learning who I am
self-improvement < self-awareness
When we first moved to this island, I felt an undeniable sense of belonging that I’d never experienced anywhere else. It was as profound as the sense of completeness that cloaked me about ten minutes after my fourth baby was born. These realisations were of the body; an instinctual awareness and knowing that I was where I was supposed to be.
I’ve had this same experience lately in my own kitchen when I’ve stopped long enough to look around and acknowledge that about fifteen years ago, this is exactly what I dreamed of; a sunlit kitchen at the end of the hallway that was cosy and busy and brimming with life; crumbs, dirty dishes, boisterous conversation and the comforting purr of the coffee machine.
The church bells at the end of my street have just started ringing. The washing machine beeps and switches off at the end of the cycle. There is nowhere to be today except right here.
Right now the kitchen table is covered with the haphazard remnants of family life — tiny rocks, paintbrushes, candles, two bags of apples, a hairbrush, the plastic shell found inside a kinder surprise, one pair of fingerless gloves, a coffee cup, a glass of water, three pens, a diary open to next week and by the looks of things, there’s a lot of blank space on the page.