looking back

As the old year passes, I take to the hills. Not literally, not physically. But in my mind's eye. 

Drifting off into that place between waking and dreaming, there is no real time to mull over 2014 before I surrender to sleep. No need really either. These past twelve months, I've done enough mulling to last a lifetime.

But it's good to take a cursory glance back across my shoulder, back down the mountain of the year. For it is only now that I can see it has all been worth it, that I did the right thing to keep going, to keep on hoping and not bail out when the going got tough. 

That is what 2014 has taught me, to keep on going...no matter how slowly.

Because as is often the way out in these mountains, it's only when you've slogged for hours up that hillside, worked through the sweat and the tears to stand high on the crest with the sun on your face that you can truly measure just how far you've come. 

Here on the cusp of the mountain, it's finally easy to see where I've been...and where I'm going next...

Joining in with these gorgeous and inspiring girls: 

Anna: Health doesn't equal happiness

Faye : 10 Things I've learned in 2014

Katharine: What 2014 taught me

maybe

Maybe  it needs a bit more time. Maybe this is just a rocky patch. Maybe the mountain is just a little higher than we thought. Maybe it will require a little bit more courage. Maybe I haven't fallen back as far as I thought.

No one said it would be the easy. This dream. This life. This living. Learning to fly on my own wings. 

But maybe it will be worth it. Maybe wellness will come again. At the right moment. Maybe the courage will be there.

Maybe I don't have to give up hope, after all.

and there was that time

 

And there was that time in

the last days of summer.

When we sat beside the ocean,

you and me, 

listening to the waves

pounding against the shore.

And I felt the spray on my cheeks, and 

I felt your hand in my hand. 

And I was not afraid of the roar.

And as we sat beside the ocean,

you and me, 

watching the sun sink into the briny depths.

I felt it's last warmth on my cheeks.

And I felt your hand in my hand.

And so I was not afraid of the dark. 

And later, as we settled down to sleep

you and me

beneath the pine trees,

I felt the pounding of your heart from your chest to mine

I felt the warmth of your skin on my skin 

I felt your hand in my hand

And I was no longer afraid.

Already five (and a half!) years together, you and me. Not bad, hey?

how could I not?

And when I wake in these mountains, when the first warm rays of sun are  yet to stream to the valley bottom. When the world is still quiet and sleepy and the odour of morning mist and autumn leaves hangs in the air. When the only sound is the call of a kestrel, the chiming of the church bells.

How could I not? How could I not, this life, my life, not love? With it's ups and it's downs. With it's stumbles and falls. With it's getting up again. With the rain and the sunshine. With the fatigue, yes. Oh that fatigue.

But also with all the small moments. With the people on my side. With the breath. With the heartbeat. My heartbeat. His heartbeat. How could I not be in love with it? It is not perfect. But I am living, breathing, creating. How could I not? Because it is imperfect. Sometimes tangled. Lumpy and bumpy. But it is mine.

"Be in love with your life. Every minute of it." (Jack Kerouac)

How could I not?

(Inspired by the lovely Faye...)

going slowly

I took the better part of a month away from the blog since the start of the Autumn. I needed to find some perspective, because at first I was convinced it was something that I no longer wanted to continue. Early September I was literally washed out from my month of thermal treatment and I was convinced it was best to give it all up, to write a final farewell and bid you all good luck. 

But six weeks in, I realise now my doubts were short lived and so I set about planning a new name, a fresh design and a second beginning. 

A few weeks ago, I realised that I wanted to change the name of the blog. Blue moon had never really resonated with me, it was just something I plucked from the air back in May when I first discovered a heap of other bloggers and felt compelled to join in the conversation. 

It was fine at the time, but I've never really felt as though it represented my feelings or my intention. I don't want my blog to be for only sharing notable milestones or tales of sleepless nights. Instead I want to use it as a means of exploring ideas of wellness and seeking inspiration. I want it also to be about my experience of gently crafting a slow and deliberate life, one which is fulfilling personally and not only sustainable for me health wise. 

Since this realisation, I've been trying to come up with a new name...to no avail. Then over the weekend, I realised the perfect name had been staring me in the face the entire time. 

Going slowly is a series I created over on my craft blog, that has been documenting the ups and downs of my life with M.E. since I started it up in 2013. I've always found it to be a very positive way of understanding what at times can be a very limiting aspect of my life. And more importantly, it really is becoming my personal philosophy as I learn to face the reality of this illness for the rest of my life. Going slowly is what I am learning to practise, but not what I have perfected. Which I think is very apt,  considering this blog is an ever-changing, always evolving story.

starfish

There are times when it can feel as if the rough and tumble of this chronic life has left us washed up on the rocks. Forgotten in the sand by the retreating tide. Just like this little starfish I found on the foreshore last weekend. 

But just as on the foreshore the tide will always turn, so too in life things will inevitably change. It can be hard to stay calm whilst we're waiting. Sometimes it's easy to loose perspective and get swept away by such feelings, to feel as if we'll be marooned forever. 

It's at times like these we have to hold on tight to all the good things we have. To remember that we are not alone. And to acknowledge that all things must pass. Even the really hard stuff. 

And sometimes when all that is to hard, we have to surrender and let those wonderful people who are there by our sides look out for us. Let them pluck us from the sand and safely put us back in the sea, as it were. Because we are all holding each others lives. And together we can get through the strongest of tempests.

All things will pass. Just as everything will be ok. Because he is by my side. As he has been for the past five years.  

in equal measure

 

Day and night in equal measure. Enough rest, not too many worries. 

From it's daily rising to it's setting, the sun doesn't hurry across the sky. She takes her time, going at her own rhythm. No need to rush, her daily path is already drawn. 

As we gently slide into autumn, it's the moment to take heart from the sun, to slow down and put balance at the centre once again.

Location: Messanges beach, at sunset. (Les Landes)