Rewriting the middle

Right hear me out because this is going to make me sound like a bit of a cow bag. But, nine times out ten, I LOVE it when people cancel a plan. For example, tonight I was meant to be going out to see my friends, but that would have entailed going out in this vile weather, driving forty five minutes in the dark and not getting into bed until nearly midnight. So when one of them messaged the group chat saying they were under the weather, I wasn’t mad about it. Obviously, I’m not happy that she is unwell, but I’m not, not happy that I got to stay in tonight. We will of course reschedule when everyone is less germy.

I’ve always been an early bird as opposed to a night owl. I like to spring out of bed and get my day started but then like to be in my comfies at a decent hour and heading off to bed, usually no later than 10pm. Given the choice of going out for drinks or catching up with some good tv, reading a bit of my book and snuggling up to my dog I’d make the same choice every time. I haven’t been a big drinker since my university todays and now prefer grandma hobbies to the glam life.

What I suppose I’m here to talk about is that this used to be something that caused embarrassment or shame. As I’ve got older and wiser I’ve come to realise that comparison truly is the thief of joy. I can’t and don’t want to compete with others my age who go out all the time, or seem to have long lists of friends to call on. That has never been me. I’ve always had one or two best friends, and lots of satellite friendships. I don’t have the bandwidth for managing thirty different relationships. I concentrate on those ones that I hold dearest to my heart and find happiness in nurturing them.

I met a good friend for lunch yesterday and then we had a mooch around the charity shops in our town. That filled my cup right up to the top. Putting the world to rights, having some nice food and sharing my hobby with a likeminded soul was just perfection. This was all while my husband was sat for three hours being stabbed by tiny needles in the name of art. He had the most fantastic phoenix tattooed on his leg, it is magnificent. And, not to steal his glory, but I share his love of the symbolism of the phoenix. Maybe it’s my time to rise from the ashes…just preferably in comfy shoes and before 9pm if at all possible. Speak soon 🙂