On tenterhooks: today we see if we can fly

Later today I will take my driving test. Oh yes, at the ripe old age of 43.

This would be the second time, but I count it as a first as the initial try was 22 years ago. I barely remember it and I am a completely different person now. For a start, I am sitting here with a bag of frozen peas against my back, as I seemed to have strained something just because I slept on a different mattress a couple of nights ago. 21 year old me wouldn't have noticed!

Back then, young Sarah was cocky, reckless and easily distracted. Those traits still remain, but they are now tempered greatly by experience. Also, this time round, being able to drive is a hundred times more important. In 1994, travelling involved just me and a backpack. Now, it's me, a backpack and a six year old. A much more complicated proposition.

Back then too, I was in student digs, lived in a city and could catch a ride with friends whenever I wanted. I barely had any possessions, and didn't do big grocery shops. Pretty much everything I wanted was within a half hour's walk. Why I decided to take lessons is a mystery to me now.

As to why I am getting my licence now? The driving need is my commute to work. Getting to the office takes 90 minutes by public transport and only 30 by car. I am unutterably grateful for the lifts I've received but that cannot continue. I love what I'm doing now so getting a job closer to home is a last resort.

Apart from the commute, being able to drive would open up the world for us: we'd be able to get to places that we couldn't go to because it would take too long by train or we actually can't get to by other means. Forests, beaches and strange places with intriguing names we've only ever seen on a map. We'd be able to visit folk in far away places! By golly, the places we'd go, the things we'd do!

Wish me luck, friends!

"Does the walker choose the path, or the path, the walker?"

~ Garth Nix, Sabriel, and all his books of The Old Kingdom*.

 

Today, I turned 42.

I'm learning that one needs the bounce-backability of a child to weather the storms of a fresh start. And I've had two pretty big ones in the last 12 months.

A year ago, I was stumbling amid the burning debris of my broken home. But I wasn't alone. My family and friends held me up and showed me how much they cared. On this day, I was treated with such kindness, and I felt so loved. And today -- this week -- has been no different.

Two months ago, I left a secure (-ish) job because I found myself in a constant state of rage. As someone who had suffered with depression twice, I knew this state would inevitably lead to a deep, dark hole. And drugs would only camouflage the journey. If I didn't change my situation, I would lose myself and my daughter will know someone she called 'mum' but it wouldn't be me.

So I quit with nothing to go to. I've been looking for work and set up a small shop but for some reason I still haven't got my site up and my creative consultant pitch remains unformed.

The last few weeks have been particularly trying - I ran out of money and had to ask for help.

This year, too, I faced my daughter's entry to big school. I worried about her settling into that society; I worried that she would hate it and refuse to go. After initially being cross most of the time (her teacher's description) she's settled in. And I am so proud that she's now able to demonstrate care for others. It was my greatest fear that she would be incapable of empathy.

In the last week, I've also been distractingly preoccupied by things I can't have. Or more precisely, people I can't have. I have no idea what is up with me. It's damned unhelpful.

On the other hand, my alter ego won me a writing gig. No cash, but opened up a personal avenue that I hadn't realised I craved. I also sold a short story, a voice over and a bedtime story. Just a couple of days ago, I made a new connection and a possible new venture has unfolded. It's terribly ENFP of me, all these little projects here and there, but it's also grin-inducingly exciting.

My dear friend, Irish, took me out for lunch the other day and observed that I was really happy.
And you know what, despite the lack of money, companionship, despite the distractions and the worries? I find that, yes, I really am. Truly, deeply so.


*Henry Rollins once derided a date for reading the Harry Potter books because she was a grown woman and shouldn't be reading children's books. Much as I love Henry, he's an idiot in this. Just because you're a grown up, doesn't mean you have to abandon the child in you, doesn't mean you should dismiss childish things.