Blog
I sat down to write.
I sat down to write because, well because I felt I owed it to myself. I think you owe it to yourself to.
The Art of Forgetting
It’s never pleasant, losing one’s memory. You feel somehow less in control of yourself, like you’re missing a part of you which had been there once and no longer is. No, it’s never a good thing. Or is it?
Reading Matters
Reading is good for us. We know that. We all do, or at least deep down, we acknowledge the fact that it does us no harm. Then why, if we know this to be true, can we never make time for it?
Grateful
We are often led to believe that if we don’t manage to achieve the goals we’ve set, we’ve failed. Have we really though? What about all the other things we’ve experienced along the way? Are we grateful for those?
"Perfect"
I have always wished to write something. There’s just one problem – I find it hard to finish what I start. I once wrote more than 20 chapters twice over, before stopping on both occasions. My third attempt started on the right foot, but I gave up on that too. It’s not super hard to ascribe a reason to it.
How are you today?
I like to believe I have had an okay childhood. That I’m living an okay life, with an okay job, relationship and dreams. When problems crop up, I usually make a fuss for no reason at all. I let them worry me a little too much but then they’re over with no lasting damage.
Balancing Life, Work and the ‘how-can-I-drop-so-much-hair-I-just-cleaned-wtf’ horror story.
I moved out in March. I wrote about it when I was some 2 weeks in our blissful convivial stage. Mind you, it’s still the best thing to have ever happened, but 5 months give you enough time to go through things, to have succeeded at some and failed at others and to feel dog-tired but confused about how you can be happy when all you want to do is sleep.
Coffee Houses I Love ❤
People who know me well have realized long ago that they can buy my attention with four very simple words, “Let’s grab a coffee.”
Leaving An Emptying Nest: The Five Stages
I type away at a breakfast bar turned desk. The fridge is full of leftovers because I’m either cooking too little or too much. Behind me, the couch, which serves as a bed lies somewhere under a pile of duvets, pillows, throws and cushions. Yes, I finally moved out and yes, despite the impromptu-ness of everything, life is good. But that’s not the reason why I sat down to type on a breakfast bar.
