Beginnings

A grey Sunday morning and I'm about to spend the day sorting my life out (aka cleaning) Next to my bed is a huge pile of paperbacks, novels and self help books. Back copies of Marie Claire, Glamour and Grazia are stacked untidily with an old half drunk cup of camomile tea sitting on top. In case I get bored, I must always have something to read. But I have at least twenty novels that I haven't even opened yet – my recent lack of concentration means that, at the moment, I can only read fashion magazines.

I've decided to start writing because I'm in an unusual position. I'm single, and 30 years old. That is fairly usual, I'll admit, but I am already divorced. Everyone I know at the moment seems to be getting married and starting families. I'm not even sure that I can cope with the commitment of a full time job. I have this desire to travel and freedom and it's almost like a hunger for new places and new people.

Once whilst on holiday with my ex husband, looking out of the bus window as we travelled across Malaysia, I wondered where or when I would finally be content. It seems to me that I'm always looking for something else, something new. What am I searching for?

Most people would say that I'm searching for a 'good man'. This is simplistic and, dare I say it, patronizing. Of course, a 'good man' would make life more pleasurable. But I don't regard a successful relationship to be the holy grail that my life should be moving towards. I think that my point of view is partly rooted in the dread of ending up in a relationship similar to how my marriage ended up – mundane, bitter and ultimately routine. I'm afraid of that inevitable domesticity that descends. A reaction to this fear has been to have flings with various unsuitable men, not as a 'try before you buy' type scenario as some of my friends seem to think, but almost as if to exorcise the memory of what went wrong with my ex.

What makes me feel good? Spending time with my closest friends. One in particular, F, is so funny that she makes me cry with laughter. More on her later. There is also J, a girly girl who wears heels to work and re-applies her lipstick every 5 minutes (as well as having three in her bag, she has one in her car, and one in her desk in case a nuclear disaster should occur and Boots don't stock her colour any more) My friend N has two kids that she devotes her whole life to raising and whose words bubble out of her, effervescent and witty. These girls make me happy. And not just them. There are at least 10 other women in my life (including my Mum and sister) who lift my mood by just being able to spend a couple of hours in their presence. Last weekend, for example, I was invited to lunch by a close friend. There were six of us at the table and we sat for 3 and a half hours eating drinking and putting the world to rights. I got home at five o'clock, bloated and too full to move but feeling satisfied that I had spent the day doing something worthwhile for myself. (The fact that my wheat and dairy free diet had been truly violated didn't bother me at all – it was worth it). The one thing that makes me reluctant to travel is not my job, but the thought of losing the time that I spend with my friends.

I think I'm on a search to make myself happy and I'm going to take this next academic year (I'm a teacher) to do it. I'm going to try and acquire poise and inner confidence that will make me content. This may mean that I leave my job and everything I know to travel the world. Or it may mean that I find that 'thing' that I'm looking for right here at home. This blog will be devoted to sharing what happens with anyone who cares to read it. And it starts today.