This feeling came out after weekend spent within my home doing things many refer as banality. Somehow it was reenforced this weekend. Sometimes I have this deeply satisfying feeling of comfort being in my home…I like the most of it. There are still some corners where I haven’t touched them yet to change to my liking, they still are pretty much what I moved into almost 7 years ago…But the ones I did already…they are – mine. And I do feel peaceful there…no more ghosts and thorny triggers, the house is mine and only mine…
We had a summer extravaganza this weekend. Too warm and too good to believe it will last. I woke up on Saturday to the merry sound of lawnmower – my neighbour started the season. The sight of his pretty lawn made me ashamed for the wilderness in my garden, so I was forced to do something about it. After which my other side’s neighbour did theirs, being embarrassed for their garden next to mine…that’s what I call collective insanity…anyway, at least the garden is all looking pretty now and ready for whatever surprises the Nature will bring to Little Island next. (Last year it was a snow on the 6th of April!) I’m not too hopeful for extremes, but today we already are reminded what the normal British weather should feel like. Greyish and rainy…
It was not my thought, but it tickled my mind in a positive way…every life is a story. And in every story lots of things happens. Good things. As well as bad things. And every story is different, yet still same interesting. And when there is nothing going on in the story, it becomes a boring story…
And in every story there is a hero who overcomes challenges, fights dragons, rescues princesses and kisses the frogs…every story has one, every fairy tale. And we are – the writers of our own stories. And when I write mine, I do not want to be a servant blowing out candles in Act Three Scene Two, or a villain. Or a dragon. Or even a frog. I want to be a hero. Because I can, because I write my own story.
We had a summer extravaganza this weekend. Too warm and too good to believe it will last. I woke up on Saturday to the merry sound of lawnmower – my neighbour started the season. The sight of his pretty lawn made me ashamed for the wilderness in my garden, so I was forced to do something about it. After which my other side’s neighbour did theirs, being embarrassed for their garden next to mine…that’s what I call collective insanity…anyway, at least the garden is all looking pretty now and ready for whatever surprises the Nature will bring to Little Island next. (Last year it was a snow on the 6th of April!) I’m not too hopeful for extremes, but today we already are reminded what the normal British weather should feel like. Greyish and rainy…
It was not my thought, but it tickled my mind in a positive way…every life is a story. And in every story lots of things happens. Good things. As well as bad things. And every story is different, yet still same interesting. And when there is nothing going on in the story, it becomes a boring story…
And in every story there is a hero who overcomes challenges, fights dragons, rescues princesses and kisses the frogs…every story has one, every fairy tale. And we are – the writers of our own stories. And when I write mine, I do not want to be a servant blowing out candles in Act Three Scene Two, or a villain. Or a dragon. Or even a frog. I want to be a hero. Because I can, because I write my own story.