Skip to main content

Dance in the pain

For the last month or so, when not dragging my gimpy sciatica stressed left leg around the British Council, I have been mainly resting in bed. Me in bed makes Roso happy and here she is snuggling into my hair and telling me everything is gonna be okay. Hers isn't the only positive message I have been receiving. A few days ago a friend posted the following on the northlands:

"Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass but learning to dance in the rain".

Simple bordering on trite yet it struck a chord. I have been waiting for the storm to pass for a while now and instead the clouds seem to get darker, and more full of rain. As much as I have loved it in the past 13 years I am ready to leave Thailand. Yet emigration to the US is as elusive as it was 3 months ago and will remain so until we find a co-sponsor. In the meantime friends are starting new lives of the kind I desire - Ian (who will one day I am sure be Yorkshire Ian) in England and Richard in his poetic Portuguese farmhouse, and I look at my grey skies and sigh.

What exactly do I want? (It helps I believe to be specific when wishing, whether on stars or rainclouds). I want to own a house with Wolf. I want to live in a place without needing a visa. I want to belong to somewhere - and not feel like an interloper or a tourist. I want to work but have nothing to do with TEFL teachers (sorry guys). I want to be able to ride a bike and walk without being drenched in sweat. I want large skies, fresh air, nature, fours seasons and peaches and raspberries in the summer. I want to feel well and full of inspiration.

I also want to stop wanting. Waiting isn't the problem, wanting the waiting to end is.

In the meantime I need to get past the debilitating stress that is filling my body with pain and my soul with anxiety. I need to believe that finishing work in October and facing an uncertain future won't kill me. I need to dance in the rain.

So the first small step to dancing is to tell myself our wishes will come true. We will get to Minnesota and the second North (the first being Northern Thailand) of my imagining will become real. Just bear with me, okay?

Reblog this post [with Zemanta]

Popular posts from this blog

My Self-Help Addiction

Today I am getting up close and personal with my self-help habit.  I have been looking for answers for years but seem no closer to finding them than when I first began to look.  Could it be that the search is futile?

From blogging to vlogging

So I started a YouTube channel called Imagine the North, and here is the first video.  It is my attempt at picking up where I left off when the blogging muse failed me.  Let's hope the muse of vlogging is a little more tenacious.  It is rough and ready, I need a lot of practice but here goes.  Love.

Journalling - humble beginnings

When I was about 10 years old I had a sleep-over at a friend's house. We got ready for bed and went to say good night to my friend's mum who was herself sitting up in bed writing in a notebook.
"What are you writing?" I asked.
"Well, actually I am writing about you" she smiled. "Every night I write the day's events in my diary, the things I did, what made me happy and what made me sad. Right now I am telling my diary how you came to spend the day and night at our house."
My friend's mum, her bright coloured pyjamas and her glasses perched on her nose with a double drape of beaded chain swinging from each temple, instantly became promoted to the coolest person I knew. She was talking to her diary, about me no less.

Subsequently I became one of those people who started a diary on January the first every year of my life (since I have been able to write) and rarely made it past Epiphany. Maybe once or twice I dragged my pen into February …