I'm holding spring fully accountable for my sudden urge to scribble, or in this case, take my fingers for a leisurely jog on the keyboard. This time round, writing in my little lemon journal feels oddly nerve wracking. It could be something to do with the fact that this feels ridiculously impulsive or that for the first time in my life, I don't have a scripted plan, not even a brief of where I am going with this blog post. *So much so, I'm currently. writing this without a title*.
Who even am I?
I'm starting to think that my new status as one of those beginner gym-goers is doing things to my head. Does a spring clean for the cluttered mind sound about right? Somewhere slap bang in the middle of last Sunday's zen yoga, and Friday's rave on a spin bike, I came to the conclusion that it was time.
Drumroll for the cliché... time to do more of what makes me happy and find my balance.
Starting right back here - this little space that I love and know so well from a lockdown world. My space to sprinkle a couple of words, document and more or less dump my thoughts and well, do something for me.
Generally speaking, I'm too busy scrambling around for a speck of self-confidence to even contemplate unearthing my bottomless pit of ideas (would you believe). But, at the grand old age of twenty six, I've finally come round to the idea that sitting safely in my comfort zone, isn't a patch on letting loose my creative frenzy. *or in ben's matter of fact words, comfort is where dreams go to die.*
So, I guess this is a toast to writing! Or if you fancy, you can dig a little deeper and you'll catch my drift that it's a real toast to new beginnings. Beginnings that come with a regimented self-help guide, wrote by myself, for myself and mainly consisting of a borderline obsession to repeat the one liner, 'choose yourself - you are the priority'. On the whole, I'm absolutely no good to anyone burnt out, stressed and ready for bed by 2pm. Hence the more recent boundary setting and my ultimate 'aha moment' of stumbling across happiness in the very calm and stillness of the small stuff. Which I guess really, is where the inspiration for this post came from and the now completed title.
I'm a sucker for a scrapbook and it's presumably something to do with the liberating removal of the perfectionist badge. No glorified expectations or looming clouds that cast shadows obscured by the dreaded fear of disapproval. The perfectly irregular and utterly disproportionate pages of my little world are, to me, rather aesthetically pleasing.
So, in a world where the busyness of my brain can only be compared to that of a beehive, humming with 40,000 occupants, in mid-July, these are the scrapbook pages I'm living for...
small
little things
present
stop
1. A splash of greenery in the bathroom
2. Just eat the biscoff brownie stack
4. For wine bottles or coffee cups? solid 11/10
3. Dabbling in a bit of watercolour again
5. Cold water is the answer
FYI Percy Penguin is broken, him and a dodgy floor drop call for a wrong reading
6. A bird feeder will revolutionise your golden hour - I'm obsessed
7. I'm still blind, even through a pair of binoculars
8. the earlier the alarm, the better the day
9. bringing back to life the three year old in me
it was always about Locke Park and the feed the duck days
10. garden projects and little visitors
11. just good, simple food
and elevensies are always a good idea, top tier when accompanied by lemon drizz even if you do need to make it two or three o'clocksies
Cheers to writing again. I opt to celebrate with a coffee, at silly o'clock, in my favourite lemon mug with a side of Clarkson's Farm - S3, Ep 4.
H x
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