Sequel to “Trust me, I’m your Instinct” & “362 Day Resolve”
It wasn’t difficult to win me over. In fact, it was only a matter of time before I’d submit. Yet again. Not content with my lot. A sucker for some sensation. Maybe it was the risky scent of danger that lingered after last time, or the addictive taste of adrenaline that laced my lips and played temptress with my mind. Or perhaps it was the garrulous grumblings of a gut, whose deeply instinctive groans and aches had simply got the better of me again. Either way, Mills and Boon eat your hearts out, my appetite was wet. There was only one thing on my mind. And just when you thought you knew me so well, I’d ditched the status quo and was making headline news again. Well, about as headline as any Facebook status goes.
So now you’re sitting comfortably, let me begin. Last month, I revisited a rather cute pledge I’d made over half a year earlier. As with most New Year resolutions, it was in fact fairly generic. But spiced up with a fairy-tale ending that would ice the cake and pop the cherry on top, this year was set to be different. Remarkable even. For amid the home-made soups and recycling bins, was an incredibly noble self-promise to grow some balls and make some positive self-changes. A mean feat for someone so desperately adverse to making even the most insignificant of decisions. Or so I thought. For unbeknown to me, I’d become rather adept at this game of multiple-choice life-styling. Shuffling my cards around and gambling over which path to take had never been quite so exhilarating.
And with one significant life-decision under my belt, the next one and the next after that just seemed to naturally follow suit. Rather like buses. Or men. Neither of which, sadly, are quite as thrilling. And thrilling is the word. For what else can take you through a car crash of emotions from apathy, apprehension and panic, through to elation, liberation and empowerment, culminating in an anticlimactic slump of insecurity and anxiety , in 0 to 60? Fortunately, like a woman’s version of childbirth, the agony endured during the process of making a life-changing decision is short-lived but soon forgotten, and the rewards are indeed life-changing. Before you know it, you’re taking life into your own hands over and over again, shaping and moulding it as never before.
It wasn’t a challenge to win me over. In fact, it was only a matter of time before I’d wake up and smell the freshly ground coffee. Not to mention the cinnamon coated pain-au-raisin, with my name dusted all over it, in a Marks & Spencer cafe on the school-run. Not content with my lot. A sucker for some sensation. I didn’t decide to run off with the postie nor did I decide to convert to Buddhism. I didn’t even decide to take up chocolate or tobacco. I simply quit my job. I gave it all up to look after my children and to invest in myself. But without a Plan B or anywhere to go [aside from leisurely ladies’ lunches and charity coffee mornings], the prospect was [and still is] both terrifying and intoxicating at the same time. In short, I became a fully-fledged, fully dependent, desperate house-WAG over night. And that folks, was last month’s life-changing decision. Done.
So there we have it. Once again, I’d wilfully given into my gut and blindly put my faith in something as intangible as my own instinct. And for someone who doesn’t “do” the insecurity of the Great Unknown, this was/is progress indeed. Who the hell knows what the next chapter in this book is going to reveal. I certainly don’t know. It may or may not make good reading. But I won’t know until I start to believe. Believe that everything happens for a reason. Believe that I can make something out of nothing. And believe hard in myself and in my instinct. Only then will I begin to know that I made the right decision.
Instinct, it’s got a lot to answer for.