2016

The small moments of joy that made 2016 more than bearable

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img_20160817_133724I don’t need to mention that this year has been… difficult.

But rather than add to the noise about the horror of 2016 – the deaths of numerous icons, the dream of the first female US president tumbling into the abyss, and the opportunity to spend Wednesday evenings watching people make cake whilst eating cake disappearing forever – I’ve decided to focus on the positives.

Because there’s nothing like a year filled with endless news stories of sadness and despair and a, frankly, terrifying political landscape, to make you appreciate the smaller moments that make up each day. So here are a few of the small but precious moments that made this year unforgettable for me. And I’d love to hear yours too.

Halting mid-order at the bar on Battersea Rise to sing emphatically to Blank Space by Taylor Swift with Ceri. Thank you for your patience, Mr Barman.

Sitting in the British Library with Alexa, working on our separate writing projects alone but together, and rewarding our efforts with door stopper sized pieces of cake.

Hearing my brother walking down the stairs saying “Alright then, dude” to his 10 day old baby son, Jack, who he was about to introduce us to for the very first time.

img_1739Having a panic attack at St Pancras station whilst waiting to meet Emma, telling her I was suffering, her saying “You know, I don’t expect anything from you” and it disappearing just as quickly as it came.

Receiving my first ever yes from an editor I’d pitched a story idea to cold.

1am Sunday morning, late January. Standing on the train back to Wimbledon with Sarah, covered from head to toe in sweat after throwing everything we had into Shake It Off. People stare. We regret nothing.

Watching Jack fall asleep on Leon and witnessing the precise moment my husband fell in love with our nephew.

The final seconds of Orange is the New Black series 4. *mouth wide open emoji*

Standing in a cramped pub in Hackney, the windows streaming with condensation, bouncing along as my friend Sara played bass in a David Bowie tribute band and having it confirmed that she is indeed the coolest of chicks.

Purchasing a yellow leather backpack under the guidance of my boldest friend, and never looking back.

Sheffield, August. A whole afternoon with Jen, Matt, Jo and Leon. I discover Hendrick’s, tonic and cucumber. Life becomes even more interesting.

The response I got to a blog called Solitude is good for you, loneliness is not. I thought talking about finding social situations difficult and needing time to myself would make me sound weird. But, as always, it’s never just you.

Reviewing my choice of outfit (below) for a two and a half hour hike between the Cinque Terre in Italy and realising once and for all that nobody will ever accuse me of being outdoorsy.

Dinner, La Loggia, Levanto, Thursday 19 May. We are at our best.

Falling out of a bar at 8.45pm on a Friday night with my two favourite drinking buddies, laughing like hyenas and heading off in search of food, any food, to soak up all the delicious, if ill-advised, margaritas we’d consumed.

Every time I did that particular type of sigh I reserve for when I close a book I’ve loved. (There were 16 this year, if you’re interested).

When Leon and I used our Nutribullet to make margaritas and we learnt the hard way what it tastes like if you line each glass with table salt instead of rock. (Not good, bro).

Watching Jack eat the tiny remaining peas from his dinner that he’d spread around his high chair from the tip of his mum’s finger.

Seeing the way he looks at her.

Demonstrating that I know all of the words to Mysterious Girl by Peter Andre at a wedding and feeling not a single ounce of shame.

The look of amused surprise on my friends’ faces at Thorpe Park when they discovered just. how. seriously. we take roller coasters.

Being taken to Budapest for my birthday and learning that the first rule of wearing a hat in 34 degree heat is: keep the hat on until you can shower your hair back to normality.

Spending a day with my five oldest friends discussing everything – from the super grown up world of marriage, mortgages and babies, to the most immature game of GUESS WHAT XYZ FROM SCHOOL LOOKS LIKE NOW! – and managing to empty a pub with our endless guffawing.

Every single commission, recommission, published piece, and positive comment that confirmed that, writing wise, I’m in this for the long haul.

The three hour masterclass I went to on how to structure a novel. I don’t know if I’ve got what it takes, but at least I know how to find out.

Discovering that, in Italy, having a doughnut for breakfast is not just acceptable but encouraged.

A chocolate milkshake with Rachel. It was 50% catch up and 50% “Charlotte, don’t let this opportunity pass you by – I’m going to help you take it.”

Realising that one of my very favourite things to do when I’m alone is to play No Matter What by Boyzone and sing both Ronan and Stephen’s parts. And don’t pretend you’re not now off to do exactly the same thing.

The expression on Leon’s face when he came home to find I was making homemade burritos for tea.

Going to see Frankie Boyle, Bridget Christie, Stewart Lee, Hans Teeuwen and Luisa Omielan and feeling that special type of excitement that only comes from watching really, really good comedy.

A Wednesday night in November. Stepping onto the escalator at Waterloo and smiling because that evening with those two women just happened.

Every other time I walked away from a catch up thinking “I cannot wait to see that person again.”

When the cat that visits our garden came into the flat and sat on our sofa for the very first time and there was an entire five minutes when I didn’t think she hated me.

My younger brother standing on the platform at Leicester station and pointing through the train window at empty seats because he knew I was worried about having to stand all the way back to London.

All the days I managed to continue living my life despite having a migraine every week for six months. You don’t get to win, I do.

Christmas. Every second of it.

