IN FLUX
I find myself in a state of in-between – it feels like there’s a new fluidity to both daily life and what lies in the immediate future. The me of recent past would have found this inconsistency altogether unnerving. I recognise this feeling of being in flux – it has vague echoes of 2016 when H was taking the leap into secondary school and unbeknown to me, I was about to tumble headfirst into perimenopause. I sit with the feeling, allow it to seep in a little, take its pulse – am I panicking? Do I feel anxious? Wait for it... But there is a distinct lack of nervous flutters, no tell-tale signs of being caught off balance. Just an unfamiliar but altogether welcome, sense of calm – what will be will be. I know… just seeing these words form on the page has me thinking who even are you… and where the fuck have you been for the last seven-ish years??
The seasons and therefore the weather is in flux and by default, so is what I wear too. There I go again - one paragraph in and I’ve already referred to the correlation between the mindset we’re in and the clothes we put on. This habit of relating sartorial matters to moods and emotions is in my genes (jeans?) and a trait I recognise in so many of my midlife contemporaries. As we get older in years, do we become wiser in matters of the heart led wardrobe? I get up in the morning and put on one thing – by the evening it could be a whole other outfit entirely. The weather changes and a layer is taken off - a T-shirt around the house and a sweater at my desk - round and around I go in wardrobe flux. I’ve not yet packed away the summer linen but am eagerly anticipating cashmere, woolly socks, shoes that keep out the rain… and really good boots. It turns out a summer spent barefoot and in flip flops can be bad for your feet… or in my case, the left one. I have a condition called plantar fasciitis – I know - I’d never heard of it either. Alongside the prescribed exercises and two-week course of anti-inflammatory meds, I guess this means that the purchase of a pair of ultra-comfortable, chunky-as-hell, kick arse boots would be entirely justifiable. Always a silver lining.
As summer gives way to autumn rain, I find myself more in tune with the feelings that the change in temperature brings bubbling to the surface. Like the rain itself, it feels refreshing and a welcome contrast to the sense of impending weariness that began draping all over me like the sodden, scratchy blankets of Septembers past. I have a sneaking suspicion that the vow to keep on with the cold-water sea dipping throughout winter is helping… in a steely resolve, don’t tell me I can’t do stuff way. It’s just weather, it’s all doable… with the right kit. Later sun rises mean I get to bathe in the fiery pink glow of a September sky as I walk into the sea, braced for the addictive effects of overcoming a cold-water plunge. Watching a shimmering ball of orange sun ascend over the Isle of Wight as I float beneath it, my body now acclimatised to the cold in a state of peaceful calm, is probably the most concise definition of what gratitude really feels like to me.
With the advent of a new school term, I find myself adrift in the lull of knowing we’re entering The Final Year. The one that holds an 18th birthday, exams, applications, independence that comes with driving, prep for “moving out” and finally, (gulp), a departure to university. As it progresses, I’m sure adrift will turn into periods of frenetic doggy paddling as I navigate the swathes of preparation, required amounts of cajoling and nostalgia that I know will engulf me in waves. All of this is uncharted territory and bound up in the uncertainty of the unknown. Yet another life event you know will one day come knocking whether you’d planned to invite it in or not. But I also feel, to make it here, to see your children reach the end of formal education and move to the next stage, be that work or university; is a monumental thing and one to be celebrated as well as adjusted to. I look back now and fully acknowledge that I couldn’t ever imagine this being just around the corner and yet now here we are, almost but not quite there. And an unfamiliar sense of inevitability and calm has begun to descend. Ask me how I feel this time next year and you may receive a different answer altogether – if so, kindly do me the favour of pointing me back here.
Life doesn’t stand still, it evolves, continually in flux, forcing us to evolve with it or risk becoming stuck – immobile amongst the reminiscence. As I advance through midlife, I’m slowly learning that focusing on nurturing acceptance of these life stages does make things feel a little easier… for the most part. That and returning to the age-old missive that in the end, everything will be okay. It always is.
