“Last year’s words belong to last year’s language. And next year’s words await another voice.”

T.S Eliot


It’s considered a bit trite to wheel out a well oiled quote when you’re stuck for words. Handy though.

Despite the fact I haven’t blogged regularly for a very long time, I still can’t let it go. Can’t put it to bed and close this chapter. I can’t go back and read old posts regularly because I can’t stand the sound of my own words, or voice but that’s a different matter.

At 38 and a half I feel as far away from 31 year old me as I do from 16 year old me or 8 year old me.

When I started recording words here I was a mum of one. I was in my early thirties. I had far fewer lines and less grey hair. However, I’m sure to the average casual observer I probably seem exactly the same. My job is the same, we live in the same (enlarged) house. I’m married to the same man, like lots of the same things, do lots of the same things.

But I’m definitely not unaltered. I haven’t faced any great challenges, made any great changes or achievements. Yet somehow as the (sometimes very long) days have passed and turned into years I’ve changed so much that I feel squirmy and uncomfortable about those published words. I don’t agree with so much of what I thought then. I know better now, and who’s to say I won’t have completely changed my mind in another ten years?

Not that any of this is a bad thing. If we stay the same surely that’s worse? To make up your mind about anything and remain staunch in that belief despite evidence to the contrary? I’m glad my world has opened up further through what I’ve read, investigated, heard, discussed and experienced. That ‘staying home’ with my children has opened doors for me which remained firmly shut before. A reminder that feeling ‘stuck’ is just that. A feeling, a state of mind.

And for the first time in my adult life I’m starting the ‘new year’ with the old me. I’m not making plans to overhaul myself inside and out. It never works and more importantly there’s really no need. The old me is fine, she’s got me this far after all. I used to feel a rising sense of panic, a sense that time is running out. That I haven’t done enough, or more accurately that I’m not enough.


I’m enough, you’re enough.

I would make a promise to blog more regularly but that wouldn’t be in the spirit of acceptance of the fact I’m doing my best. I’m doing what I can to get where I need to be. I might like to write it down so I can cringe reading it back several years later.

Or I might not.

Have a fabulous Hogmanay, squeeze your loved ones if you can. See you on the other side.