Last night, M and I went out for dinner, just the two of us, for the first time since before the pandemic began. We hadn’t initially planned to do anything for our anniversary, but M thought it would be nice for us to do something, and to celebrate like we always used to. I’m glad we did, and that, until the restaurant M had chosen got too noisy, we talked about all things and everything. And it was good. Love is a good thing, in the midst of all the tumult. Quiet love. Gentle love. Love with longevity.
I am having trouble putting the words together this morning, even after allowing myself a lie-in until almost 8, and I think it’s because the last two days have been very intense, with acupuncture on Tuesday and therapy yesterday afternoon. My head is full of different thoughts, full of the new groundedness, and yet also full of an apprehension that it could so easily spill over from self-confidence to arrogance. It’s maintaining everything in balance and moderation that could be difficult now. I know I seemed a bit hyper to myself yesterday evening. On the other hand, I did fall asleep on the sofa just before midnight, something which hasn’t happened to me for an age, while M was still wide awake. We talked about it in the garden just before we went to bed, and I said I thought it might be because I’ve finally rid myself of the need to push myself, the need to be able to outdo everyone in one way or another, because that’s what was expected of me. Both my acupuncturist and my therapist think I am now at the stage where I am comfortable saying no to things (and I believe that, too), that I’m secure enough in myself to understand there is no need for me to prove anything to anyone. Yet at the same time I think this self-analysis, even just the acknowledgement to myself that I have changed, is just so much running round in circles rather than just living it. So I will work on just living it.
One thing my therapist asked me yesterday, probably one of only 5 complete sentences she spoke into my 5-minute monologue, was where I thought this newly-found confidence and self-validation had come from. I said it was because I was writing every day, and, more importantly than that, because, for the last 100 days, I have been not just journalling (the first half of this daily scribble), but journalling AND writing fiction (or poetry) in the same session which in itself creates a balance. And it is what I am – a writer. So this daily exercise is self-fulfilling – these words are me, from the top of the page right to the bottom of it.
Yes, this is just living it. Being me.
AGGIE’S ART OF HAPPINESS – CHAPTER 101