’s great grandmother and listened to her stories of Scotland and her generation. We’ve written our family tree and she’s helped to trace us back to the early 1800’s.
I’ve run towards sunsets, with the wind in my face. I’ve scribbled pages in journals, laid in the sunshine, tended my herb garden and held print magazines with my name in them.
I’ve pushed comfort zones, retreated back into them.
I’ve been steady and faithful and then mental.
I’ve read and prayed and retreated and the world kept turning and whirring and churning.
And today I found a spot in the winter sunshine to write. To come back here.
But it’s not all about here, you know? There are so many other places we can be.
Where have you been?