An almost sleeping baby in my arms who will no doubt start to grizzle as soon as I move him. He is very cuddly today, mainly teething I think but in part because daddy has gone away. It always amazes me how perceptive children can be. For example Charlie gets so excited when we go to pick Harry up from school, he just knows that it is time to see his big brother. As for Harry he has always been so loving and sensitive to other people’s feelings and I certainly hope that never changes.
I’ve always found it hard to express my feelings. James will always tell me exactly what is going on his head but I could never be like that, not even with him. I think I just like to deal with things myself. Why let other people worry if I’m feeling worried? Or pass on my sadness to them? You see those poems about smiling being contagious (we had one up in the hotel that I worked at), in fact I saw a video on Facebook yesterday about making the world smile back – one of those social experiments where someone starts laughing at a train station and soon enough everyone is smiling.
And it’s true, smiling is contagious but so are feelings in general. We talk of sharing a person’s grief and I’ve always thought that sounds quite insincere and intrusive in a way but it’s not. I recall days at work where if one colleague came in in a bad mood that was it, it was going to be a day from hell. I like to think I’m a good listener but I think I’m rubbish at giving advice. Instead I’m the one who tries to rise above it. In truth I get a bit hyper with it but I hate seeing people down just like Harry does and I know I can’t fix things but if I can make someone smile, make them laugh, then I’ve made a difference.
Writing is my outlet. I don’t need to write that, I’m sure the majority of writers and bloggers feel like that, but sometimes even then I can’t really say what I feel. I don’t think that matters though, why should I tell the world my problems? They’re extremely minor in comparison to others.
I don’t even know what I’m trying to say here. This was supposed to be a post about charity shops and instead I’m waffling on about feelings. I often feel like such a contradiction but I’m just trying to find my place I this world, my purpose, and it’s a hard task when the people all around you are trying to shape it too.
In case anyone is concerned I am fine. There is something about a sleeping baby in my arms that makes me philosophical. And writing my book too, sometimes I feel like that is just one big metaphor for everything that whizzes round in my head.