Three autumns ago, I admitted to myself that what I was doing wasn’t what I wanted to be doing and that if I wanted to start waking up happy and spending my days doing something I loved, a massive U-turn needed to be made.
When I worked in publishing, I dreamt of spending my days with my hands in the earth, surrounded by children, vegetables and compost heaps, instead of in an office, with a stiff back, an uncomfortable chair and grumpy colleagues, agonizing for days over how big the “and” should be on a bit of paper that would only end up in the bin. And then moaning about the whole experience to my less than interested (but very patient) partner.
Three years, one baby, many qualifications and one my-own-company later, it dawned on me quite suddenly over lunch with Naomi this week that I am exactly where I want to be.
With Safi happily in nursery, I am teaching the school groups I’d hoped I’d one day teach, re-designing gardens, getting to know some of London’s most interesting and varied community groups that I barely knew existed three years ago, working with consistently inspiring food-growing projects and getting paid for it. With my post-partum fuzz finally receding I’m not only begininng to see what here is, but also remembering where here used to be – and how very, very grateful I am for the journey.