Dear
November
For the
first time this month, I’ve felt the cold.
I mean really felt it. Soon, I’m
going to need to get my gloves out for the winter and put on a scarf for my walk
to work. The leaves are falling more
now, even though the sky is blue and the sun is shining.
I feel out
of sorts today, November. I don’t quite
know where to put myself. I can’t get
comfortable and I feel... agitated.
Somehow, knowing I have things to do when I get home makes me more eager
to get there when I’m sat at work, but as soon as I arrive, I feel the pressure
I’ve put on myself. It’s a funny thing,
setting myself a goal; as soon as it’s there, I’m instantly convinced I’m going
to let myself down or fall short. It’s
a ridiculous thing to fear but I worry all the same.
I want a
holiday. I think it’s long overdue. I need to see some different skies and see
some different places. I don’t want to
end up one of the cliché northerner who never leaves the country and complains
constantly about how miserable it is in the UK.
Maybe I
won’t come back.
Whilst doing
my first walk home from work in the dark since the clocks went back, I
remembered how afraid of the dark I was as a child. A car was headed towards me and there was
hardly any street lights. It struck me
then how much light can stop you from seeing; how our eyes get used to the dark
and we become blinded by the light. It
started to rain and the wind blew my hood down.
Walking in to the house, it never felt more like home to me. I feel guilty for not stopping to enjoy the
moment a little more. I realised then
how some gifts – like the feeling of really being “home” – don’t come so easy
in the summer months and how home never feels more like ours than in the
winter.
That doesn’t
mean I want it to stay forever.
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