AKA “WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING???”
‘What the fuck am I doing?’ was the echo to every decision I ever made up until I was about 28. Scrap that – I got married at 28. “What the fuck am I doing”, was very much the bridesmaid at that particular Vegas do. Let’s make it 30.
Yep, I lived my life to the tune of that phrase for a long time. I cruised from one completely-not-thought-out adventure to the next. I was the despair of my family. Most of those decisions resulted in a – emotional distress for me, and b – a fair amount of financial distress for my parents. But I have to say, living your life that way totally negates the DULL. Nothing that ever comes with a ‘what the fuck am I doing’ tag, is ever boring.
I’m tired of being bored.
It’s been a funny old year, all things considered – good stuff, bad stuff and stuff that concentrates the mind. One thing I’ve realised is that I miss the woman who wasn’t scared of the world. She used to be me – before responsibilities, expectations, and this-is-the-way-life-is-done-dontyaknow-so-get-on-with-it kicked in. I’ve also realised life is short. Right now, I’m in a good place – work is going well, I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time, and I’ve got an inkling that the world is my oyster. What better time to try and grab that woman back?
So – I’ve taken a small step.
I’ve put my house on the market. Admittedly, in this climate that does not mean I’m going anywhere soon, but the plan is to sell up, stick some money in the bank or Premium Bonds (more chance of a return – still a bit grown-up) and then rent in London. The fabulous ex-@elliottbeth is moving to LA to make movies so maybe in a while I’ll go and stay with her. Me in LA. Now there’s a thought.
I’m looking forward to being free. Broke maybe, but free.
Let’s get this straight. I am not that crazy 18/19/20 . . .30 year old any more. I like to think my ‘what the fuck am I doing’ is tempered with a little more savvy than then. I intend to hedge my bets better than I ever did then. But still – I saw my mother turn vaguely green and reach for a cigar when I told her my plans, and I felt a small glow of excitement inside. Gotta be risky, I thought. I haven’t seen her look like that in YEARS.
When the For Sale sign went up outside I felt a small twinge of panic. I have good friends here. This house has been good to me. I’ve been SAFE here.
I’m bored of safe.
And my friends will still be here. They’re good like that. A little bit of panic is never such a bad thing. It makes you feel alive. And who says we have to live any such way anyway?
Hopefully soon (ish) I’ll be able to say I’ve sold and am heading to the big city. Now that the decision is made my feet are itchy. I just want to get on with it. Maybe it will work and maybe it won’t but whatever happens it’ll be an adventure.
But, lovely people – if in a year’s time you see me huddled in a cardboard box under Waterloo Bridge scribbling out a book on a soggy Tesco receipt . . .chuck a McDonald’s my way…things may not have gone according to my not-very-well-thought-out-plan. 😉