The sun isn’t as watery today. In fact, on close study, the shards of light finally appear to carry some weight, as they stream through my living room window.
The orange rays are unusually piercing and I blink because it’s been a while since there’s been any proper sunshine to speak of. I re-angle my desk so that I’m not caught in its insistent glare. It’s all rather wonderful after the endlessly dark days of winter.
This rare sniff of Spring might not last long but that’s okay, I’ll take what I can get. Earlier, standing in the kitchen, I’d noticed that the crocuses were starting to poke through the lawn. Even in slumber, the garden was also apparently putting in the long hours.
I glance over at the hearth. I can’t light a real fire in here anymore as the chimney has been blocked, so instead, I decorate it with fairy lights to provide a midwinter twinkle. Over Christmas, I use festive, multi-coloured strings of lights, arranged to mimic the shape of a burning fire. Then, in the New Year, I swap them out for a more demure white glow.
But it’s now almost the end of January and I notice that their light is fading. Note to self, buy new batteries. I’ll keep them for few more weeks as they so effortlessly brighten up the room, particularly when the curtains are drawn.
To the left of my keyboard is my frazzled notebook and trusty fountain pen, which has been recently refilled with navy blue ink. I like the peaceful process of dismantling the pen, opening the ink pot and slowly turning the mechanism until it inhales a belly full. A full fountain pen, is a happy fountain pen.
To my right, my second cup of coffee of the day sits on a drinks mat made from recycled bottle tops and fabric, from Africa. The mats, a set of four, are a little wobbly but I like them. Having a piece of Botswana sitting in my eye-line reminds me that I’m not just a person at a desk. I have travelled, I have experienced the outside world and I have collected precious memories.
I often think back to my travels. In transience, I have always found a friend that has suffered my spirit whole.
Across the road, I can hear the workmen, who have been repaving my neighbour’s drive. From what I can see, they have dragged out what seems to be a relatively simple job but I’m not paying, so it’s no real worry of mine. But like any neighbour, I take note. The outside world is the theatre of my day.
Next door, their pug, a new arrival, is barking at something or another. I hear a man’s voice muffle some kind of command and the pup’s gruff honking stops. A lorry thuds over the speed hump that sits just outside my bay window.
Rearranging the cushion behind my back, I take a moment to look at my diary. The weeks and days are already beginning to fill up and I don’t want to miss anything. I like my own company and am happy to potter about home alone but after scaling back on social events last year, I realise that I need to, quite literally, get out more. Not too much, though. Just enough.
Taking a sip of coffee, I turn my attention to the humming screen in front of me. I need to get this newsletter written and then I must finish a small writing commission that has been outstanding for a couple of days longer than I’d like. I always get antsy if work is overdue, even if it is a self-imposed deadline.
I glance at my to-do list and, happily, realise that I can already place a tick against one thing. The first job of the day was ‘Get up’. And I’m up. Tick.
Adult life is lived by lists and today is no exception. It might seem silly to add such a minor task to the day’s events but a tick means progress. Last year, I felt as if I’d made no progress with anything worthwhile so this false sense of achievement is a trick, a mind game. I know it is because I’m the architect of the magic. But it works and more importantly, it makes me happy. Finding joy in the small things is now not just a priority but a necessity.
I open a Word document. Powered by daylight, and hyped up on two cups off coffee and a valiant tick, I start to write. Today, already feels productive.
I want to make the day count, and for me, it’s always easier, when the sky is blue.
Lisa
So long as your list isn't like Maconie's, you'll be OK!