There are days that life just seems drab and meaningless. What is the point of all this struggle? All my life I had one dream – to be a writer. I did not particularly want money. I did not want children. I just wanted to write a novel. Now I am almost 35 and the dream seems further away than ever. I organise events about economy for a living. I have a boyfriend who is going through a bad patch for the last 5 years. My dog does not want hugs and cuddles, he only wants to play fetch. Life feels exhausting.

I can tell myself that I am lucky. I have a home to go too after a long day at work. I have a place of work. I have a boyfriend and a dog. I am not starving. No bombs are falling around me. Those arguments make a lot of sense, but I don’t feel them.

On days like these what I need is to focus on the small things that makes life worth living. Because everyday is what life is really about. My dream of being a writer might propel me through life but what really matters is the life I live while I dream.

So, good things:

A cold morning. I hold a warm mug with both hands. The warmth seeps into my hands, through my arms, into my body. Delicate clouds of vapor create fleeting works of art in the air. I breathe in the steam that carries the scent of tea. I drink that tea which at this moment tastes like perfection.

I walk in the woods. The world around me is green and golden. The air smells green. It is quiet. Just me and my dog. Ahead of me Loki struts with his tail in the air, occasionally distracted by a smell. Now he turns around to check that I am still following. I say his name, hold out my arms wide, and he sets off towards me in a wild joyful run.

I open a new book. I feel the texture of the pages under my fingers. I smell the comforting papery smell. My eyes fall on the first line, are pulled through the paragraph. I look up and cannot help but smile. This will be good.

It is night. My bed is as soft as I thought clouds would be when I was little. My duvet has wrapped me in a dreamlike cocoon. I am slowly falling asleep. The only sound I hear is the soft whisper of rain on the window.

I shiver. It is cold. My boyfriend says: come here. His arms envelope me and I am warm again.

Advertisements