Sometimes you can strike exactly the right note in a blog, so you type it out and hit post and it’s brilliant. Sometimes you can’t. So you turn it over in your head. And you want and need to write about it, but you can’t find words. You throw stuff at the screen and hope something sticks and that you can make some sense out of it.
A colleague texted me on Good Friday, asking if I wanted to go to church with them. Sometimes I go to church, but I had zero desire to turn up at a megachurch filled with strangers. I had no desire to be part of the annual outreach program. I’ve run the annual outreach program – I know what’s coming. I will be exhorted to holy living and Jesus. They will call it community building. I will call it inauthentic marketing.
What I wanted was someone to do what I have so often done – to reach out and bring me into their tribe for the night. To tell me to bring the buns and show up at 5. Let me play with children and talk to the grumpy and elderly aunt and help set the table. Hand me a tea towel and get me to help with the washing up. It has nothing to do with Jesus and everything to do with kindness.
So I went to the art gallery. Had a terrible cup of coffee and some very excellent shortbread. I went to a cafe, had bread pudding for dinner and got caught up on my corporate finance readings.
I am an orphan with no children. There was nowhere to go and no one to see. There was no point in making ham and scalloped potatoes for just me. This is the hard part of being alone. I will adjust. I will make new traditions. It won’t always hurt like this, it won’t always feel so lonely. I know that.
But last week, that first holiday? It sucked.