I recently came across these lines in my 2013/14 journal:
‘I’m finding it slightly strange that I’m turning into a woman capable of professionalism and at the same time I’m just a twenty year old who reads a lot and writes about her feelings.’
More than two years on, I feel confident in my growing professional abilities (hello, team, if you’re reading this) and more open about my creative life beyond work. As I mentioned in this post on self-care, writing gives me space to process my experiences. I find it comforting to note down minor thoughts and grapple with the big picture. It frees up headspace and makes me better at my weekday work. (I’m fortunate that playing around with words is also part of my current job – #comms.)
Anyway, I shared a few poems – I know, I fit the literature graduate stereotype perfectly – with a friend the other day and apparently they aren’t awful. I’ve decided to publish some on this blog, in case anyone finds comfort in my words like I do in other people’s. So, here’s one for you. I never thought I’d share a poem about Tinder on the internet, but life is full of surprises.
Finding your person
Long afternoons and late nights.
More effort than the stories suggested.
The initial cloud of optimism
Before reassuring routine or a decline –
Sometimes gentle and slow,
Sometimes far less delicate.
Intricate strings of memories
With those who weren’t quite it just yet.
Learning from steps in a different time
On this vulnerable quest for an unknown prize.
For a pair of eyes to meet on Sunday mornings.
A pair of hands to build a home with.
There’s an app for that, apparently.
But it feels disjointed,
Out of line with the line I came from,
Meeting at dances in church halls
And in a pub whilst waiting for a train.
I am not saying it was simpler then.
The romances of my heritage were not simple.
They set a standard though.
They made it work.
I am still looking for something to work with.