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*whistle* Half-time over! Back on the field!

The year gallops! A friend once said to me that after August, there’s basically only a fortnight to Christmas. It’s been an intense year for me, and the second half of it is doubling down and getting even more vigorous. We spent June overseas, in the US and Switzerland, and came home with heads full of thoughts and shoes full of feet. For me, travel doesn’t just broaden the mind, it fills it with the heady vapours of change and new ideas, until the mind swells and bloats like a dead pig filled with noxious creativity.

Time away gave me a lot of time to think about what I want my life to look like and how that’s different from where it is now.

It has been a challenging year Chez Spoonfully. The most significant challenge has the number of jobs. M, a freelance developer, usually has anywhere between 0 and 4 jobs at any moment in time, and he’s at the upper end of the range for most of the year, and there have been occasional suggestions that the upper limit may need to increase. I hover between 1 and 2 jobs (salaried editor and freelance editor), and the goalposts have been shifting a lot this year. There have been fewer funds available for the salaried work, but no decrease in workload, which means I’m trying to do my former full-time load in three days each week. The happy upside is that I’m now working at home with my snazzy freelancer hat on two days a week.

More time at home, overall, makes for a happy bethini. I like to enjoy this time by spending the morning paralysed with financial fear. Then a snack, then I relax by spending the afternoon googling ‘frugal meals’. Usually mid-afternoon my blood sugar settles, or I hit maximum caffeine concentration, and I can start to relax and make use of my newly-acquired free time. When the editing work is done, there’s time for knitting, writing, and cooking, too, which makes things a little more comfortable. This unwinding helps make up for the morning spent in the throes of panic. I’m sure this is a transition thing: freelancers I’ve spoken to tend to nod with sage recognition when I describe these feelings. The general consensus is that the feeling of panicked unmooredness doesn’t go away, but you get better at coping with it. So I look forward to that.

And as I’ve got a bit more time for exercise, I’ve taken my physiotherapy weights and decided to go full hog. YEAH. There are few things more humbling than beginning weight training. You tell yourself “I’ve done yoga for years! I walk all the time! I’m totes strong!” and then you find yourself making involuntary cry-gulp sounds after the eighth bicep curl and wondering if everyone else is actually far stronger than you’ll ever be. The realisation that you are, contrary to your mental model, a Puny Weakling, is both comforting and humbling. At least you have evidence to support this mental model, and you’re not just relying on the occasional flex in the mirror after your bath.

AAAAND, since we’re changing everything around here anyway, I’ve begun my yoga teacher training. I’ve been doing yoga for years, waiting until I had the kind of self-confidence I thought I would need as a yoga teacher. Then I thought: oh fuck it. And signed up. And it turns out that saying fuck it may actually be the secret key to self-confidence. I’m certainly saying it a lot more, just to be sure.

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