Left to my own devices

Hello there, so I've been freelance for a few months now and pretty much left to my own devices - which is both thrilling and terrifying in equal measure.

And whilst it undoubtedly is a happier, more productive, more creative and joy filled life, where I've actually been able to register the little things and the true stuff of this life, which used to get lost somewhere between the office, my car and my head, it can have its own challenges.

I have to say that mostly I'm rather proud of me, I took a stand against horrible bosses the world over and did a rather wild thing in an uncertain world jam-packed with Brexit and World War three. With my heart in my mouth I took that leap into this world, where I sit now quite contentedly. I said goodbye to office based egos and the joy suckers because I thought I deserved better - what madness. But, and here is the biggest surprise of all - it's been OK, more than OK in fact, a real turn up for the books.

People actually pay for my features and websites, I look after my two rescue cats, do yoga and swim badly but enjoyably, in the day time (gasp) and I've achieved some long-held ambitions, like having some artwork in an exhibition and finally writing about the Arctic (bit niche that one). It is my year of being.

And it is almost brilliant, but with all this space, the thoughts have time to twist and turn into bigger more interesting shapes that can, at times, terrify and overwhelm. Damn them. My brain is no longer subdued by tiredness and too busy-ness and zoning out to my drug of choice, Netflix. I've given it free reign and with that comes a responsibility.

So to stop myself from sitting in the park with a can of special brew and talking to the ducks, I've turned to my garden for moderation.
On first appearances, it's nothing special, it backs onto my 1930's semi in a street filled with similar houses but it has become my playground and my office, and I have taken joy and sanctuary in it. In this world I can create and care and breathe.

I've seen chilly days with a sprinkling of crystalline frost and sat on my bench by the veggie patch whilst the sun turns my flip-flopped feet pink. I've dashed round a rain soaked, hell hath no fury, wind shaking the trees garden to pick herbs for my pasta and it's now coming up to my favourite season of all, Autumn.

The apples are getting larger each day, the rhubarb and plums are deliciously ripe, and it's in the air, undoubtedly so. There is a little nip with a promise of bonfires and crumbles and soups and I'm already looking forward to the marrow I'm growing, stuffed with goodness and melted cheese.

I'm longing to wear my jumpers, some of which have already had a thrilling first outing. I look at my wood burner and can smell toasting marshmallows whilst I stare and dream into the spit and crackle roaring toastiness of the fire.

Yes, this place is my kind of mindfulness, my own particular form of therapy and it gives back contentedness in spades (pun intended). I'm no Monty Don, (how I wish we were friends! I'm just sure he'd understand) in fact no kind of expert at all, just a girl having a go. And the funny little creations I whip up with food from my garden makes it quite clear I'm no Nigella Lawson either; so there will be no expert tips here, just things I try along the way.

Yes, I seek the seasons and I'm so very grateful to be doing so. Nature is my teacher, nurturing is my game and I'd love it, if you'd come with me and help me along the way.

Read on Macduff, said no one ever.