Change

“ And here’s a big part of the journey:

recognising that just because something is, that doesn’t mean that it’s right.

Having the courage to change when you know you should,

even when that change is difficult ... ”

"I sometimes wonder, poets, singers, painters.. how do they do it?

They haven't lived my life. Yet they speak of things that only I know or feel. My darkest thoughts, my most cherished memories, my moments of depression, my dreams... They pass it off in the tersest of phrases

Is my life so ordinary, that the broadest brush strokes can describe it?

Or is it so extraordinary, that they can make a living out of it?"

Do you ever truly get over someone?

As I look around myself, I see people go from dating to steady long term relationships, to either marrying each other or breaking up. All in pursuit of that elusive thing known as love.

And I can’t help but wonder, as you fall in and out of love with people, do you ever really stop loving them?

Imagine walking down the street and bumping into an ex from five years ago. Sure you’re both leading different lives now, and they’re probably not the person they were back then. But isn’t there always a piece of your heart that never stops feeling the same way about who they used to be? A part of you that’s still twenty years old, still dreamy eyed about this new and exciting relationship, about this idea of the person they used to be.

Even if it’s someone you’ve had a fantastic date with, and, for some reason, never heard from again. Is it really that easy to simply switch off how you felt about them that one evening, and move on? Or is there a small part of you that can remember their crooked smile, or their brown eyes, or the way their lips touched yours as you leaned in for your first kiss, oblivious to the rest of the world around you?

Social norm dictates that when things are over, the only way to move on is to totally and completely get over someone. But realistically speaking, is that ever possible?

Do you ever truly get over someone who was such a significant part of your life, whether it was for four years in your twenties, or for four hours one evening?

I see people struggling in new relationships because a piece of them is still stuck with someone from their past, and we’ve all been raised to believe this is impermissible.

But wouldn’t it be a lot easier if we were able to accept that there isn’t really anything wrong with that? That the fact that you were capable of loving someone so fully and unselfishly, of letting them be a part of your very being, is, in fact, the only right way of being with someone? 

Because, at the end of the day, that person doesn’t exist anymore. That relationship is over. And nothing good can come out of forcing ourselves to stop feeling a certain way about them. Nothing good can come out of trying to replace an old lover with a new one.

If you find yourself trying to compare the person you’re with with your ex, or feel like you would still give them another shot if they want to get back together with you, you’re clearly not ready to start something new.

But if the only problem is that there’s a part of you that still respects and loves someone you used to be with, but doesn’t want to be with them anymore, it doesn’t necessarily have to take away from your present.

Who we are as a person is a product of our experiences. And great dates and ex lovers are a significant part of that.
And as long as we are capable of truly and completely giving ourselves to the next person we’re with, that’s all it should take to tell us that we’re ready for the next great adventure.

Still standing ..

"Maybe we're not supposed to be happy.

Maybe gratitude has nothing to do with joy.

Maybe being grateful means recognizing what you have for what it is. Appreciating small victories. Admiring the struggle it takes simply to be human.

Maybe we're thankful for the familiar things we know.

And maybe we're thankful for the things we'll never know.

At the end of the day, the fact that we have the courage to still be standing is reason enough to celebrate."

His socks

I was climbing down the stairs from my local train station, and I saw this man in front of me - three day stubble, messy hair, jeans folded up above his ankles, funny coloured socks. I couldn’t help but notice his bright yellow socks against a grey winter’s day. With green stripes across them, and black and white prints of Timon and Pumbaa from the Lion King.
He was walking along with his fingers entwined in the sleek, elegant fingers of a beautiful girl. She had her head on his shoulder and a soft smile on her face. She didn't care about his unkempt hair, or faded jeans, or his socks. She was happy just to have this wonderful man in her life. To share her everyday with him. To be his.

We are so arrogant, so selective about the people we associate ourselves with. We want that perfect man or woman that everyone approves of. Someone who checks all the boxes, not just the ones on our list, but also those of our friends, family, colleagues...

