(Or: if your dreams don't scare you, they're not big enough)
August. A beer garden, halfway between Camden and Kentish Town, the inky blue almost-darkness shifting to soft orange light as outdoor heating slowly turned itself off then on. A burger, with strawberry jam, a raucous birthday group behind us. Everything I've ever done that at first scared me, that I wasn't sure about doing, ultimately ended up being the best things. These same words, said again, another day, another week, at 2am in the rain, the decision already made, but still, it is a reaffirmation, and reassures, because I know the same is true for me.
My kitchen, strip lighting, scraggly basil plants hanging on from summer. Hands damp from washing up, turning to grab a tea-towel. The post Japan jet-lag still prickling behind my eyelids. I think everyone has an adventure in their lives, and this could just be yours.
At work, in a bare meeting room, with my line manager, creaky chair. Notebook in hand, pen poised, and then realising there isn't any need to write. I find you regret the things in life which you don't do, far more than the things you do. Well that I know is true, from hard experience.
An email, picked up on my phone on a bright Wednesday morning in September, walking to work, leaves turning, air cooler and crisper than I've felt in weeks. I haven't regretted it for a second.
All these things, written, spoken, and from them a decision, a decision which was my gut feeling all along, but just needed coaxing.
In the new year, I'm moving overseas with work, to Africa. I'm a little bit scared about how big a step this is, a little bit daunted by all I have to do between now and then, but the overriding feeling is a brilliant, delicious excitement.