I am currently in between seasons. That place between ending one life chapter and beginning another. And I am restless. I want to ‘get going’. But all signs point to staying exactly where I am because whatever is taking form within my being for this next stage is not quite ready yet.
Do you remember when you were young and people used to ask you what you wanted to be when you grew up?
What did you say?
Recently a friend of mine told me that I was a ‘bridge’.
I have to admit, it is not the lofty profession I had aspired to as a child, or as a dreamy teenager. But when I thought about it, she was right. And here’s why.
I have been putting pen to paper for a long time, I have written articles, poetry and even a book, and yet I had no recollection of ever meeting my Muse.
So I went to meet her.
Before she introduced herself to me and made herself visible, she brought me back to my mum’s kitchen where I was making chocolate biscuits. I loved cooking and baking as a child and my mum would let us experiment freely in the kitchen, it was bliss.
Sitting here in this in between space as we go through a journaling process, I realise that I have always been an ‘inbetweener’. I grew up between two villages, on the east coast of Ireland between the land and the sea. I have never ‘belonged’ to a place, a tribe, a concept, always hovering at the edges, dipping in and stepping out as needs be.