An alarm rings across the room at 5am and I jump out of bed like a rocket ship to stop it from waking the neighbours. My legs hit the carpet floor in our bedroom as if they were always upright. As if I wasn't in a deep sleep or tossing and turning through a bad dream.As if I just waiting for the alarm to go off so I could run towards it. Most days I slip back into bed and sleep until 6am when it's really time to get up and shower.
I keep setting the alarm for 5am every night, in the hope that one day I stay awake after turning it off and float downstairs to meditate for 15 minutes. Before I moved to Birmingham I had mapped out what my daily schedule would look like and I've failed to implement it entirely. I wanted to be the best version of myself in my new life.
So far so bad. Something magical happened yesterday though, for the first time I appreciated where I was. Not geographically but in life, I didn't start applauding but I looked around the house Ranj and I are renting and smiled. We had managed to find somewhere to live despite all my aesthetic quirks. We have enough money to pay for weekly Lidl shops, all-too-often take-outs and seisha date nights once a week.
I love my life here and yet I find myself crying alot. I've lived with myself long enough now to know I'm not sad when I cry, I'm frustrated. I'm always working on the next thing to conquer, accomplish and tick off. I would call myself ambitious but it's more this ingrained need to impress the world. I want to be known as someone who did something, to leave a legacy.
One of my ex-boyfriends used to live in the east end of London and in my cabs home each Sunday, I would peer into the beautifully lit studies of people's homes. I imagined they were playing classical music on a record player, with candles perfuming the room as they read a weighty novel - I've always been romantic with my imagination. Finding a place that was our own still hasn't quenched the thirst for that study set-up. Maybe it's not going to happen for me. It's not about the money, I could earn enough to one day own that house with a green study lamp lit brightly on the mahogany desk but along the way I would have to give up alot.
I've changed so much and continue to. I can walk into a space and feel like I've arrived when I once used to shun it off as 'so not me.' That's the thing with life, it changes and if you can keep adapting to lifes challenges you've got a good shot of making it. That sounds morose but life is hard when you expect alot from it. It's much like waves, you will experience rise and falls and provided you're prepared for the consistency of it all, you'll make it. I plain forget that sometimes the sea can be treacherous and you just have to hold on to the rafters in those moments until a calmer tide returns.
As I stopped to read back over what I had just written I heard myself saying, you love to write, you should do it for free. But that means making no money for a long time and I'm talking years - no one became an overnight blogging success. It's about the long haul with most things that are worth doing.
If at the end of time I look back at my lifes work and all I have to show are a series of blog posts that ran from my heart to the internet would I be happy? Would it make up for the fact that I was never rich, famous or legendary? Would I be able to smile in those final moments and say I lived life my way, I did it my way?
The answer right now is yes. If I could stop chasing my tail and trying to prove that I fit in maybe I could fly to a place where I truly felt at home.