I struggle a lot with “new year”. I struggle with New Year’s Eve, New Year’s Day, and January. Let’s be real – I struggle with the whole year after that, too.
I just can’t handle the overwhelm around this period. The pressure is so intense – the pressure to have an amazing New Year Eve’s, the pressure to start January 1st as you mean to go on, the pressure to change overnight and fulfil all those New Year’s resolutions overnight… It doesn’t happen for me, ever. And then the depression and demotivation set in. The feeling that I’m a failure because I’ve ruined 2017 already and it’s barely started.
This post is accompanied by sunsets and sunrises just because.
I suffered a lot from I want to be a grownup syndrome when I was younger. Suffered hard. I wish I knew where it stemmed from, why it started. I wish I’d enjoyed being a child more, enjoyed the simple freedom and innocence of that time.
But in reality, I was dreaming about becoming an adult already when I was about ten. I watched the older girls at school and women out and about and my sister and her friends and just wished. They had their flats and their glasses of wine with friends and their bills and their grocery shopping and their jobs and their boyfriends who could stay over whenever and their nights out… So much adulting that I wanted to be a part of right now.
I went to this exhibition nearly two months ago now and have had the draft for this post floating around in my head ever since. All those thoughts and obsessions and ruminations and gushings have finally taken a coherent shape now though.
The past few weeks have been up and down. It’s turned cold now. Bitingly cold. When I leave the house, the chill bites my cheeks until they’re pink. Most of the leaves have fallen and are lining the streets and roads so I walk around London in a sea of oranges and reds. Life has been as colourful as this autumn. Here are some highlights in words and photos.
I’m writing this at my desk. It sits right up against the window, so I can look out into my garden and all the other little gardens of this residential Fulham street. There are gardeners in ours today, trimming and clearing and pruning our little square bit of green. My parents built this garden from scratch themselves nearly ten years ago now, and I’ve loved watching it grow. I love the way it runs wild in the summer months, overflowing into the neighbours’ gardens too.