Flappable.

I am one of those people who is easily flappable. Well, in certain situations. Mostly in situations in which other people wouldn't even bat an eyelid. I become easily overwhelmed. Much less often nowadays, but I can still get wound up.

Bizarrely in moments of extreme stress, or when I am faced with potential danger or difficulty, I am incredibly calm. I get myself out of a situation quickly, I don't panic, I sometimes don't even get upset about it afterwards. It was what it was and all that.

Sometimes, however, I flap at what afterwards appears to have been nothing at all. Like forgetting a book I wanted to exchange at Waterstone's and having a short, frustrated cry about it in the car. Wanting to ring my mum up and complain that everything is going wrong today, even though the world outside is in crisp, clear sunshine and I have so many things to be grateful for everyday.

I've always been like that. Always been easily overwhelmed by little things. I know at the time that I am completely indulging in whinging or crying or huffing. Sometimes that feels good, especially when it releases excess emotion I have when I'm tried or hormonal. And that's fine, the world can often be just a bit too much. Even tiny, tiny things that make no overall difference to the grand scheme of things.

But it is so much more important, if you are going to indulge in a little self-pity, to come out the other side and notice what an absolutely stonking day it is. Because the little things are really nothing, and everything else is so bloody good, it would be a shame to waste it all in a flap.

Unsure.

I find myself so unsure nowadays. Once upon a time I would have found such uncertainty frightening. At the moment I am unsure about what I think, about what I want, about what I like and don't like. I grew up, as most teenagers do, with a burning conviction for anything that I believed or did. Everything was weighted with such importance, I was die-hard about it all.

I miss those days sometimes. I miss the complete abandon I could feel from being so passionately involved in something. I miss the escapism of loving a book or a film or a Youtube community so much it was all I could think about, all I wanted to be.

And then comes the confusing, earth-shattering self-doubt of being 17, 18, 19. The world is suddenly enormous and you are really tiny. Everything you believed or loved is not absolute or everlasting. Every emotion swallows you whole, making love and friendship and desire a vast landscape covered in landmines. Your conviction is still there, but uncertainty has crept in and it feels catastrophic.

Uncertainty used to mean not knowing who I was. It used to mean apathy or being apolitical or, God forbid, politically centrist. It used to mean confusion, which was horrible, and an inability to make decisions. The last two, if I'm honest, sometimes still stand.

But now I feel unsure and it is almost freeing. It is making me question and consider everything in greater detail. It is making me more compassionate, more empathetic. I am not apolitical, but I am evaluating what my beliefs mean. The idea of political centrism is no longer a great evil depicting someone who doesn't care. I am just thinking a lot more, in a sense, and taking time out from deciding on an absolute, definite opinion on everything. My uncertainty is allowing me the time to think.

Uncertainty as a pleasurable or self-improving time in one's life is, I realise, a great privilege. Recognising that makes me appreciate it all the more. I never thought I would be so content to be so unsure.

Deleting Instagram

I deleted my Instagram app from my phone for a few weeks. I didn't miss it much, and I only re-downloaded it because I kept missing photos of friends and family that I wanted to see. I deleted it because I found it tiring. All the best and beautiful bits of people's lives and what was I doing? Scrolling through the app late into the night like I didn't have the willpower to turn it off.

There is nothing new in this. Everyone has something similar to say about social media. But I didn't actually feel so negative about it until recently. Every time I opened Instagram I found myself wondering why I didn't look better, why I wasn't going to certain places, why I didn't have the money to eat at beautiful restaurants all the time, why my life wasn't absolutely aesthetically perfect. I kept wondering what was missing from my life, and then having to remind myself that my life is bloody brilliant and I am lucky to have everything in it.

I didn't like the feeling of inadequacy and jealousy and envy I kept getting when I went on the app. They weren't emotions which made me want to strive for more or better, to work harder or appreciate what I have. They made me feel bitter. I found myself wanting to find pictures which made my life look as constantly exciting as the people I followed. I wanted people to think my life was cool and beautiful and something to envy.

Eventually I got bored of this and decided to delete the app until I got a grip. I wasn't going to sit there scrolling through something which made me unhappy hoping my life would somehow turn into an Instagram filter and I would never be bored or disgruntled ever again. And now, having done this, I have the app again and I forget it's there. I only look to see what friends are getting up to. I get bored of aimlessly scrolling. I haven't posted in a while and I don't really care.

The thing is this isn't really about the evils of Instagram, or me preaching against those who use it. I enjoy it sometimes. I like getting creative with how I take photos. I like seeing what my friends are doing. I like how it encourages me to catch up with people I haven't seen in a while. The problem with social media is rarely about the apps themselves but with the people who use them. Your ugliest side can come out, people are competitive, insecure, scared. And when I see that side of me rising, I really have better things to be getting on with. It is my responsibility to make that decision, and I'm really glad I did.

Well rested.

I have spent the entire Christmas period being as indulgent as humanly possible. I have been lazy, as well as busy with cooking and wrapping and tidying. I have eaten rich foods every day and though I am pretty sure my body is screaming out for a salad and a fast I will only consider such a thing after New Year’s Day. I have drunk copious amounts and stayed very merry, very warm, sleepy and happy. I have snoozed in front of the telly, with the fire roaring and my family all around me. I have given and received lovely, thoughtful gifts. I feel very full, and rested, and peaceful. 

