A happy exclamation to hear when I’m out on my mountain bike. But in a few days on my next birthday? Not so much…lol. I love the South Downs where we live. Hiking or running are not easy just now. Last October I broke my ankle, in what my physio sniggeringly refers to as “the pinecone incident”.

Winter has been long this year. Cold, wet, windy (and sometimes even snowy!) walks. Stuck inside, watching out the window, staring at the grey ski and wondering when willthe dark clouds part and the sun begin to burst through.

If you ask me what I find the most relatable part of the Easter Story, I think I might always say, the point where the Father abandons Jesus on the cross. As someone who’s dad left her, it always seems to cut deep. In Jesus’ weakest moment, when He was vulnerable, naked and hanging on a cross- the moment where He needed His dad the most, the Father wasn’t there.

Are you a talker or a deep thinker? Naturally every person is a bit of both. But in the last few weeks I’ve really felt my need to talk things through coming to the forefront. I want to tell someone that my snake plant (who I’ve affectionately called Susie) grew a new leaf last week. I want to share in a cheesy film and talk about it afterwards. I love eating food with someone else and say “mmm” at the same time. Small joys are what 2021 is all about, right?

Loss. It’s so easy to define. Loss. We throw it around in casual conversation. Loss. It remains such a small word. Loss. What a funny word, but to experience it is a whole different thing. Loss leads to grief. And they both come. Together.

2020 was filled with disappointments and so far 2021 is not much different. So many things we had looked forward to were cancelled. Life got stripped back in ways we had never imagined.

Have you ever had that feeling of being totally lost? You’ve wound up on a foreign street desperately searching for the road name to try and get orientated. It can be frustrating and stressful, but usually the situation rights itself fairly quickly as you locate where you are on the map, or a kindly local points you in the right direction.

Dear Time, They say that you are a healer. I think you’re just a stealer. First you took my self-esteem. Unkind comments in the playground - sticks and stones may break your bones but words will haunt you forever. When I retreated away from others and placed my confidence in academic performance, you just marched on. Each year the work got harder until I couldn’t excel any more. So I set my heart on motherhood.

There is something devastatingly human about dissatisfaction. It’s not that we aim at becoming malcontents, it’s just that we feel unable to fully grasp moments of joy. Here in the west, we surround ourselves with comforts, especially in this year of the pandemic, in the vain hope that these things will convey upon us the contentment we’re looking for.

Home.
The place we have all spent more time than we ever thought possible. It has become the workplace, the classroom, the date night destination and the place for a staycation.

As we clumsily stumble into the new year it is hard to not feel a bit lost and overwhelmed. 2020 saw lockdowns happening globally, poverty in our local areas soaring, a racial justice movement, natural disasters and the environmental crisis,terrorism... so much loss and devastation.

It’s been 11 months now since I sat in a lecture theatre, 47 weeks since my last unwise all-nighter in the library, 337 days since I hugged my friends goodbye for spring break.  Since September it’s been online uni in a cold university flat. We’ve been denied the chance to build friendships to define the edges of our newly-adult lives.

I’m an optimist and I love looking forward to what’s coming up next. Since the pandemic, this has felt like second nature. Many of my youngest son’s sentences begin, ‘When coronavirus goes away…’ and I find myself clinging to the hope of the next medical advance, the next festive season, the next in-person catchup.

The last morsel of Christmas cake is snaffled, the final stray cracker has been pulled, and the never-ending bowl of nuts rattles with an unwanted, wizened walnut. Christmas is over, the festivities have finished and the yawning abyss of January stretches out in front of us. Dramatic, maybe, but for many of us the January blues are a reality.

2020 – I’m over it. And I’m not alone. This year has felt like a never ending bad thriller where every day there’s yet another twist. This is the world we’re living in. A world where a guideline is relevant on Friday and hopelessly out of date by Monday.

The Christmas tree is up earlier this year. I guess we’re looking for something to brighten things up a little. Looking for a source of light, of warmth.

I wonder when you put your Christmas decorations up? Normally I keep mine in the box until December but this year I’ve felt like a bit of a scrooge, because it seems like most people in my neighbourhood had theirs up from early November!

I am sure there are many words that we could use to describe 2020, but as a mum of two small children my word would be struggle. Parenting under normal circumstances can feel like a whirlwind, but when lockdown was first announced, I am sure I wasn't the only one that felt a knot of anxiety in the pit of their stomach.

A controversial statue to honour Mary Wollstonecraft was recently unveiled in Newington Green. Commissioned as part of an attempt to redress the woefully imbalanced distribution of statues among the sexes, the piece depicts a naked, female figurine atop a somewhat shapeless pile.

I remember when I was about six years old, swinging on the front gate of my house, singing as loudly as I could hoping that someone would walk past and discover my talent. I was desperate to be noticed. I wanted to be impressive. I wanted to be valued.