I read thirteen books this year. I’m happy about re-establishing reading after years of total drought. Some say it takes twenty-one days to form a habit. It’s taken me nearer twenty one months. At first my concentration was so poor I had to read every paragraph repeatedly, forcing myself to put down my phone for twenty minutes at a time. Then, slowly, I began relishing phone dumping; books morphing into pacifier and portal; a way to slow down time and accelerate perspectives.
How long does it take you to make a change?
More about the malarky that is #52and40 here.
I love the odd day in Glasgow. As familiarity grows, I’m beginning to link the city up with maps, memories, family folklore and reference points in the past, present and future. I like the break from Edinburgh’s tourism too, when I’m off west. Interactions with people and the pavement feel markedly more real and more easily connected in a context where showmanship’s less prevalent. I trust myself and my reading of stories I’m collecting better without a backdrop of pressure on a place. I’ve always been easily influenced; mood is infectious, too.
More here on what the crack is with #52and40.
My mental health’s gone off kilter recently. As a health-conscious veteran of PMDD, postnatal and antenatal depressions, I know when my neurochemistry’s recalibrated in an unhelpful direction. I’m lucky SSRIs work well for me and I feel positive, mainly, about medical interventions. I like my life in full, balanced colour. So, while the palette reloads, I’m taking things easier.
Meanwhile, I’m heartened by the stigma around mental health honesty eroding. I see people responding with less shock when someone owns a decline. This rise in empathy and emotional courage really helps.
I’m battling to feel Christmassy. The weather’s telling my senses it’s Autumn. The bagels in the cupboard and alarm clock scream that school’s still in. My diary’s saying it’s a few days before my annual crying at the song in The Polar Express which I love but will make the rest of the family roll their eyes in an agony of stretching tolerance.
YET STILL I REMAIN LARGELY SEASONALLY DEAD INSIDE.
Emergency measures are called for;
- Buble’ on Spotify
- Discussions with tiny nephew re Santa
- Deployment of horrific sweater
- Rising wine levels
Read all about #52and40 here.
Years ago I read that the things we struggle with in other people are usually the things we most need to work on in ourselves.
I think we all have a thing or two that we do which doesn’t serve us well, is easy for others to spot and yet rarely (if ever) bleeps on our own radar.
I spend regular time trying to see what’s in my blind spot. When my mood is balanced and objective, with energy for the exertion of the mental trip, I dare to go there.