Longing

This weekend, I saw two friends who held me to account, each in their own way.

The second asked me why I hadn’t written for so long. Had I moved on to something else? She had enjoyed my blog and wanted to read more. She said nice things about my writing, and I felt flattered, empowered to begin again.

The first went further. He threw down the gauntlet, challenged me on my reason for the break. I’ve been busy I said, I get distracted. The ideas mount up until there are so many I don’t know where to begin. But I will, when I get some space, when it’s cooler again, when I can work on my own, when, when, when…

Yes, that, he said. Sure. But also, you’re afraid. You don’t want to get it wrong. You’re afraid no one wants to hear what you have to say.

But what if? What if in silence we deprive the world of our creative output? If you feel you have something to say, who are you to decide that no one wants to hear it. Say it he said and find out. Get it wrong, get it right, it doesn’t matter. Why wait for another day, a better time, or whatever excuse you can find. Just do it. It won’t get easier if you put it off and I can tell you’re frustrated. Those ideas mounting up will only squash you down with them. Get on with it.

And here we are. Thanks Ras, I needed that.

I don’t know how I feel about depriving the world of my creative output, that sounds huge. But I’ve got that second friend who’s waiting for an update, and that’s enough for me. Hi Sarah!

Since February and leaving St Ives, we’ve lived in three different houses, in two different counties and sadly left Cornwall behind. I’ll be honest, I think I left my inspiration there too.

There have been moments, including a fabulous weekend retreat alone in a cabin in the Hundred Acre Woods (aka Ashdown Forest in East Sussex), walking in Mid Devon, and a creative conference in June, not to mention all the things I wanted to rant about after three weeks in the craziness that is the United States right now.

Admittedly this is the other side of the Atlantic but it’s still the sea!

But largely, I have had other things on my mind. I’ve been biding my time for a moment when I have a clear enough head to write.

I find I’m really craving that little wooden summer house studio on the West Penwith moor. I want to live in the middle of nowhere, where I can’t be found I passionately declared to a very patient and accommodating husband. Well then let’s do it he said.

It might not be practical and we are far from a decision but if I had absolute freedom to choose, you’d see me on the way back down there today.

To aid the decision-making we’ll be spending the next three months in Mid-Devon among green rolling hills, spectacular autumnal woodlands and winding backroads for days.

Next door to my parents, just a few miles from my sister. Within easier driving distance of the North, East and South Devon coasts than we are here in Somerset, and only a two-hour train ride from London, could this be the compromise we might need?

Maybe. I’m trying to retain how we felt there in May with lovely walks from the front door but just lately there’s been an ache like sadness I can’t quite shake. Too deep in my bones to ignore. An off kilter feeling. A primal longing for the sand between my toes, the cold, cold water, the perpetual motion of the sea. I feel like it’s calling me. As if I’m made of salt and sand and sea and up here, I’m just too dry to breathe.

Beccy by the Sea

An impossible question. How will we weigh up these needs and desires against the need and desire to be near the people we love?