On a new year

I know I should probably apologise for not writing in ages (to who? I don’t know. You probably don’t care all that much. Maybe myself? *shrugs*), but I can’t quite muster the words. I haven’t written because I haven’t had the time, or I haven’t needed to. I can’t resolve to write more in this new year either, as Lord knows whether I’ll stick to it. So let’s just see where the next few months take us and leave it at that.

As we dip our toes into a new year, however, it feels like a good time to dust off my quill (read: keyboard) and parchment (read: screen) and proffer a few musings on the year that must not be named. 2016 was a lot of things to a lot of people (mostly rubbish to all), but it would be a shame to tar my personal experience of it with the brush of collective experience. Yes, a lot of people died. Yes, the world appears to be going to hell in a hand basket. But it’s easy for the overall awfulness of 2016 to overwhelm any individual, personal memories. And, to be honest, on a personal level 2015 was far and away more rubbish for me than 2016. 2015 saw me get my heart broken (mostly through my own stubbornness), a lot of general uncertainty and unhappiness, and my Dad getting ill which (obviously) cast a dark shadow over the latter half of the year. By contrast, 2016 actually saw a reversal of fortune for me in a lot of ways.

At the start of the year, something kind of unexpected happened: I met a Nathan. (Having written that in such odd phrasing has made me stop and consider the fact that there have actually been very few Nathans in my life up until this point…maybe 3 in total? That doesn’t seem like many over the course of 29 years, does it?) I had resolved over Christmas 2015 to stop moping about my broken heart and put myself out there a bit more, and astonishingly – as I might argue on a day when I have somewhat less self-esteem – it worked out for the best. In less than a week, we will be celebrating our one-year anniversary, and I couldn’t be happier about it. Against all odds, I have found someone who compliments me perfectly, and brings me hulking great chunks of happiness whenever we’re together. I owe a lot of my happiness in 2016 to him, and though I think he knows that I certainly don’t think that means it’s not worth saying. (Sappy though that may well be). Oh, and he’s tall. So…you know…that helps.

Around the middle of the year, something else great started to happen: Dad’s health started to improve. Though we didn’t get there without a lot of pain and frustration (and more than one unexpected set-back), thanks to the wonders of modern medicine we did start to get there. Come the autumn of 2016, my Dad was looking like my Dad again. He was walking with less pain and less effort. He was smiling and laughing more. And – most importantly – he was spending a hell of a lot less time in and out of hospitals. Though the road we’re on is an ongoing one, we left 2016 feeling a lot lighter and brighter than we did leaving 2015. And God, isn’t that something?

A lot of other moments of greatness dotted through my 2016 to generally lift my spirits and distract from the global and local gloom. Though the prospect of searching for new housemates was a daunting one, in the middle of the year I managed to luck out and find two particularly excellent individuals to share my flat with me. Alice and Olivia have – counter to the horror stories you hear about finding flatmates online – turned out to be sociable, fun flatmates and generally excellent company. I also saw one of my oldest friends get happily married (and one not so old friend too), and embraced the certainty that I am now entering the “all weddings, all the time” phase of my life with a smile. Over the course of the year I made some new friends, reconnected with some old ones, and was reminded of just how many wonderful and interesting people I know.

I don’t exactly know what 2017 will hold. Putting to one side the inevitable passing of the 30 year milestone that will happen at the tail end of it, I’m mostly hoping it will hold change – but good change. I’m hoping the grey clouds that are gathering politically and internationally won’t turn into a storm of irreversible proportions. And I’m hoping there will be enough small bright lights in my personal life that – as with 2016 – even the darkest bits of the year won’t seem so bad.

So cross fingers and toes with me folks. We may be in for a bumpy ride, but even the most terrifying of rollercoasters have ups as well as downs, eh? Breathe in deeply as the ride begins…and try not to throw up when it gets rough, I suppose. 

On a few acknowledgements

I appreciate that I've been fairly quiet of late. Many of you will know why already, but for those who don't...my Dad has been ill - in and out of hospital for a few weeks now, ill - and it's made quite a few things take a back seat for a while. Before I get back into the routine of writing properly, I feel I need to share a few acknowledgements and words of gratitude to those who have been an unerring source of support over the past few weeks.

