in-between
My thoughts scratching at the door of 2023, attempting to shove future visions my way and I don’t want to move forward. Can’t I just stay in this space in between?
These bizarre few days wedged between Christmas and New Year, where no one needs to know where you are, when the world feels still, empty in a nice way, and you can turn into a coach potato until January.
Top tip however, and probably one of few things this year has taught me: getting fresh air occasionally is definitely good for your wellbeing. So maybe, don’t go full potato all day everyday.
This week is one of my favourites every year, because these dark days feel oddly light and gentle on me. It’s a time to catch up on all the missed hours of rest that accumulate during busy Autumn and the lead up to Christmas. A time where I will stay in bed til lunchtime, have a couple gins, play the Sims, bury myself in Quality Street wrappers and give the house a declutter before we enter the marathon that is January. Instagram especially chills out a bit too, feeling like a softer space where I’m less afraid to scroll, but also can easily skip. All over there’s JOMO (joy of missing out). I’m all tucked up, lulling about at home, feeling safe and cosy. Nothing compares, nothing else matters.
This time around, whilst the loss of mum weighs heavy, I’ve still found some peace where I thought there was none, allowing myself to sink into a mellow mood without the struggle I’d anticipated - I’m not happy or sad, just sort of still. At the same time there’s this feeling of fullness, knowing the world may keep on turning, but I am not moving much and that sits nicely with me. There’s this new appreciation that even though I’m all bunged up and sniffy, at times grouchy, almost crying, there’s lots of wholesome moments to enjoy: writing, resting, eating bagels, watching daytime tele, walking our dog, running a bath, cuddling my boyfriend and watching friendship bloom between him and our dog. I don’t take my days for granted any more. In fact, this is the most settled and at home I’ve felt within our four walls for some time now. Our boy Herbs is happy and truly feels like ours now, not just a visitor. He seems to quite like our company too, especially as he snuggles between us to sleep at night. I’m besotted honestly.
You might feel this too, but there’s this other unwelcome daunting thought in the back of my brain that always pops up during the space in between. Since 2019 ish, I’ve always told myself that resolution setting for the year ahead was a totally fruitless expedition, and whilst I still think that’s true, I can’t help but reflect on 2022 - the year my heart broke and I learnt that staying strong still hurts like hell. My thoughts scratching at the door of 2023, attempting to shove future visions my way and I don’t want to move forward. Can’t I just stay in this space in between?
It’ll come as no surprise that I’m obviously absolutely terrified and not excited one bit to envision what life this time next year might look like. When I look around at my life, all that has changed within a year, I wonder where the hell I’ll find myself next Christmas. Will the people I love still be here? Will I? And, what do I want from my life if I can’t have my mum? As I’ve recently turned 30, I wonder, what do I want or hope the next decade to look like? What do I even want the next 10 minutes to look like? Shall I make a cup of tea?
This is where I’m at, overwhelmed with the big and little, tired of it all, and somehow in a complex way also trying not to feel absolutely hopeless about my mortality and the fait of those around me all of the time. Let’s face it, I love my home, my partner, our dog, our life. It’s just that I would say…I’m about 70% convinced my life is now doomed.