And I have not written, for a blog post or any other means, for longer than I can remember. I have done that a lot this year. If I were a field, I would be letting myself grow fallow. But now I have itchy feet. I have taught myself that although slowness and time to think and be is invaluable for the soul, I have other things to be getting on with. I want to be busy and creative and excited for as much of my life as possible. I just needed to stop to reaffirm this. I am extremely lucky that I could even consider such a thing. But off we go again!

The little things.

There are much more important things going on in life than worrying about the quality of each cafe you go into, but if life is about enjoyment and pleasure where you can find it then caring about the little things sometimes goes a long way.

I currently work in a cafe. I have worked in two cafes. The experience for each has been quite strikingly different. It means that when I go out for a meal or a drink I accidentally find myself closely observing the service. I think many people in the industry do the same, particularly if their own place of work holds a high standard of service.

This has started to sound nit-picky and snobbish, but here's the thing - in any industry where the producer, worker, creator, or server really cares about every little detail of whatever they are selling the experience for everyone involved is much greater. This is pretty basic, obviously, but this includes the quality of social interaction which in turn improves the mood of a person who will then be able to spread that good mood wherever they go.

How do I say this without sounding wishy-washy?

In my experience at my current workplace, I feel happy and energised with and by people even after a 10 and a half hour shift. The food is of a high standard, the service is of a high standard. I care about the customers and the business I represent because I am a well-looked after employee who is proud of what we sell. Even down to a mark on the crockery, or the placement of cutlery, everything is looked after. This makes it sound like a posh, stuck-up place. It's not. It is completely relaxed. We just all really give a shit about everyone's experience of the place. It is not just a money-making motive, it is caring about a nice place run by nice people making nice experiences for other nice people. Because life should be, wherever you can get it, filled with enjoyment and pleasure. Even when you're at work.

The customers are nice, most of the time (sadly some people refuse to be pleased), and our interaction with each other is energising. I smile all day. I laugh a lot. I make sure people are having a good time. I get things wrong, I get frustrated, I get tired, but for the majority of my working hours I feel happy. And the thing is, it takes nothing at all to make somewhere that good for both its employees and its customers.

I am currently sat in a different cafe and I was served tea in dirty crockery and my food was forgotten about, followed by a weak apology. And it's no big deal, really, but I can't help thinking what a shame it is. Why not just care about the little things and make someone's experience really lovely? It takes nothing.

It takes nothing, but a smile, enjoying something, feeling pleasure, and sharing that enjoyment, smile, pleasure with others- is that not everything?

Twenty-two

I think this year might have been the first year that I have not felt sentimental about my birthday. Previously I have reflected on the year that has passed, and the year that lies ahead. I have written 'birthday resolutions' and made diary entries the night before and the night of, like ringing in the New Year except it is my personal year starting from my own first day on earth.

This year I didn't feel the need for such sentimentality. I spent the day and the weekend before it with people I love doing things that make me happy. That was all there was to it. I didn't feel the looming weight of being another year older, I just turned 22 and that was that.

Perhaps this is a sign of being a 'real adult'. Perhaps it is a sign of learning to stay in the present, learning to enjoy it as it is happening rather than dwelling on it after the event. Perhaps I will return to sentimentality on other 'big birthdays', ages which we mark with significance like 25, 30, 40 and all the decades to follow. I can't imagine those ages yet. Twenty-two is all I know.

Twenty-two. How about that.

Life is happening.

I have a heaviness in my heart and I can't quite put my finger on it. Well, actually I can, it is about the future. I am still hung up on it. I am still unsure of how to deal with such uncertainty. I crave the structure of my life that I had up until this moment.

I feel much more scared than excited. I am scared of what the future has to mean. It has to mean loss, sadness, and grief as much as it means opportunity. When my life changes, as it inevitably will, what changes with it? What do I have to lose? I feel like I am trying to keep myself suspended in the present so as not to have to deal with what comes next. The present is good, but at some point I have to move forward and I am terrified of the consequences.

The consequences are not necessarily bad. My life can fit back into itself with whatever changes occur. The people who love me won't disappear, I won't be catapulted away from them or they from me.

I am also struggling with the concept of what I actually want. The answer is I don't have a clue. I seem to have convinced myself that I need to make a decision right now about everything that will ever happen in my future. I am cushioning myself against things that might not ever happen, because I am afraid of the pain it will cause. I want all the pain in my life to be done with. I am worried that a good life involves no pain, that pain is a waste, and that if I make the wrong decision and I feel pain I will have ruined my twenties, my thirties, etc etc.

Everything I do in my life right now I feel the need to ask some authority figure, i.e. someone who is not me, if it is okay. Are the quiet moments I have and love okay? Is seeking one life over another okay? Is resting okay? Is this fear okay? Am I okay?

I fear regret, pain, grief, loss, change, 'wrong decisions'. But I cannot let this paralyse me. I must move forward. I must let life happen, because life is good and I cannot just let it pass me by.