First and foremost, to my parents. It is not easy, having your life turned upside down. It is not easy to be upbeat, or to be strong, but that is just what my wonderful Mum and Dad have been. Dad - positive, optimistic tower of a man that he is - has gone about the past few weeks with dignity, strength and good spirit. His strength, and his determination to continue looking after those around him when many people would only be able to focus on themselves, has reminded me of just why I'm so proud to be his daughter. My mother, also, has proven to be the most immensely strong tiger of a woman (stolen my Dad's turn of phrase there). She has faced this unexpected and unfair twist of fate with a determination to see it through and be an unwavering pillar of support for both my Dad and for me, and I could never thank her enough for that.

To my friends, I also owe a debt of gratitude. I always suspected that I was particularly lucky in the friendship group I have built up around myself, but the past few weeks have proved it. I couldn't possibly name check all of the people who have been kind and how, as there have been so many and it would take pages and pages, but I hope they know that everything - from the smallest message to the biggest gesture - has been hugely appreciated, and made me feel very lucky to have them all. Whether quietly or loudly, they have all provided the support and the protective cocoon that I needed.

To my big little brother - words fail me. Though he's suddenly found himself further away, he made sure it didn't feel like that when I needed him. Distracting me when I needed it, listening to me when I needed it, and providing excellent big little brother hugs (which cannot be bottled or replicated)...I couldn't have asked for a better brother, and never has he felt more like family.

And finally, to my person. In spite of all of the mess of us - in spite of the complicated tangle we wove for ourselves, and the personal struggles and mountains he's having to scale on his own - as soon as I needed him, he was there. He dropped everything, without question or complaint. And even if he doesn't know what that means - I do. And for now, that's enough.

I hope this hasn't been too sentimental or too saccharine. I don't want to dwell too much on the past, or the unkindness of the hand my family has been dealt - I just want to acknowledge the wonderful people who have restored a little of my faith in the world, and helped me to keep going, keep positive, and find strength in myself that I didn't know I had.

So thank you. Really.

On old friends

This past weekend, I was walking down the platform at King’s Cross on my way to Spitalfields market, and found myself walking towards a very familiar face: one I hadn’t seen in a couple of years, but instantly recognisable nonetheless.

Adam was at my sixth form college (let’s not think too hard about how long ago that actually was), and was one of those people who instantly welcomed me in – slightly awkward teenage outsider that I was at the time – and became a fast, firm friend. Since then, we’ve kept in touch very sporadically (a lot of the onus for that falls on me): we went to different universities, had new friendship circles, and completely non-maliciously drifted apart until we barely saw each other any more.

None of that, however, detracted from the genuine pleasure I felt when I recognised him walking towards me the other day. A lovely (speedy) reunion took place, complete with hugs and giggles and slightly hopeless attempts to catch up on ALL THE NEWS over the course of a couple of minutes, before he had to jump on his next train. We made noises about meeting up soon for a proper catch up, and I must stay true to that and not fail to follow through.

My point is this: there is a certain kind of joy that comes from old friends, which can’t be replicated or bottled. It’s like a strange sort of magic, guaranteed to lift the spirits, and it doesn’t necessarily happen with everyone – just with those particularly special people who you’ve somehow managed to lose touch with, but certainly not intentionally.

Our lives are neither fleeting nor straightforward. Friendships come in different shapes and sizes as we grow up, and I think it’s actually quite rare to have lifelong friends. For the most part, we all experience people coming into our lives and taking on an important role for a particular stretch, and then more often than not life takes us in different directions and we lose touch. This doesn’t lessen the impact of those friendships, or mean they were of any less worth than those that lasted longer. As we grow and change, the kind of relationships we have – and the kind of things we look for in other people – naturally changes with us.

Maybe that’s why seeing an old friend is such a pleasure: you’re not just reminded of how much you loved that person, you’re also reminded of an old version of yourself. If you’re lucky, it’s a version of yourself that you can look back on fondly, even if they’re pretty different from present-day you. And, whether you and your old friend have grown in similar ways, or whether there’s still an echo of the old you in there, you may just find you can slip easily back into that same old friendly chemistry. If – as in my case – that’s a comfortable and welcoming fit, there’s really nothing nicer.

