This is my little reading spot. I've discovered it on the way back from church one Sunday and now I go there pretty much every week to spend some quality me time reading.
It's absolutely perfect, because:
it has a sea-view;
it doesn't require me to walk down the cliff to enjoy it.
I'm currently reading a bizarre book All that man is by David Szalay. I've read 100 odd pages so far and I'm not entirely sure what to make of it. It's definitely interesting, but the writing style is so different from what I am used to. Maybe it's just because I'm not used to reading novels in English. My experience of English-language literature is fairly limited: mostly to academic books and journals. It's definitely time to broaden my horizons.
The only thing that I need now is a big flask to take with me when I go there: the afternoons are getting really cold and even in my really attractive winter hat and red gloves I still feel rather cold on that bench. It's probably time for an upgrade of my outdoor reading experience.
And so it finally happened. I had to phone in and say that I'd be off sick. Well, actually my housemate had to phone in, because I've lost my voice and was barely able to whisper.
I've realised that I would never actually admit to being sick enough not to go to work. I'm just that sort of a person. Mr Magic said that even if I would be throwing up I would still go in and just ask the children to hold my hair as I would still try to carry on with the lesson. I do feel like I'm letting my little ones down by not being there and not pushing through with the material. But at the same time, it won't help if I'm off sick for a week rather than just a day.
And so I've pleased Mr Magic more than myself and had a day off.
As it stands, it's my second day of being sick, sipping lemsip (yuck!), drinking hot tea all day and trying to keep as warm as possible. I've run out of films to watch now, so I've made some progress on my colouring page, hoovered the room and organised my diary. My next low-impact project involves making a under the weather box full of supplies that help you survive a cold.
I temporarily refuse to do any work at all, partly because my brain feels like a jelly, partly because I've realised that I actually don't need to. I'm putting ridiculous number of hours into this job for five days every week, I do deserve some time off during the weekend (especially in my current state). This is probably one of the biggest eye-openers: I do enough. No need to stress out so much about lesson planning, marking etc. There is enough time during the working week. It's just a matter of prioritising.
I went up to Oxford for a couple of days last weekend and I must admit it was a slightly strange experience.
The thing is, Oxford doesn't change.* And although many of my friends have left, there are still a couple who stuck around. But I'm coming to realise how much I've moved on since I've graduated: student life is long gone and Oxford bubble have finally burst, letting some air in.
It was nonetheless really nice to be back. At least because I got a chance to get some shopping done and eat an amazing pie in the Covered Market. And to tell my friends how happy I am now. Without sitting in the library all day. With young people around me all the time.
And I've realised that I don't actually miss Oxford. I do miss people a lot, but not the place itself. I'm really content with my life as it is now. I might not have a Lebanese deli round a corner or a plethora of little patisseries, but I have the sea five minutes away from the house.
That is enough to keep me content for the next couple of years.
* This is not entirely true, since St Anne's College finally has a modern library and it looks surprisingly good. At least the scaffolding is gone which is great.
Loving, leaving and finding the Church is the title of one of the best spiritual books I've read in my life.
I love this book, because it has reminded me that faith is a journey. I'm a bit of a perfectionist, so I would like to get everything tight from the very beginning. But it's not like that with faith. We're only people, and, although I have some friends who are truly holy and it sometimes feels like they've nailed it already at the age of 20-something, I need time to figure things out. And it frustrates me, because I would like to just nail here. Here and now. But it's not possible.
"Baptism reminds us that there's no ladder to holiness to climb, no self-improvement plan to follow. It's just death and resurrection, over and over again, day after day as God reaches down into our deepest graves and with the same power that raise Jesus from the dead wrests us from our pride, our apathy, our fear, our prejudice, our anger, our hurt, and our despair.
This is the passage from the book that touched me the most:
"There are recovery programs for people grieving the loss of a parent, sibling, ot spouse. You can buy books on how to cope with the death of a beloved pet or work through anguish of miscarriage. We speak openly with one another about the bereavement that can accompany a layoff, a move, a diagnosis or a dream deferred. But no one really teaches you hot to grieve the loss of your faith. You're on your own for that."
Rachel talks about Sunday mornings, when she went to church, as being one of the most lonely times during the week. And I can relate to that. I have more questions than I've received answers. I'm somewhat between leaving and finding now. It feels like I've never truly got lost anywhere. I know where I am.
The Island, as lovely as it is, leaves me spiritually starving. The masses are only in the morning, and I struggle to get to them. There are no groups for young adults here to share faith, meals and conversations. The parishioners are lovely, but they are all in the autumn of their lives and I can't relate to them. There are no events like Nightfever here, music during services is rubbish and I can't understand the priest because of his accent. It is not a happy places for me. Feels like 40 days in the desert. Only that there's been far more of those days than 40. We're going into a second hundred now. Not a happy place.
What I really need now is a kiss of God on my bruises. Not a grand reopening of my faith. Although I would love to be burning for Jesus again, a little nudge and and a warm touch would be enough for the time being. And then I could try building up the fruits of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.
