Changing course.

Time and again, my life seems to push me ahead and pull me back at the same time. I’m pulled into euphoria and dropped back into frustration.

But this kind of cyclone happens with such ferocity only when there are lots of changes happening.

I have a way-too-tall-for-10-months mini version of myself in my green-eyed little boy. I don’t think I write about him often enough, and even if I do, it’s not enough. I feel like I crave more and more time with just myself and him. Gnawing, cooing, kissing, tickling, discovering his shadow… he is my bundle of peaceful love. He’s strong, brave, determined and very confident in telling everyone within earshot that he wants ME and ONLY ME to hold him.

I have an almost 2 and a half year old girl with huge brown eyes and dark blonde hair that exhausts me with the kind of lust that she has for the world. She wants more, more, more all the time. More challenges, more lessons, more exploring, more pushing-the-boundaries of her physical capabilities. It’s teaching me how to give her what she needs, but it also makes me feel that I don’t know how to give enough to her. It’s never enough for her, and it makes her tense and angry. Calm does not exist in her soul, and the only way I hope she can find it is if I stand by her and help her find her own sense of peace.

This magic has been happening in front of me and away from me, whilst I juggle being a working parent. Lately, for me, I realise that whilst I love what I do, me commuting an hour door to door in the morning and an hour in the evening is an exercise in selfishness, in some way. I want the break, I want to do something that exists outside of being a parent… but this job isn’t it. It isn’t THE thing that I jump out of bed for and leave my little family. It’s just been a getaway for me, but hasn’t fulfilled me for a while now.

I began to ask the feared question: is it worth it? Is the chaos of rearranging everything under the sun worth the 8 hours’ at a desk where I don’t really contribute ideas anymore?

And the answer came back to me: No.

And it terrified me, because I have never not worked. Since I’ve been 22, I have worked nonstop at various jobs in fashion, journalism and theatre. It’s been thrilling and exhausting and gratifying. But it’s become different now. Maybe it’s because I have two to look after now, maybe it’s because my life is leading me in a different direction temporarily, and my creativity will be used elsewhere.

I don’t know. It’s the unknown that scares me, I’ll admit. I don’t know if I’ll be a good stay-at-home mother, I don’t know if I’ll have the patience that’s needed. But I decided to resign. And I know that the decision
is an important one, and will be, for myself and my children for the moment.

In parallel with this decision has also come another one: moving out of London.

We’ve been here for almost 5 years now, and since my first post, it’s been an enlightening experience. I’ve learned how to be the resident of a new country, how to survive the first few years of marriage, how to drive, how to drink until 4am, how to be the wife of a business owner, and how to bring up two young children bilingually. I’m still learning about all of the above and more to come. But I am trading my stilettos for Wellington boots and moving out to a house in the country and potentially starting a business with my other half.

I don’t know what the next year will hold, but this year of the Dragon will be quite the ferocious one for us, in good and frustrating ways, I’m sure. Stay tuned.

Maybe I should rename this blog My London Ride? Because it sure feels like it at the moment…