In the immortal words of Ross Geller, “we were on a break.”
Modernish and I reached an impasse.
It wasn’t her. It was me.
I knew I’d taken a break from writing, but upon my return even I couldn’t quite believe that six months had elapsed since I last penned anything personally.
Time has flown, as every grown-up always told me it one day would.
The scary thing is that (apparently) it’s only set to slip away faster.
This isn’t particularly interesting though. As I said, it’s something almost everyone already knows.
However, what they may not know is that lacking hours in the days, weeks and months was only one of the reasons for my slightly self-imposed writer’s block.
The other was an infinitesimally tiny confidence knock. I was just one of a few people to enter a local short story competition with three winners, none of whom were me.
I have no doubt that they were all more deserving and more accomplished than I.
I can also honestly say that I don’t regret entering, nor was I soured by loss.
But it’s become clear that it was just enough to encourage me to shy away from my keyboard in the few moments where I might otherwise have entertained myself with a spot of tapping.
Nevertheless, being of the firm belief that life has a way of leading you back to the things that count and which you’ve lost, eventually, the inevitable happened to me.
For starters, I was given the gift of time. A little window devoid of the procrastination temptation finally appeared and I fell back in like with sharing my small, insignificant stream of consciousness.
For main, I was brought to tears by one of the most thoughtful presents I’ve ever received. A little something that reminded me of what I set out to do and why I wish to do it.
And for dessert, I watched a programme recommended by a friend. A show where a guest passionately discussed an author’s love of writing so great that she wrote against all odds for neither monetary gain nor public adoration.
Some would say the stars aligned.
Others would say it’s pure coincidence.
Either way, it brought me back.
And I’m so pleased that it did.
It feels almost unfashionable now to simply say “I’m happy.” There’s a choking guilt that stops me from admitting it, something about those two words that feels as though you’re conceitedly ramming your good fortune down people’s dry, reluctant throats.
But that’s not the case at all.
Saying “I’m happy” doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten that others aren’t and it doesn’t mean you don’t realise how lucky you are. I’m acutely aware of both and I’m certainly not jumping for the high heavens with joy all the live long day.
Nonetheless, happiness is the one thing we all appear to be striving for and yet, for whatever reason, it seems we’re scared to share when we’ve found it.
With the New Year marking a return to ‘start as you mean to go on’ mentality, now feels like the perfect time to reclaim the phrase.
And whilst it might also be the point at which we once again attempt to begin something new, it can just as easily be an opportunity to step back; a juncture that makes it possible to remember and rekindle whatever we so wish.
Progress is not linear. Neither are we.
Starting over isn’t necessarily the way forward. Stepping back doesn’t necessarily denote failure.
On the contrary, I’d challenge anyone not to feel just a touch thrilled by the prospect of a Pick ‘n’ Mix.
Modernish 