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I felt this person come into me, like being possessed, except that it was me, coming into the present moment.

I always wanted to live in a gypsy caravan.  I actually did for a while in a person’s garden when I was sixteen.  It had two narrow bunks that came down from the ceiling on chains, like hammocks.

I’ve been away from the alternative world for a long time now, wrapped up in working in a professional environment.  My husband and I are going to a party soon and there will be three, possibly four vegans there in a room together.  It will be the first time that we’ve been in a room with so many vegans aside from a meet up.

If I don’t have to go out to work to this job, what will I look like, how will I dress?  (Warm, I have a long wish list for Cotswold Outdoor (if you’re reading this, I am happy to write detailed reviews for you; I am quite capable of writing an entire blog post devoted to the joy of a new winter coat.)

I’m going ‘back’ to who I really am, back to being really me.  Maybe I’ll rediscover elements of my early punk/vintage style.  When my new tattoos are completed I’ll be able to wear sleeveless tops and dresses and show them off.  Maybe I’ll dress up sexy and we’ll go out.  I’m going forward, with awareness, with this love for myself, with this feeling of being loved, without the lost exploitation of me at sixteen.

Remembering who I was originally, as a child.  And now I have my experience, the awareness to make the most of my talents.  Even back then, it was all about writing, sex, love and finding out who I was.

I have always been so anxious at work:  as a student, knees knocking together on my first day at placement,  feeling like I was going to pee myself on the bus to college; even now, I park up and have to psych myself up to go into work each morning.  At my computer I am over tense with hunched shoulders and I type too heavily on the keyboard.

I’m often late because I am so anxious about whatever it is I am doing.  It’s never felt comfortable.  The body knows.  I wasn’t meant to be there.  Not because I wasn’t good enough, but because it wasn’t me.  I like to be quiet and alone.  I like to be outdoors.  I like to be creative.  I like to think deeply about things.  I like to be with my people.

Is this a midlife crisis?  Or is it, as my husband said, a midlife awakening?  I’m looking around, I’m seeing the billions of ‘suggestions’ for life, I’m realising what I want.