Don't mind me, just feeling small...

A short read... like Mike Teavee.

I got the feeling again. The sky was the colour of peach Fanta, about to turn parma violet. The water beneath our feet had, for days, been making me feel perpetually wobbly. Then, the ship began to make its way, very slowly, past us. It was a Disney cruise liner, navy blue and gold stripped, and tiny matchbox figures stood on their balconies waving at us. We waved back, from our Royal Caribbean cruise ship, the largest in the world, towering over their already huge ship.

People began to shout “Brazil!” “Spain!” “Portugal” whooping with it, wishing each other a safe journey, seeking connection with minuscule strangers by echoing their places of birth into the wind. 

It’s good to feel small.

Each time I’ve felt it over the years, I’m reminded of how magnificent the world is; how each ant, leaf, whale, human is living and evolving and growing alongside me. My problems shrink and my past is pulled away from me. I reach - even for a second - that meditative state of the here-and-now mindfulness that most of the time, with life’s endless check-box deadlines, is incredibly hard to get close to.

It’s important to continually remind myself what I’m living for, how easily moments of happiness can be snatched away by death, illness, tragedy. I saw piece of graffiti on Brick Lane recently that read “our strength is a ghost other can’t see” - it summed up the gift that grief has given me, in that it allows me to live in a heightened way. One that fears loss daily but that, in turn, drives me to say yes to new experiences, to seek them out. To feel small. 

So, this is a short newsletter this week. Almost serving as an out-of-office. I’ll be back next Sunday with the long-teased interview with an incredible woman I met recently. Then, in the weeks that follow that, I’ll be writing a mix of musings on grief but also speaking to rebellious people, for their life lessons. So please stick around (I’d also, if you can, greatly appreciate anyone upgrading to become a paid subscriber.) 

But, in the meantime (as if you don’t have enough to read) here’s a few things I’d recommend, now we’ve docked the ship in Orlando, Florida and I embark on the second half of my holiday.

A book I enjoyed…

Driving through American streets, past a Walmart and a typical high school, I was reminded of Gary Younge’s Another Day In The Death Of America in which he interviews the families of ten children and teens killed, by guns, on one randomly chosen day. It expertly explains the politics behind America’s gun violence as well as telling the grief that follows these people, the reality behind the headlines.

Oh… and if I may be so bold, in a totally different wheelhouse, if you’re looking for a cosy book to curl up with (that is also a lighter examination of grief) that’s set around Christmas (with a dose of beach escapism) then may I recommend… my own novel The Matchmaker.

A film to watch…

I was so moved (and not just because of the altitude) by Good Luck To You Leo Grande when I watched it on the plane. It follows Emma Thompson (can’t remember the character’s name, of course) who plays a widow who hires a male escort, in the wake of her husband’s death. She’d never been made to feel desired and it is a really important story showcasing how important female pleasure is. It also made me think of how complicated grief must be when you lose someone who held you back in life (if anyone has this story to tell, please get in touch, I’d love to interview you.)

A newsletter to sign up to…

During the pandemic I struggled to write long-form. So I began writing these teeny-tiny pieces of writing, that I only began to label as poems after sharing them on my Instagram and meeting other poets, who were so supportive of my work. One of those poets was Charlie Brogan, whose writing I admire so much. Her newsletter is full of brilliant prompts and lessons that break down the snobbery that can make budding poets feel afraid to share their work. You can sign up to her letter here.

And here’s a little round-up of letters of mine you may have missed…

When I went to a death cafe at a music festival

Investigating the impact of grief and memory

My very first letter, breaking down the myth of the grief window

See you next week! And please let me know below of any moments you’ve felt small, I’d love to hear them.