But what we tend to forget is that we aren't perfect. Not even close. We all have our annoying habits and unconventional choices, our emotional baggage, our colorful socks. We don't need someone perfect. We need someone perfect for us. We need someone who will put up with all of those flaws, and accept us in spite of them. Someone who will still wake up every day and want to be with us. Someone who is willing to ignore all of those checklists, and hold our hand, and show us off to the world.

Because at the end of the day, none of those things matter. Not age or race or career choices or financial stability. Society may ridicule and judge couples who don't fit into their cardboard cut out of the perfect relationship. But what this society doesn't see, what it can't see, is the way they feel about each other. The way her kiss makes his heart race. The way his stolen glances give her butterflies. Anyone can see what he's good at but she's the one person who is allowed to see his imperfections. To everyone else, she may be guarded, but with him, she lowers her defences and lets herself be completely vulnerable. No one can see those little details. The perfect love that these two imperfect people share. It's their own little secret, unknown to the world around them.

Even the most seemingly well matched couple can't have what they have. Every love, every relationship is different. If no two people are alike, how can what they share be?

The thing to remember is, different doesn't make it any less real. Or any less special.

And that man with the funny socks might just be the one she'll happily grow old with.

I hate the holiday season

I love the festive cheer. The tinsel and twinkling lights. The snowflakes and warm fireplaces. The mulled wine and warm pudding. I love the build up to the holiday season, and the promise of a new year.

Yet something about the holidays makes this amazing city of 8 million people feel like the loneliest place on the planet. I walk past Christmas tree displays, on streets glowing with lights trying to fight the harsh winter night, and as I breathe in the crisp air, I find myself getting lost in the sheer beauty of the scene.

I stare at shop windows, wondering how it would feel to scramble like those around me, buying last minute gifts for loved ones they'll spend the season with.

How it would feel to drink a glass of mulled wine by the fireplace, sharing the warmth with another. Keeping the cold out on the street, where cold things belong. Not here inside my room, with a single tea light fighting a losing battle against the darkness. Struggling to keep me company as I gaze into the night, silently longing for a story that has never been mine. Wondering if it will ever feel any different. If I'll ever be first priority for another. If I'll have someone reach out for my hand as we walk in the snow. If I'll have someone tug my hair behind my ears and kiss me, as the year comes to a gentle, quiet close.

I blow out the tea light and climb into the cold bed, trying to warm my bare feet, and I turn towards the one companion of even the loneliest soul - my imagination.

I imagine what it'd be like sharing this moment with that special person. I create an elaborate tapestry of words, and whispers, and soft kisses, and gentle caresses.

And I drift away with his arms wrapped around me. That blue inch of half consciousness right before I fall asleep, when I'm at my most human and most vulnerable, yet somehow feeling safe. Warm.

Protected from the broken pieces of yesterday, shielded from the harsh reality of tomorrow,  when I have to wake up by myself, and face another long cold winter's day.

There's no escaping 2 am.

That time of the night when you're done with your tv shows, and your books, and your finger mindlessly swiping across the screen of your phone, glancing through stories that aren't yours.

That time when you're lying in your bed, and you're alone. Truly alone. With nothing but your thoughts to keep you company. And you let your mind wander back to memories of a simpler time. A time when it wasn't so difficult to be by yourself. When you weren't so afraid of solitude. When just a thought didn't fill every inch of your body with longing. A longing for a story that simply isn't meant to be yours. When every moment of the day wasn't such a struggle to get through. When you didn't feel like all you wanted was to hit the stop button, and somehow, just for a moment, stop all feeling.

And then you turn around to an even colder side of the bed and hug the pillow, praying for sleep to come soon, giving you a chance to escape into the world of dreams - a world where you can smile, without that constant ache buried inside.

A world where you finally stop feeling so. fucking. damaged.

Yes, there's no escaping 2 am.