Endings, beginnings

So I sat down to write this evening’s newsletter and my chair gave way beneath me. I got back from travelling early on Friday morning to a note from the friend who had been staying in my flat saying that one of the screws had fallen out of one the chairs. He didn’t say which chair and I forgot to ask so I guess I found out the hard way. I’ll be honest, this isn’t quite the welcome home I was hoping for.

What I was intending to write was a newsletter about endings and new beginnings. Sadly, it looks like it’s the end of that chair, which — as anybody who has been to my flat will know — is one of the several badly-put-together and incredibly uncomfortable dining chairs I have here. I’m not too sad to see it go. What I am sad about is the end of an incredible adventure, almost two months travelling in North America, meeting the most incredible people, seeing incredible places and eating a lot of extremely delicious food. America is a fascinating and magical country, one in which it feels anything is possible, in both the worst and best sense. I loved spending time there, out of my comfort zone, and I found myself, after a period when I’ve been questioning my vocation as a writer, wanting to write again.

I’m sure it was the change of scene and perspective, that particular sense of possibility that so often appears when you’re out of your comfort zone, and when conquering even the smallest task — catching the train, buying groceries — feels like an achievement. I wrote most days, and in the last week I was in New York I found myself racing to the end of a very early draft of my third book.

So, there’s another ending of sorts, one that’s come around a lot quicker than I was expecting. Over the last couple of years I’ve been very tunnel visioned with my writing, focusing on finishing my second novel, and working on the side on this third book without paying it too much attention. I think good things in life often happen this way, they appear at the peripheries while you’re busy focusing on something else. And what’s happened in the week since I finished my draft, and in the final days of my trip, is that this sense of possibility has grown and grown. New ideas are appearing — about how I want my life to look, about where I want to be, about the person I want to be and the things I want to contribute to the people around me.

I’ve spent most of Sunday fantasising about what’s next. What book, what adventure, what corner of the world I want to explore. Of course, life has a way of humbling such ambitions, a collapsing chair being one of them, but I won’t let it stop me from dreaming. I might just have to buy a new chair.