Bold and Beautiful

This solitary, elfin tulip appeared overnight in my garden (or so it seems- I’m pretty sure it wasn’t there yesterday).

I love its fresh vibrancy. It’s as if it’s saying “I’m here, I’m on my own but I’m good with this”.

When my marriage ended, my best friend asked me what I was most afraid of and I told her I was afraid of loneliness.

I then proceeded to spend months on end, convincing myself that I was lonely; I was drowning in a sea of anxiety and grief; I went for a spa break and was referred to by the spa personnel as a “lone swimmer” and I couldn’t agree with her more. I was morosely delighted by her apt description.

I therefore made it my prerogative to fill a notebook with oodles of extended metaphors and euphemistic drivel about being able to see a sinking vessel and not knowing whether to just climb back on it- because at least there was some ill-conceived semblance of a safety raft (however fleeting that might be-no pun intended!) or whether to keep on splashing around, desperately treading water in the hope that I might just reach a clearer horizon and ultimately, a safer shore. But I was hugely sceptical of this.

Anyway, I digress...

That was then: the back end of 2017 and the beginning of 2018. And this is now.

Now, I’m a better friend to myself than I’ve been in years; I’ve stopped beating myself up; I’ve stopped sitting on my own shoulder & pouring words of pestilence into my own ear & (moreover) I’ve stopped feeling pissed off and angry with the world. I’ve stopped all of this because it couldn’t go on- it wasn’t sustainable, it was exhausting and I was only furthering my own sense of loneliness. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy and not one I was willing to see through.

So, back to this tulip: In a garden of largely grey chipping & greenish foliage, it stands proud in red. It stands bright, bold and happy to be there- alone (but not lonely).