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For the last four months I've been living with change on a daily basis. I've got used to it. I even welcome it now. This is, in itself, a huge change. For the previous ten years next to nothing had changed in my life. I was married. I lived in Cornwall. I worked in a bookshop. I had slowly creeping unhappiness. I had wonderful friends. I spent far too much time weeping in the bath. I had no reason to think that these things would change. I still have wonderful friends. That's the only constant.
Some of these changes have been public. It doesn't matter how Celia Johnson one is, it is nigh on impossible to separate from one's husband without people finding out about it. Even when it's amicable, and mutual, and all for the best, there is always fallout. There are always moments of public meltdown, and of vomiting in other people's en suites. However, a significant part of this period of change has been conducted in relative privacy. I'm not referring to the internal changes. I don't think that there's been a moment of ," and, lo there I was, a beyooodiful butterfly" type transformation, although I am happier, more confident, and more together. I'm thinking more of the whole moving to the other side of the country state of affairs. For obvious reasons very few people knew about this. I'll write about the whole bizzare process that will take me to Whitby some other time, suffice to say it was somewhat unconventional. Until a week ago it was nebulous and something of a secret between me, the universe, and a couple of other people. The universe is great at keeping secrets. I recommend it.
The very fact that I'm writing about this kind of implies that it's no longer a secret. I can pinpoint the moment when it stopped being a secret. Biggest apologies to anyone who was in Whitby towards the end of last week, and got to witness the unedifying sight of a lass with bonkers hair, and far too much cleavage on display, tripping around town in the snow, grinning like a half wit,and squealing " I get to live here" whilst jumping up and down. It was a happy moment. Thank you for sharing it with me. The act of handing one's notice in at work also becomes public knowledge pretty sharpish. Especially down the book mines in February. Not a whole lot to talk about.
This brings me to the word brave. Several people have dropped a B Bomb in relation to me in the last couple of days. This baffles me. Lots of people are brave, anyone with children, artists, explorers, people stuck in difficult relationships, anyone who puts their heart out there to be judged by another human being, anybody who uses ladders in their daily lives, these people are brave. I'm not. Firstly, bravery implies involvement and choice and my life is just kind of unfolding around me. Secondly I'm pretty terrified much of the time. When I was at school I learnt about negative capability. From what I remember this involves being reconciled to two opposing states at the same time. I think that the therapy speak for this is cognitive dissonance . I have a big old load of that going on at the moment. Terror and joy are wrestling for position in my brain. Most of the time silly, giddy, ecstatic joy wins out. Doesn't leave much room for bravery though.
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