Happy

One of the things people say when I’m expressing my glum despondency and insatiable desire to get away is: ah, man, it’s just February, everybody feels shitty in February: it’s a shitty month, and I kind of dig that. Is that all my wanderlust moaning and thrashing about is? Winter gloom and an inability to patiently sit through it? I look back on my life and notice, wow, pretty much every year around this time I make plans to escape, to change things, and frequently do. Last year I did the same, and that was where my relationship started to crumble.

T’would suck if it was an explanation as simple as that.

Anyways, that’s all a somewhat poignant preamble to what I really wanted to say: that today was a good day. That I woke up and pottered around – and then wrote over five thousand words to kick off this new book idea. Everything flowed and it was easy ‘cos I didn’t give a crap about the quality of it, merely focussed on the expression. Remembering those days when I was struggling with Discovering Beautiful and almost unable to get through a sentence without immediately rushing back and editing it. Crippling, that. But so far I seem to be in a state of just cracking on and knowing that it can all be fixed in the mix.

It’s all mad and flippant and wild – but then that’s my style, right? And there ain’t no greater knowing than you gots to be what you is.

Then I went outside to go ref some football and the day was super sunny and warm. Sunshine! Heat on my skin! A short-sleeved reffin’ top and no base layer or gloves. The sun in one’s eyes. The first inklings of spring. And as spring is in the air it’s in my bones and blood too. I feel it; a certain coming alive. A renewed positivity. And an emergence from that wintry cave of bemoaning and heartache and gloom.

It seems only natural to conclude that what I did next – after playing a decent second half at left-back for GeogSoc following my match – was due to that spring sun and my good mood, but fact of the matter is I’ve been planning it for a week or two. I asked a girl out. Which is a very rare thing for me.

In fact, I think it’s only the second time I’ve done that, and the first one never went any further, despite a positive response (I met someone I wanted to be in a relationship with in the time between asking and arranging a date).

So that was cool. And I guess we’ll see what develops there. It was inspired by a deepening of the realisation that, if you don’t ask, you don’t get. And that if you see something you want, even if you think you might not get it, at least you’ve got to try. If you get knocked back you shrug your shoulders and move on – and smile heartily at having given it a go.

The man who never puts himself out there can’t expect life to give him much in return.

I’ve been that man too many times.

So now I retire to bed all happy and nervous and tired and aching, a knee moshed up in blood from slidetackling on the astro, a belly full of samosas and dates and chips, a pot of tea by my side. Tomorrow I’ll write some more and hopefully arrange a date with this girl. But tonight I deserve my rest.