Author’s Note:This post was inspired by Maya Angelou’s poem “When I Think About Myself.” Her words come from a history and an experience that aren’t mine, but what resonated with me was her use of laughter as both armor and confession. What follows is my own reflection, a much smaller, messier version of that rhythm….
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There’s a pile of them on my shelves: passion planners, diaries, bullet journals, colour-coded agendas, Italian leather ones, Japanese ones from before they changed the paper. A graveyard of productivity promises. I used to believe that if I just found the right one, the perfect notebook, I’d finally unlock my life. I’d become the kind…
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I didn’t realise at the time, but I was starting my last marathon attempt. It was not my first long run. It was not my first marathon. But it was the last time I purposefully went running. My previous marathon had been through my birth town. There were crowds, familiar scenery, and reasonable weather despite…
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I started this blog as I was starting to run marathons. It was, at the time, a blissful way to leave things behind and get some quite. Making myself a plodding metronome of forward motion, like a physical kind of meditation, coupled with leaving technology behind. Running for the quiet. The last marathon I ran…
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Let me clarify, I didn’t mean to stop, it was just one of those weeks where everything was a little too busy, and I never got to the Doctors appointment, and then I never got around to re booking it (because I was embarrassed about missing the 1st one) , and so one week became two, and…
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I said this out loud this week. “No one wants to hear my voice.” I didn’t realise at the time, but it pissed me off. It pissed me off so much I wrote it down in one of my many notebooks. It pissed me off so much I took the note book to my therapy…
