It’s the first week of the holidays. The first week in a while that I do not have to do long days in care of two small people alone. I am in the ridiculously fortunate position of having married a teacher. 12 weeks a year I get to parent together and the small tiny ones get their beloved Daddy around for more than half an hour in the morning and an hour at night. This is a good thing. It makes up for never being able to really afford Centre Parks. (I’m not sure why I desire to go to Centre Parks, people talk of it as some kind of mecca for small people, it can’t be all that can it?).
And so I am sitting on a sofa in a cafe on my own. Laptop out and fingers typing away as I steal a few hours away from the male members of my family. I’ve finished my teenage dystopian fiction I brought out with me (the only thing my brain can read at the moment), I’ve recapped on some Spiritual Direction notes in preparation for a meeting or two next week. I’ve drunk a latte and moved onto iced water to try and kill the throbbing in my head.
I’m sitting in Emporium on Brighton’s London Road, it’s pretty cool, there are wooden tables, big sofas, there are no identical pieces of furniture to create a slick corporate image. It’s independent, rambling and a perfect place to spend my afternoon off. I’m surrounded by pairs of women having significant conversations, the occasional mother with a sleeping baby in a buggy, a few loners with laptops out and a group of women who I think might be family members out together. I’m sitting and trying to kick the writer at the back of my head out of her slumber.
I haven’t written for a month. A month. That’s stupid. My head needs to write. As I shake and shake the writer in me I can see words and phrases scribbled on pieces of paper around her feet but nothing has made it to the light of day in a while.
Excuses line up. It’s been a hard term, I’m tired, I’m weary, I’m…. Anyway. Excuses are no good anymore. We are here. The holidays, or the time where there is at least some more time in each day, the time where I am not so exhausted once the tiny people are finally asleep. Holiday isn’t really the word. This is the time of a change in pace. There are opportunities to not be so alone. There is time to sit and write.
And so I am.
There is a list of things in my head to write about. The one fighting for space this afternoon is the strange thought that I’ve been blogging for 10 years. I had a whole plan as to how I was going to celebrate that, I was going to find all my favourite posts over the years and reblog them for your edification and wonder. I was going to go all crazy about it. But I was tired. Thinking about it, that display of narcissism might even have been too much for me. I’m kind of glad I didn’t go crazy after all. I do think it’s worth a mention though. 10 years of random thoughts from my brain. That’s some kind of achievement. Here’s my first blog post. I think it stands up pretty well over time.
For about two years now, I have been tempted to blog. Somehow I’ve always been stopped by the thought of what I would post, whether my endless ramblings on life would be of interest to anyone, let alone to me. I’ve been stopped by the fear of it descending into internal rants, self pitying moaning or self indulgence. And really, who would want to read the thoughts of this mind? It’s an interesting thing to ponder. There is also the fear of exposing the inner working of my mind onto a page, where it can be misunderstood, and my thoughts open to criticism or opposition. But if they can’t take healthy debate and understanding, I guess they aren’t really worth articulating.
Being the first post I guess this should be something of a statement about what to expect here in this space. I want more than an online diary, I’m not sure recounting a day in the life of Kath will be worth it. My tales of eating porridge for breakfast aren’t that interesting to anyone. I’m concerned to start conversations in this life. Too often we accept the reality of the world with which we are presented (I’m sure someone else said that at some point…) and fail to recognise the affect the invisible has on all we do and are.
I am a Christian. But it’s an easy thing to say and label myself as. What that means has far reaching consequences on all I do and say. (hopefully) But I’m interested in exploring what that really means. I love God, but recognise the ease of applying my preconceptions to Him without discovering who He really is. I love the Bible. But I want to explore the affect it has in a world empty of truth. I want to call attention to reality both in my life and in the lives of those who live around me. I believe in questioning and searching and seeking until you find. I believe in truth as tangible as the gravity that holds me to this earth, and I believe in one man taking on all I deserved on a cross 2000 years ago. I struggle to comprehend what that really means for all who live around me, and struggle to believe. But I cannot walk away from Him.
I spend my life swinging from opinion to opinion in the hope of pleasing all I meet. It’s a problem of mine. But through the different styles, the different expressions, I’m learning to sense the weaving Spirit, the truth from the lies and the diversity and beauty of our maker.
I also love chilled out things as well, simple stuff, worth mentioning and focusing on. I’m very aware that this blog could disappear into the realm of pompous statements of seemly great importance. The simple stuff of life helps me avoid that. I love music, friends, long walks on the beach, sunsets, the lake district, cups of tea, long chats into the night, swimming, chocolate cake and hugs.
So there you go, if you like random thoughts of a slightly cynical or over idealistic nature, random musings on reality and cups of tea, stick around. Comment, continue the conversations and sense the invisible that moves and transforms the visible world in front of us.