What it comes down to for me is this – life is about people. Life is about connections. Personally, I’ve always found that to be more important than places or work or ambition. The experiences I’ve had with the people around me have shaped me into the Jess that I am now, so I will never overlook the importance of those people when our paths happen to cross again.

On my favourite coffee place

I'd like to take a break in our regularly scheduled programming to bring you a love letter to my favourite coffee shop. Wait wait WAIT don't go - I promise it's not as weird as it sounds!

Here's the thing. I have lived in my flat for the past two years now, and am blessed (/cursed, if you're reviewing my bank balance) with extremely close proximity to aaaaaaall the nice food and drink places I can handle: they're literally just downstairs. In amongst all of those glorious establishments lives one of my favourite places - my coffee shop of choice.

I actually didn't pay a huge amount of attention to it in the first year or so that I lived here. I went in a few times, but didn't take in my surroundings much, and mostly just focused on the caffeine and cake that I was shoving in my face. However, over the past few months - and I can't really explain why - I started making a point of getting to know the people there. I paused for a chat that didn't just consist of "please", "thank you" and "have a nice day". I introduced myself, learnt to put names to faces, and generally tried to ingratiate myself a bit - and not just with the aim of getting free coffee. Now, they're a well-established part of my day. In fact, I'm drafting this from within their very walls.

Here's what I like about the place: the people. Sure, the coffee is fricking incredible, and jolts me out of my sleepy daze in the morning enough to propel me through at least 20 minutes' worth of my walk to work (that's saying something at 8am). They also do a mean ham & cheese croissant, which will probably send me to an early grave what with the quantity that I consume each week, but at least I'll go smiling. But - and this is a big but (stop giggling) - it is the fact that the people are all so flipping lovely that keeps me coming back every morning.

I am truly an advocate of being a regular, and having a roster of trusted, welcoming places that are habitual and homely. I have my comic shop (which is also full of excellent people), and now I have my coffee place. And it's not the shop or the products that draw me in, it's the connection you form with the people you see every day. 

Luckily for me, the folks downstairs are friendly, charming, and - on occasion - even a little bit nerdy, which suits me to a tee. Being able to start my day with a grin and a chat - recent random topics have included: inner gremlins; pig racing; the word for a big birdcage like the one in Aladdin (“menagerie” is apparently what he was searching for…not “boulangerie”); the joy that can come only from a trip to Lakeland plastics; and a truly excellent (and lethal) sounding recipe for punch - makes my day infinitely better. It's been particularly helpful when I've woken up in the doldrums, ready to trudge my way through the day in a depressed fashion. They give me a lift, and not just because they’re supplying me with A-grade caffeine.

So all I can say is this: thanks guys, you’re pretty stellar people. I hope you don’t get sick of me any time soon, because – like a persistent hangover the day after a friend’s wedding – I’m going to be hard to shake.

On editing

This is a confession: I’ve got you all fooled. Not for the first time, a friend recently commented that something I’d written was very “articulate”. I think I give off the impression – in writing certainly, but also sometimes in conversation – that I am an eloquent and articulate person. Anyone who has known me for any reasonable stretch of time, however, must surely know that this isn’t the case.

In person, the reality is that I will always suffer from “slow reaction time” syndrome. You know that feeling when you’re having a conversation with someone, it gets a bit heated, and you just can’t find the words to properly best the other person – even though you know you could? And then, long after the fact - when you’re at work, or having dinner, or doing something completely mundane - the perfect comeback occurs to you? Words that would properly encapsulate the witty, intelligent person that you are? Yes – that. I suffer from that.

As a result, I am anything but articulate in person. I stumble over words, I phrase things the wrong way and get myself into hot water when I don’t mean to…I’m a little bit of a mess, verbally. So why have I managed to convince various people I know otherwise? The answer is quite simple, really: I edit.

There’s a reason I love to write as much as I do – a reason why a lot of my meaningful conversations are carried out over email, text or WhatsApp. It’s because it’s so much easier to edit there. I can take my time to write things out, review them, change my mind and rephrase until I’m comfortable that I have clearly and effectively expressed what I want to say. It’s normal to draft and redraft emails, I think. Perhaps less so with instant messages…but hey. Abnormality suits me.

