It’s been a while since I wrote a blog post. In fact, it’s been a while since I’ve written anything. It’s like part of my identity just slipped away, unnoticed. I’ve tried to understand how I let this happen — from being a fairly prolific creative writer (for me) to virtually nothing. I did try a couple of times, but I felt the muse had left me and I found it difficult to summon anything of value.
2019 was a difficult year for me as I lost both parents — one at each end of the year. It affected me more than I could have imagined. It’s surprising how the equilibrium of life can be overturned so easily, and it’s not always a simple matter of righting the apple cart and carrying on. At least I didn’t find it so. I don’t believe anyone ‘moves on’ from losing a loved one — nor should they. That very sentiment implies that the person was a part of your life you’d like to forget. But you can certainly move ahead.
2020 was surprisingly not as difficult for me (and I say this with a heavy dose of guilt as I know so many have suffered beyond measure and still are). But whatever 2020 brought to us wherever we live in the world, I don’t think anyone can deny it was a year like no other, and if not tinged by tragedy, then certainly tinged by fear. That is something at least we all have shared.
It’s time to re-establish my identity — to remember and learn from the past, extracting the good stuff; to live in the present and enjoy simple pleasures, feeling gratitude for what I have; to look to the future and tap into the sense of hope and excitement for all that it holds.
For me, it’s not so much turning over a new leaf — it’s more about reclaiming an old one that I rather liked.
It’s time to start being a writer again. And, with a hopeful heart, a traveller.
