‘My first ever post was entitled Reasons I Love My Life, and although everything I’ve written here isn’t always numbered, everything I’ve written here is a reason why I love my life. I love the excuse to grumble and rant as much as I love the exciting and surprising bits. And I love the fact that every day there’s a story to tell.’
August 4, Me and the Girl from Clapham*
I am terribly indecisive. I add another ten minutes onto my getting ready time in the morning if I’ve not worked out what I’m going to wear that day in advance. Am I in a pink, blue, red, or black mood? Is it cold or warm? What’s clean? Is it likely to rain? Do I need to look respectable? It’s all too much to think about.
Imagine the inside of my brain now, trying to decide what to blog about next. I’ve really enjoyed the challenge of writing every day. But the countdown to thirty is well and truly over and now I’m bereft of a theme.
B suggested I write about a friendship every day. Maybe I could do thirty friendships. But then I’d be bound to miss out someone crucial. And what if one friend got a longer word count than another? Would that friend feel less loved, less valued? And maybe B only suggested this so that I would write at great length about how great she is…
Writing every day has made me think every day about what I’m grateful for in it. There have been some days with more to say than others, but finding something beautiful, notable or thought-provoking in each day stops them from blurring into one. Even if the most interesting thing in a day is a well-written sentence in a book it’s worth noting.
The past 101 days make my life look so exciting – they’re filled with music and journeys and books and strange people and cake and culture and beautiful places and fish and drinking and feminism and weddings and parties and dancing and most of all, friends. If I’d not written something every day would I be able to look back and see how glorious the past 101 days have been?
So. Since every day there is a story to tell, and this blog began as a record of the reasons why I love my life, I’ll keep writing something most days. There’ll just be no numbers at the beginning of the titles – there are too many reasons to love life to count them! And to keep B happy, it’s more than likely that friendship in all it’s forms and guises will keep cropping up as at least one of the reasons why I love my life.
*I know it’s gratuitously pretentious to be self-referential but I can’t help myself!