I could write a blog about the unfathomable year we’ve had. I could plot the way in which we’ve been afraid or frustrated, devastated or furious, uncertain and attempting to navigate along a path that for the most part, has been paved as we step upon it.
I could write a blog about the wonderful year we’ve had. I could try to tussle my way through a self- indulgent narrative of the amazing opportunities I have had this year, working with a number of people for whom I have such high regard and professional admiration for. I’ve been lucky to have worked on some amazing projects and am very excited about the following year, but it’s probably not the first thing on my mind as we head into the holidays if I was being very honest.
I could write a blog about what I have learned this year. I could share some of the most humbling aspects of the last twelve months, where I have made mistakes and reflected, sometimes too much, to contemplate how I could have done better. I could highlight the inevitable failure that comes with doing something for the first time, and how I have learned that mistakes are essential for discovering how you really tick. I have never known myself better.
I don’t want to write any of those blogs, because they’re not what I have been thinking about the most. I sat in the car with my eldest child yesterday and saw a young on-the-way-to adult, tired and anxious about what school might look like when he goes back in January. I worked so hard this year to ensure that he continued with a sense of normality and instead, that moment made it feel like a failing.
I wondered what he might remember from the last nine months as memories faded and I wanted it to be the moments that moved him through- not away from- the grief of the year he had hoped for, and instead, captured the moments that may fade from his view. I wanted him to remember the snippets from this year that will stay with him because they’re full of love and care and compassion.
I’m grateful for so many moments.
I’m grateful for being fortunate enough to eat breakfast with my children every morning, March to September, but mostly the days where the baby would insist on sitting on the table. I’m grateful for waking up in Devon on the first day of our holiday and hearing children giggling. I’m grateful for laughing with my friend, the stoic untouchable police officer, because we had to wear a mask to sit next to a swimming pool. Im grateful for the moment that, some four hours deep into an editing session, Claire agreed that ‘we’re done.’ I’m grateful for the nonsensical conversation my three year old had with me because he wanted to eat ice cream with a fork. I’m grateful for peeking over the fence at my self-conscious eleven year old son playing tennis, a little confused as to how he looked so grown up. I’m grateful for every opportunity I have had this year to speak and share ideas with people and remember the moment of ‘you are in the waiting room’ of Zoom for every single one! I’m grateful to Mary for having the most brilliant time filming for The Soak. I laughed so much in between those sessions.
In five years, this will be a year that will have faded a little: not so much as to been forgotten, but just enough that we’re left with the way it felt as opposed to the way it looked. I wanted to write a blog that captured the moments that it felt marvellous.