I stay within Barleycove with the North Atlantic Ocean lulling me to sleep. And the wind. It is a stormy night. Thunder and lightning. The rocking of the van makes me think I’m at sea, in a little rowing boat, lost in the storm. It’s funny how our imagination can run away with us.
With heightened senses, and sleep fitful as I worry the solar panels of the van might be pulled off in the wind, I put the light on and write. Write out those feelings and thoughts that maybe I’ve just been skirting around for the last few months or years even.
Grief is what surfaces and a whole heap of anger for one specific person. But most of all for myself. How I gave the best years of my life to a failing marriage but was too stubborn to let go or admit it was over. To admit that I could not change things. I could not help him. Us.
But then with getting things on paper I could start to rewrite the story. Those were not the best years of my life. Now are the best years of my life. Because I am living my own life on my own terms. The only pressures on me are the ones I put on me. And this is not frequent, only when I forget and get drawn back into ‘society’.
I share with you my morning view. This is what I wake up to and get my cossie on and jump into. The waves are still carrying the stormy winds. The riptides are ever present. I keep standing fearful of being dragged under but still allowing my body to feel the water, the spray, the joy.
There is joy and pain in this beautiful life. They coexist. They have to coexist in order to live fully. Live all the way to our fingertips and pinky toes. I realise this each day and give thanks for the life I live. As we only live once right and I don’t want to miss the feel of it all.
x
