So begins a somewhat strange summer break; I’m switching off socials and intend to swim at the beach and read a few novels. I imagine I’ll drink a daily iced latte and snack on mangoes and berries and we’ll eat dinner late - preferably outside - where we’ll chat and listen to music and the dog will snaffle up the barbequed sausages that have fallen from dinner plates cradled on laps. The kids will whine, we’ll make a weekly trip to the library and I’ll bemoan the money I spend on groceries whilst simultaneously waiting for invoices to be paid (crickets over the holidays).
But also, I’m five weeks out from book deadline so most days will also involve lots of writing (I need to write at least 1000 words a day). I’m not sure how it’s going to go but this is my plan: an early morning walk followed by 4-5 hours of writing, and then laptop shut to spend the remainder of the day in summer holiday mode. It definitely won’t be as languorous as seasons past but I hope to make it work for most of the time at least.
This time of year is naturally reflective, isn’t it. We look back on what’s been and consider what’s to come and in the present we rush around in celebratory mode whilst nursing a deep weariness - odd yet predictable. It’s also a time that tends to prompt deep contemplation because the promise of a fresh start is enough to have us writing lists, making plans and calling it my year. The potential is both promising and entirely overwhelming. There’s a lot of life-coach language and “my word for the year is…” and it can feel completely stifling for someone who just likes to live day to day.
Screw the five year plan, I say. Let’s focus on today.