The tree is down. The turkey consumed. Multiple LEGO sets have been constructed (in my household, at least). It must mean that Christmas 2018 is gone and 2019 has begun in earnest.
I always find it sad to say goodbye to Christmas. Mainly, as I’ve highlighted in previous blog posts, because I’m a big kid who hasn’t quite come to terms with adulting just yet. Also, though, because it feels like an anchor in the otherwise chaotic and choppy ocean of life. As the tidal waves of Brexit, Trump, climate change, career stability, financial security and societal expectations crash against my bow, Christmas is always safe harbour; where the bad is shut out for a while and everything is familiar and warming and good for the soul. Heading back out into the water afterwards always fills me with nerves and trepidation, even during the times when the course was relatively straightforward, but the islands of opportunity can only be found in those treacherous waters, and the only way to reach them is by getting back in the coracle/frigate/steamboat* and venturing out to find them.
One such island has already appeared in my telescope this week, which is why the full relaunch of the Writing Journal has been put on hold for now. Rest assured it will return in the weeks ahead, with renewed energy and optimism. Until then, I would like to take this opportunity to wish all you readers a Happy New Year and good fortune in all of your endeavours – writing and otherwise – through the course of 2019!
*other sea-worthy vessels are available.