Resolution

Every new year begins the same – the promise of positive thinking. A whole list of new year’s resolutions that are obsolete by the end of January. This year – no resolutions.

Last year I was on a high of positivity – our last Christmas in California; I was looking forward to that downward spiral knowing I was coming home. Of course when it was time to come home, I was incredibly sad, all that glorious Californian sunshine and that easy convenient lifestyle, gone.

Fitting back in is hard – much harder than I thought - especially now as I am on my own.  Yes I have days when I relish my freedom, but there are other days – especially weekends, when I feel like a complete social pariah – weekends are family times, my friends are busy with their own husbands and their own kids.  Friday and Saturday evenings are the worse and I find myself willing the weekend away – Monday comes a relief. Back to normal again, a routine.

Of course having our Xmas plans scuppered at the last minute didn’t help. A week in that Saudi sunshine loomed but was thwarted by the ‘mañana’ effect –  despite assurances our paperwork was being processed, the 'official’ invitation did not arrive. No invitation, no visa;  no visa, no flight.  “It will be with you shortly” translated into not on your nelly.  Perhaps in time for a trip at Easter, the husband suggested hopefully. Forget it, I know where I’m not wanted.

So feeling a bit like Cinderella we set off for a couple of nights at a local hotel with spa facilities where the teenager, daughter No 1 and I indulged in some mother-and-daughter bonding over copious amounts of Prosecco and a mushroom risotto for Christmas dinner.  Long walks in a very wet New Forest, a howling gale and flooded roads only made me miss that Californian sunshine even more.

Last Christmas we spent the day on the beach in Santa Monica. This year the beach at Highcliffe wasn’t even visible through the murk and the mist  from the cafe 50ft up at the top of the cliff.

To get out of the Boxing Day rain we browsed the shelves of the W H Smith sale, where a small booklet entitled 365 Positive Thoughts – one for every day of the year – caught my eye.  This was what I needed, a little something to look at every morning, to spur me into action.  Alas, as I perused the pages I realised this book was not for me, one of the quotes instructed the reader to try again at whatever they had failed at the day previously.  Sometimes you just have to re-group and move on; I can’t think of a less positive thought than failing miserably at something two days on the trot.

Creativity is born from the pit of despair.  All those great writers with their miserable lives – Emily Bronte trapped in her isolated parsonage riddled with ill health; lonely vicar’s daughter Jane Austen, and all those anguished great poets; would they have been able to write such works of arts if their lives had been filled with endless sunshine, riveting company, and a dizzy social life? Highly unlikely.

So this year no  promises of self-improvement, trips to the gym, inspired cooking or lowering my alcohol intake. Just one aim and one ambition. Get published – or at the very least – keep my blog up to date!