I’ve long appreciated Miranda Hart’s social media accounts for bringing a little sunshine to my day and her sporadic emails are no different.
Having recently launched an online shop, with various bits and bobs bearing phrases from the beloved sitcom, Miranda, her lines serve the secondary purpose of subtly showcasing a handful of products that will inevitably make any fan giggle.
But refreshingly, her reason for sending them appears to be to reach more people with a simple message.
Be kind and be gentle; particularly to yourself.
Crudely paraphrased, you could easily make the mistake of dismissing them as another example of ‘snowflakery’ or ‘wellness’.
You may also make the error of thinking it’s all just ‘clever marketing’.
All I can say is sign up to the mailing list before you leap to any conclusion.
I’ve never denied that I’m a tad naïve and perhaps too optimistic for some.
Yet, I genuinely believe these heartfelt paragraphs comes from a tender place. It’s about the only email I receive that envelopes me in calm.
In the midst of what has undeniably been an ever so slightly bizarre year, it’s all the more wonderful to be able to briefly disappear like many a gloved hand into these warm pockets of positivity.
For 2021, her shared wisdom was purely to ‘go gently’.
It’s bringing a smile to my lips as I read it now.
I was actually quite relieved to ‘go gently’, as it were, on New Year’s Eve.
For once I didn’t feel the nightmarish pressure to see and charm as many people as possible whilst simultaneously drinking myself into Prosecco-fuelled oblivion. As fun as that is (my nickname at uni wasn’t ‘Risk’ for nothing) we all know Prosecco is the work of the devil and tastes pretty foul.
Of course I could choose another drink. I frequently do. The point is, I quite enjoyed not having to decide what extortionately priced beverage(s) I should purchase. And I rather reveled in not having to answer the ‘what are you doing for NYE?’ question.
Whilst I know it will have been a great anti-climax for many a party goer, I couldn’t help but feel the breeze as the world gave a collective sigh of relief, not only in saying goodbye to 2020, but in not having to subscribe to this year being ‘the one’ either.
Because unless your resolution is to become Cinderella, not a lot changes at the stroke of midnight.
The world’s essentially just celebrating its birthday. And I don’t know about you, but whenever I wake up having become another year older, I feel fundamentally the same as the person who woke up the day before.
It’s only with hindsight that we find plot points in our lives and craft the story of who we’ve become. And we’re as likely to feel a sudden shift in who we are on a random Thursday as we are on the anniversary of our first breath.
I suppose that’s why once we’ve grown old we don’t recognise the leathery face in the mirror. Even at 23 (almost 24), I’ve sometimes caught myself accidentally misquoting my years, not because I desire to be my younger self, but simply because a latent part of my brain will probably always stubbornly refuse to catch up with reality.
I miss parties. I miss pubs. I miss my loved ones, whether family or friends. I miss meeting strangers and becoming familiar with their habits. I miss wondering whether these new acquaintances may soon become something more or less to me.
I could go on, but I fear this may become at worst morbid and at best even more trivial.
Besides, if our recent history has proven anything, it’s that we’re all exceptionally adaptable, even if we don’t realise it.
And for now, that’s all we need to be.
Modernish 