“Just let go. Let go of how you thought your life should be, and embrace the life that is trying to work its way into your consciousness.”
It is almost the second anniversary of the two events that significantly changed and probably … saved my life.
I was bumbling along, apathetic and disillusioned, so I asked the Universe for help. And to my surprise, it was listening.
I booked myself on a Writer’s Weekend Workshop, a significant first step because as soon as it was over, things started falling into place. I knew I should be concentrating on writing, the passion I first discovered when I was 7-years-old and won a Blue Peter badge for writing an ingenious piece about one of their dogs.
Writing saw me through a troubled childhood and I was fortunate to have an Irish saint for an English teacher at secondary school. He not only nurtured and encouraged my enthusiasm, but he was responsible for making sure my teenage wit and wisdom was read by a wider audience.
At 17, I undertook a journalistic course, then freelanced for a while until I was engulfed by my adult life which pulled me in too many different directions. I co-wrote two books, but the freelancing work became less and less, as I dipped in an out of my creative passion, until I rekindled the embers of the fire inside me during that Writer’s Workshop two years ago. I had never really lost it, but needed a reminder that writing is the passion that fuels my everyday life.
The Universe had started to work its magic and whilst still bathed in the euphoria of the Writer’s Weekend, I was made redundant. No notice period, no warning. I turned up for work one morning to be told to leave. I couldn’t even collect personal belongings from my desk. Out, gone, with a calculating coldness, after 14 years.
I was incensed. Numb. I shed tears on the way back to my car. Why me? Why now? I drove unsteadily home, then rang my nearest and dearest seeking sympathy and consolation. Then I did what I have always done in times of trouble. When life seems incomprehensible and the weight of the world seems to be bearing down on me, I wrote. I wrote with a passion and for the first time ever, there was nothing or no-one to distract me or stand in my way.
Two years on, I have just started the fourth re-write of my novel. I have tapped years worth of trapped emotion on to the hard drive of my laptop and I am calm. I practice Qi Gong. I feel liberated and alive. Writing, for me, is food for the soul and I am replete.