Interesting how this blog was working better as a private journal. As soon as I went public (i.e. told Dom) I started 'writing for' instead of 'writing about' and I lost the momentum of introspection. But yesterday I was lying on my yoga mat listening to stories. Don't worry, I was still in the Floment, but stories were rising... and I listened and let them go like a good yogini. Anyway, I realised I still needed this space. I am so full of stories and they clutter me up. Yoga is physically, mentally and emotionally easy for some and hard for others.
Hard for me. But good for me too - helps me sift through the stories and let them go. But ultimately when you struggle with yoga you need more than one mat.
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?
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.
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 …