John and I are discussing over instant messenger the offer I’ve just had from a publisher to turn this blog into a book.

In the light of the offer I’ve been reading back over the blog posts from when I first started blogging almost five years ago to the day now. I’ve been laughing over some, cringing over others, frowning at who I was at some moments in time, wondering whether it would make in any way a good book.

John asked me how I felt about the old me that wrote the earlier posts. It was an interesting question.

This is what I typed in response:

I feel much less judgemental now. More centred.

Much more aware of my privilege.

More open.

More full of gratitude.

I feel older I guess.

Less crazy.

Also very grateful that Alula is no longer a toddler.

Man. Those were dark, dark days.

 

I’m still probably way too judgemental.

Probably not that centred at all (I definitely wasn’t this morning when I stood on the balcony and screamed at the tile cutter).

I’m definitely more full of gratitude though. I’m not even sure five years ago I even paused to consider the meaning of the word, but here it’s become a daily practice, as close to meditation as I’ll probably get.

I’m definitely older and sun damage has probably aged me way beyond my years but I don’t care. I love those lines around my eyes. They’ll always remind me of the magical time we spent here.

I’m so much calmer and less crazy now I don’t have a possessed toddler on my hands. Reading those old posts I almost didn’t recognise the child she was from who she is today; a beautiful joy who honestly lights up our lives.

I wonder if I would feel the same if I’d stayed in England, if I would be the same person, if Alula would be the same child she is today. No way to tell, but I think not.

This has been a journey in so many ways.