I can sometimes get away with this in person as well as in writing. Sounds strange? Wait a second, hear me out. If I’ve ever struck you as being particularly good at communicating my thoughts or emotions in person – probably during a “big conversation” – it’s because I’ve edited and rehearsed the hell out of that conversation in my head. This happens with friends on occasion, but is far more frequent when it comes to relationships. I’m not saying I’m not emotionally intelligent – I think I probably am – but being able to succinctly and clearly translate my feelings into words isn’t something that comes quickly (or even that naturally) to me.

Look in the notes app on my phone, and you will find numerous one liners, paragraphs and diatribes that I have jotted down whilst rehearsing conversations in my head. I’ll go back to these time and again, tweaking them here and there until I’m really happy with them. This process cements them so thoroughly in my head that I have them ready to draw on in the heat of the moment. And whilst the conversation will never be exactly as I’ve rehearsed it (as I haven’t written lines for the other person), it helps me to feel more in control of the situation, and more comfortable that I’m not saying completely the wrong thing.

So there you have it. If I’ve ever convinced you that I’ve got it all together – that I’m calm and articulate and can think quickly on my feet – maybe take some comfort from the fact that it couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m just an obsessive compulsive editor, who probably thinks too much.

On support

I'm going to be very honest about something: I've had a rough couple of months. A number of things have got the better of me, and it has been a bit of a struggle to keep my head up. What follows is going to be a bit messy, and a bit meandering, but I do feel that I need to get this out somehow. So please bear with me.

Generally speaking, I am quite adept at putting on a brave face: I find it very difficult to ask for help. This probably makes me seem like a walking contradiction at times, as I simultaneously wear my heart on my sleeve with the people I trust. When I open up about my feelings though, it tends to be more about a need to vocalise my thought process than it is about openly soliciting or inviting guidance. In fact, when words of wisdom and advice are offered to me, I can sometimes feel myself acting defensively and putting up walls - as though it would be a sign of weakness to admit that I was looking for support.

But support is everything, and I am trying to train myself to shy away from it less. I am extremely lucky in that I have a wonderful network of friends and family around me who try to pick me up when I am down, and accept me and my issues without judgement or comment. Over the last couple of months, when things have unravelled, they have been there to step in and stop me from getting too bleak in my outlook.

For example, my support network rallied around me when I had my heart broken. When I thought that I was building something with someone, and the rug was pulled out from under my feet when they let me down. I don't hold this against the person in question - they had issues of their own to cope with - but it did mean that the bridge I thought I had been building towards a better future for myself had crumbled away, leaving me stranded. This represented, in its own horrible way, the loss of an important source of support. They had been the one I turned to when I needed to talk, when I needed to feel better, or just when I wanted to be distracted from life's stressful minutiae. Losing them was like having a crutch ripped away.

Though I sorely felt the lack of that particular person, the kind words and reassurances I got from my friends made me feel incredibly grateful to have them around me. Just to give you an indication of how phenomenal the people in my life are, here are a few of the messages I got when they rallied around me:

"Just remember that you are Jess, and Jess means wonderful."

"Always respect the Jess. She deserves the respect. She's a wicked and wonderful lady worthy of all good things!"

 "You, on the other hand, are fucking great. Remember this. It is supremely important."

That's just a small smattering of the generous and thoughtful missives I received, and doesn't even touch on the many other ways they - and my wonderful family - stepped in to pick me up.

And when, recently, things got on top of me in a different area of my life, and I felt like it was all becoming a bit too much to cope with, they came through again. They listened to me, they reassured me, and they provided sensible and practical words of wisdom on how to fight my way forwards, towards something better.

Even though I still find it hard to reach out and ask for help (often until things have gone too far and I'm already a bit of a mess), I know that I have people around me to give me strength. When I was told to be strong "like I know you are", I recognised that I can be strong in the face of adversity - but only because I am not going through it alone. I will learn to be better at reaching out for help when I'm struggling, because trying to fix everything by myself - to fix me by myself - is not the answer. It's only through the support of others that I can and will move forwards.