I can't say that I've ever been a particular believer of fate. Some days, however, I do feel as if the universe may be trying to tell me something to which I should listen - Friday was one such day, meticulously organised, tube routes scouted out, scarf and camera packed in tow, I was anticipating an afternoon of exploration around Crouch End and Muswell Hill and their, the internet assured me, plethora of charity shops. A long, wind-bitten story cut short, my woeful lack of a sense of direction meant that I was headed home, bereft of bargains, a lot earlier than I had intended, disappointed at having expected so much & yet experienced so little (any N8 locals willing to part with any top tips, please feel free to do so!)
Yesterday, scribbling to you in the rolled-up-sleeves warmth of a quaint coffee shop, 'Coffee is my Cup of Tea' , a few doors down from London Fields station, soundtracked by 1940s big band and the rhythmical rumble of trains overhead that made the teacups shudder, I felt determined to learn my lesson with a few tried-and-tested favourites of a Saturday afternoon - a long lie in under the weight of several bedspreads, an hour or so spent scrolling through Pinterest (find me here for scandi-inspired interiors, doodles from my best-loved illustrators & more baked pasta recipes than I could cook in a lifetime) & watching Lena Dunham interviews on YouTube, a fridge-supply busting lunch of fried eggs (the very first time I'd cooked them, for shame) on toasted followed by natural yoghurt & blueberries, & then a wander down to Broadway Market as the daylight fades for a flip through the rails of vintage skirts & the temptation of a fresh rye & walnut loaf.
Back when I was job hunting after graduation, a period that feels like a long time ago & yet one whose near-constant terror is still very real to me, I spent my days in the labyrinthe complexities of a conflict in which my lifelong dependency on structure & routine & my unwillingness & fear of entering into an adult life that threatened to allow my dreams to fall by the wayside, were set in direct opposition. Cultivating the creative aspects of my life by writing this blog, crocheting on park benches during my lunch hours and working towards my MA application (sadly more dread-inducing than I had counted on with the introduction of the two words 'personal' & 'statement' directly after one another) have been valuable ways through which I can feel in control of the path that I'm on & less at the mercy of the demands of my nine 'til six.
If these past four months of change have taught me anything, it is not only that change is not something to be feared but also that one of the ways to help you adapt is to consider the constants on which you can rely, the anchors that provide stability in times in which it may seem to be lacking. Alongside the guaranteed pleasures of Saturday afternoons such as rifling through recipes for the week ahead (having had a broken oven for the past month has meant that I have had to be especially imaginative & committed to this particular activity) & catching the opening notes of Glenn Miller's 'In The Mood' tumbling from the top floor of a nearby terrace as I shuffle by, I have found myself thinking increasingly of my appreciation for my family of late, & not only since leaving home & embarking on my own adventures at the age of eighteen.
I must confess that I started to write what was, admittedly, quite a hyperbolic & gushing description of my home life at this point but soon abandoned it as idealistic & inauthentic (fine lines to tread in the world of blogging, as we all know) As I encounter more people & am introduced into their domestic lives - those of only children, twin sisters, mother/daughter rivalries - I realise the different & difficult relationships that we form with those closest to us, constantly shifting in their nature & intimacy but built on the fundamental foundations of family. I am closer now to my mother than I have likely ever been, we're often told that we look alike & I have, subconsciously & otherwise, collected a number of her habits: a love of the comforts of home - roast potatoes & the radio humming its way through the rooms of the house -, of dogs & a tendency to read the Sunday papers until they're two weeks out of date. I am also coming to treasure the relationship I have with my grandmother as I grow older & less selfish, taking an interest in her history buried in my hand-me-down opal ring , spending days at her house, bathing in the afternoon & having her pin my dresses for altering while my hair is still damp.
I suppose I have become particularly philosophical about family life recently as the strength of our ties are tested, my father & stepmother having lived abroad for a number of years, my little sister becoming not so little any longer (the next birthday, she will be the age that I was when she was born which I can't quite believe) & my older brother finally being granted the visa he needs to move back to the States as soon as next week. The latter has always been more independent than I could brave to be &, although everything is finally falling into place for him & it is important that I let him know that that makes me happy, I know that perhaps the importance that I place on family does not resonate so soundly & won't feature so profoundly in his future.
Our relationship is imperfect & disjointed at the best of times, not dissimilar to mine with my father although the latter has always been unquestioning in his providing for me for which I am forever thankful, but I hope that he considers, as I have done of late, that in times of change & uncertainty, family can provide an anchor that holds you steady in the storm & the guiding light that keeps you from the cliff-face.
'Everything seemed possible. Everything seemed right. Just now [...] just now she had reached security; she hovered like a hawk suspended; like a flag floated in an element of joy which filled every nerve of her body fully and sweetly, not noisily, solemnly rather, for it arose, she thought, looking at them all eating there, from husband and children and friends; all of which rising in this profound stillness (she was helping William Bankes to one very small piece more and peered into the depths of the earthenware pot) seemed now for no special reason to stay there like a smoke, like a fume rising upwards, holding them together. Nothing need be said;nothing could be said [...] there is a coherence in things, a stability; something, she meant, is immune from change, and shines out (she glanced at the window with its ripple of reflected lights) in the face of the flowing, the fleeting, the spectral, like a ruby, so that again tonight she had the feeling she had had once today already, of peace, of rest. Of such moments, she thought, the thing is made that remains for ever after. This would remain.'
- From 'To The Lighthouse' by Virginia Woolf
Speak soon - O.
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