It’s the day for it, isn’t it? The day when all of your chosen media are full of everything you should-would-could do to make yourself more shiny from this moment forward. The implication being that somehow this whole last year was crappy, and were all personally in need of some kind of therapy. Depending on the algorithm and, what you have been looking at and liking of- it could be your body, your mind, your finances or just your shoes.

I don’t hold with that at all.

I think that almost everyone I know did the best they could in each of the moments. I know for me, some moments were better than others in the Champion Of All Things awards, but on balance, I did okay. And I bet you did too.

The end of the world year can take on portentous feelings if you buy into it all too much. The endless lists of how-to and what-to and who-to can become overwhelming if you let the whelm come anywhere near your neurones. And it will try to flow over you. That’s its nature.

This morning we chose to pop over to the beach for the last time this year, I thought I would take some really cool pics of the kids frolicking in the gentle waves, and Nath getting barrelled. I imagined the sun would be rising over the water, creating diamonds of significant rays all ready to be captured. In my mind’s eye I envisioned a significant moment. Perhaps we would hold hands in the water and send out a frangipani, singing Kumbaya and Auld Lang Syn (neither of which any of us know more than two lines of) and say fare you well 2016. Something to mark the passing of the year, and the passing of my Dad.

Shit. I wasn’t going to mention that, but I have and I have and I have, and of course I always do, for the end of the year now always brings more to it than just the end of the year. It is also the end of a life. Which is why I attach more significance to this day than just an arbitrary date. For if we are to be real and say the truth, there is no inherent meaning in the moments from 11.59.59 to 12.00.01, other than the meaning we chose to make.

Ever since my Dad passed away on the first day of the brand new year, I wake up on the 31st feeling scratchy. Sometimes half a day goes by before I acknowledge the reason why, but whether I chose to look at it or not, the irritation is there from the moment I open my eyes. Sometimes I think I’d like to hurt someone or have them hurt me back, just so I can let the constriction in my throat burst out, and the prickling behind my eyes slosh away.

So we went to the beach. Like any other day, but like a day that I would like to be different, significant, something.

The beach was a fairly windy, which is never a good omen for me because: FRIKKEN WIND, and the surf was little more than a blown-out shorey with a massive sweep. The sand was too hot for children who had chosen not to wear their thongs, against my best recommendations, so: all.of.the.whinging. And then on her first ride, Coco cracked it because the salt water was too rough and TOO SALTY. Liam tried to paddle out the back a few times, couldn’t, and came sloping over to me, shoulders hunched in the posture of defeat.

And that was about where I lost it. Not in a major way, and not out loud, but in enough of a way that everyone knew to ‘Stay away from Mummy right now’.

I went up the beach a ways by myself, and wrote ‘2016’ in the sand with my big toe, and the waves licked it up.

I noticed the toe-nail polish from my Christmas manicure glistening in the sunlight and I thought it looked pretty.

I felt the despicable, messy wind on my two-day-old sunburn and I liked the slight cooling feeling.

I looked out to the horizon and saw a white yacht bobbing over to the edge and smiled at the memory of all the drawings the kids and I have done together over the years.

I saw Nath standing with his back to the dunes, hand up shielding his eyes, watching the waves, watching the kids, watching out for us in the solid, stable and careworn way he does and I realised that even in the shittiest moments, in the seconds where I feel the most broken and fragmented, I have this wonder of a man in my life.

We didn’t sing Kumbaya or even One Love. There were no petals set free. The kids still carried on about things that kids do. My sunburn still stung and we still have ants in our bathroom. There is still paperwork to be done, and tomorrow I will probably have a slug-like hangover rather than fluttering into the new year on rejuvenated wings. And my Dad is still dead.

But there is coffee for tomorrow and champagne for tonight, and we all do the best we can with what we’ve got, and some of the moments will be mundane and muddy and magical. And so it goes. Come by here and Kumbaya.

Fare You Well 2016.

Fare You Well Peter.

Fare You Well, Regular Reader. Travel Well, Travel Light, Smile When You Can.

…From The Ashers

Sunrise Beach today

After the eggs ‘eggsploded’ all over the microwave and I spilt the kids smoothie (thick with raw eggs and protein powder) all over the floor, I decided to have a do-over.

I went back to bed, got all cosy, and started again.

There have been a few balls in the air over here at The Asher’s this week, and frankly, I’m a bit a’scairt of dropping one some all of them.

So I did what I always do when the overwhelm threatens to whelm me all over the place: I consulted the Oracle (a Doreen Virtue Daily Guidance book).  I flicked and fiddled about with the pages, until my fingers decided on #197.  Amongst all the claptrap and hoohar, the affirmation was this: “I make time for activities that I find fulfilling and fun.  The energy I spend on myself is a wise investment in my happiness and health.  I am a perfect role model of self-care for my friends and family.”

Sweet.

I had a shitload of stuff to get done today.  All of it boring and uninspiring.  So instead of racing about like a headless chick, and causing the cortisol to course through my vessels, I chose a different course.  I slipped on my comfy Saucony slippers (some people know them as ‘runners’ or ‘joggers’, but mine aint seen any of that action.) and headed off for a walk.

Now usually, a walk means a WALK.  I’m fast.  Maybe as fast as your light jog.  And I’m focussed.  Maybe as much as your ten year-old kid playing Minecraft.  And I’m sweating.  Maybe as much as a Sumo in a sauna.  Because I am WALKING for EXERCISE.  And that means my teeth may be gritted, my fists might be clenched, and my eyes will be looking at some spot in the distance.  Somewhere that I will be going TO.  I won’t be where I am, that’s for sure.  At no point will it be fun.  The fun will come later when the endorphins kick in.

I set out on my walk, but as it was a walk under the heading “Make Time for Yourself”, I decided to let my slippers choose the path and the pace.  I allowed my eyes to look in directions other than straight ahead.

I noticed things.  Like the feeling of the sun on the back of my neck, just beneath my hairline.  And the sensation of the wind playing with the tiny hairs on my arms.  I heard the squeaky-crunch of the sand under my slippers.  I listened to the sea call me, daring me to take off those slippers, and allow my winter-feet taste the cool salt of the sea.  I noticed the little pods on the path down to the beach that were usually just an intrusive burr to the soft arches of my feet, and saw that they are really quite intricate and interesting in their construction.  I saw the ripples in the sand, created by the wind I usually despised, and saw how something annoying could create something pretty.

Pesky pod

Pretty patterns

After a time, I sat on the seat that the para-gliders use to check that pesky wind, and listened to some music.  They weren’t cool songs or new songs or even my favourite songs, just songs that give me feels.  Beth, The First Cut Is The Deepest, The Sweetest Thing, Loving Cup.

By and by, some people came past me: some were hurrying with their dogs, others were rushing off to work or some important place, patting their hair into place and squinting against the sun.  Most of them were on a mission of some sort.  On purpose.  And purposeful.  But my purpose was to be still.  I don’t think any of them even noticed me.  I usually like to think of myself as an intrepid adventurer, treading the road less travelled, but today I was like a Hobbit.

The road goes ever on and on,  Down from the door where it began.  Now far ahead the Road has gone,  And I must follow, if I can, Pursuing it with eager feet,  Until it joins some larger way,  Where many paths and errands meet.  And whither then? I cannot say.

I liked the not knowing.

It may have taken off some years.

No makeup, bad hair, a photo not fit for sharing… Ahh, screw it.

Will you do something just for you today?  Just because?  What will it be?

…From The Ashers xx