It feels scary, starting something new like this, but scary in a good way. I like the feeling of being a beginner at something interesting. There is so much to learn, and I don’t even really know WHAT there is to learn, yet! How delicious.
I can’t say for sure what I’m doing here. On one hand, I feel like the last thing the world needs is another person adding their two cents’ worth to the general overload of two cents’ worths. And on the other hand, I don’t care if anybody reads this besides me: I can’t wait to dive into the things I want to think about, and write about.
I’m at a point in my life where I don’t know what happens next. And rather than freaking out (always such an enticing option) I am trying to stop, breathe, and take a look around. I’m trying to work out what it is that I want.
Of the things I think I know, I am sure of these: I want to make things. I want to write. I want to raise my children, and be someone my husband and friends want to be around. I want to grow things in the ground. I want to cook healthy and delicious meals at home without that becoming a burden or a stress. I want to have interesting conversations with people. I want to travel. I want to read. If anybody wants to learn, I’d consider it an honour to teach.
It’s the bit about making things that brings me here. In a world where bad and scary news threatens to overwhelm (I’m looking at you, Donald Trump), the act of making things with my hands seems like something good, and true, and beautiful, and sturdy. Something reliable, that can be leant on, without giving out. And I want more of that in my life.
The ‘maker’ part of me is curious, and sleepless, and downright relentless in a way: How did they do that? What happens if I join these things together? Could I draw this like this? What would it look like if I…? I want to let this maker part out to play, and I’m going to do that here.
If I had a glass of something – cold rosé? Why not! – in my hand, I’d raise it to you now: “Here’s to beginnings!” I can’t wait to get started.