Feeling everything on my family’s priority list silently shift and Jack taking his place at the top.

Standing in the upstairs bedroom of what will hopefully be our new home and seeing our future waiting for us.

 

Goal for 2016: Be authentic

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Happy New Year to you all!

The taste for Hendrick’s Gin that I developed in 2015 ensured that 1 January started very slowly, but it was nothing a large sandwich couldn’t resolve, thank goodness.

I’ve been looking forward to 2016. When we were in Australia I bought a beautiful diary and I couldn’t wait to get going with it. There’s nothing like a new piece of stationery to make us think that everything is going to be ok, is there? The feeling will last right up until I write ‘launch’ instead of ‘lunch’ in it and am forced to decide whether to scribble the mistake out, remove the entire page, or throw the whole diary in the bin and start again. (Beware stationery enthusiasts: we are always on the brink of a paper-based meltdown).

And with a new diary also comes thoughts about plans, goals, and New Year’s resolutions. As I get older, I know that it is always a good time to come up with new ways to better yourself – it doesn’t need to be January. But what I do find helpful about the end of one year and the start of the next, is the opportunity to think about what you want to be in the 12 months ahead.

Last year, I wanted to be brave. And sometimes I was. And when I felt my bravest – and indeed when things went best – was when I allowed myself to be myself. So for 2016, my aim is to be authentic in all areas of my life.

Be authentic in your work

If you’re not presenting a real version of yourself, people will be able to tell. And, more importantly, it’ll feel rubbish.

A couple of weeks ago I spent an hour working on a pitch for an article that, in the end, I decided not to send. And the reason was because the publication and I just aren’t compatible. If it saw me on Tinder, it would swipe left. I’d feel bad about it for a while but then, when I’d slept on it, I’d think – no, you were right to do that. You’ve saved us both a lot of trouble.

I was constantly editing the pitch to make myself sound like somebody else, and what’s the point of that? They’d most definitely have seen through it, and I wouldn’t have liked writing it anyway. I won’t go into the specifics but just imagine I’d pitched an article on the benefits of walking around my house with shoes on whilst eating a particularly crumbly biscuit. You see? Not me at all.

Remember, friends, it’s your own time you’re wasting. I’m not saying don’t test yourself or step out of your comfort zone – definitely do that – but do it for things you actually want and will enjoy. Because there will be lots of those.

Life is tough my darling but so are youBe authentic in your personal life

It’s OK to let people know you, to tell your friends what’s really going on – that you’re feeling good, that you’re feeling down, that you’re feeling bloated because you just discovered a new kind of blue cheese (damn you, Cambozola). Whatever it might be – and when you feel able – chat it out. The last couple of years has taught me that people are really rather nice all in all and that as soon as you have the courage to talk about a problem, it’s amazing how quickly you discover that other people struggle too. Hell, everybody does.

I like to return from a catch up with friends feeling exhausted because we’ve laughed and cried it all out. It’s sort of like therapy, just more expensive because we did it whilst consuming cocktails/sushi/all of the cake.

It doesn’t have to be like this, of course, some people just need to be allowed to sit quietly and not say anything at all. And that is just as important. The point is you that you don’t need to pretend. Like I said in my last post, we’re in our thirties now (or some of us are…), if people have you in their life, it’s because they really want you there. So give them the real you – cheese-fuelled stomach aches and all.

Be authentic in your look 

Just before Christmas I sat in front of a mirror in a make-up shop while a very nice lady put lipstick on me.

This process would previously have left me in a hot panicky sweat. How could I believe that lipstick would look nice on me? What must all the other people in the shop be thinking? Why is everybody laughing at me? STOP LAUGHING AT ME.

But this time I didn’t feel like that, which was nice. Partly because she’d chosen me a colour that made me look an adult woman rather than a clown, which is an achievement in itself. But also because of my age. I’m 30 now and after three decades living with this face it’s about time I started liking it. I’m also rather enjoying having brown hair. After 16 years of dyeing it blond, it’s quite nice to be getting closer to my natural colour. Perhaps it’s because I’ve removed a level of pretence from my life, or perhaps it’s just that I’m too tight to keep forking out for bleach. I’ll let you decide.

For some people, dyeing their hair blue, pink or purple brings about a feeling of authenticity. Whatever works for you, I say do it. You should look how you want to look. After 30 years of listening out for it, I can confirm that nobody worth listening to is laughing.

Be authentic onlineBe authentic online

Some of us exist as much in people’s lives online as we do in real life. You may well be reading this despite the fact that we’ve never met. How nice are you?! It’s important to be a real version of yourself on the internet as much as anywhere else. If for no other reason than because you’ll probably enjoy it more.

If you’re not careful, you can spend a lot of time online thinking that you need to make yourself more like other people. Twitter and the like are filled with successful people, chatting – as they should – about all the great things they’ve been doing. And it can be a struggle to just look at them without feeling that maybe you should take up their tone or their choice of words or their excessive use of the exclamation mark because surely that will help you make your fortune too. I doubt it. You’ve got to do it your own way. Sure, take a bit of inspiration from the millions of great people who live in your computer, but don’t feel you have to try to be all of them. I mean, I’m not even sure how that would work but it sounds exhausting.

So that’s my aim for the year ahead. What’s yours?