Sunday, 17 May 2015

I am happy.


The last couple of posts have been a little bit doom and gloom and that's not entirely reflective of how things are for me right now. Sometimes when I'm working hard, most of the words I can find are for complaints even when day to day, the balance of the scale tips in the other direction.

It's far easier to write about the tough bits than it is to write about the positive parts because they're just not gritty enough to get your teeth into and also it's kind of cheesy to do so, right? I doubt that I've ever read a book or watched a film which enthralled me with a tale of how everything was just fine and everybody was adequately happy. It sounds fairly dull, if I'm to be honest with you.

In order to counter this miserable persona that I've been cultivating of late, I thought I'd force myself to write about the things that make me happy. It sounds terrible already. Barf.

Here we go...

I've always been an early riser. It pleases me to wake before any one else and be alone for that small window of time. Waking early is a sense of complete solitude, the world is still and I might as well be the only person to inhabit it. With the marching of the year into summer time, comes light mornings and so those six am wake up calls feel a little easier and more pleasing.

I look forward all year to summer even if we don't get much of it here in Scotland. I'm obsessed with trying to stretch the time in my day further and with the sun hanging around for a little bit longer that always feels possible. I'm fond of the way that the sun dances on my skin and warms me through to my bones and the way it dances on the surface of everything else, making the world look more beautiful.

I like music that I can sing along to or that makes me want to dance. I adore singers whose voices sound like heartbreak.

Travel is the one thing that I'll throw my money at. It's one of my great loves. I like the process of travelling, to be in the in between. Doing that alone makes me feel capable and adventurous.

Spending time in places different from my home makes me appreciate just how large this world is. It's a little bit frightening but also quite exhilarating. The best thing about being somewhere other than my home is that the unknown reinvigorates the senses. Things that I would walk past if they were in my own town catch my attention and I listen carefully to the conversations of passing strangers, trying to pick out any of the words in their fast paced, strange language.

My heart beats for stories. It beats for the stories typed out on pages, played out on screen, and for those whispered into my ear. I'm fond of stories which at their core are about love but I desire drama, tension and suffering too. I like to think that I could write one of my own but it's taking me a long time to start.

My hands ache to produce things. To chop, peel and stir to produce dinner every night or to type out the jumbled thoughts in my head. It's the reason why this blog has been strung out way beyond it's natural end point, because it makes me feel productive and that makes me happy.

I'm lucky that there is love in my life which is impossible to write about because no words seem to do it justice. I try to distil it down to words often and each time it is a failure. I think that's a good thing.









4 comments:

  1. This is lovely Kylie, and not cheesy at all (a tough feat, so bravo!). Your writing in this post is spot on, too :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Aw thanks Kirsty! Glad you liked it.

      Delete
  2. This was such a lovely post to read, Kylie. It's nice to read about the little things which brighten up other people's lives. You're also a top notch wordsmith, lady, so it was lovely hearing how you phrased your thoughts and imagining these moments.

    x

    ReplyDelete