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  • Writer's pictureHeather Garlick

Reflecting on a month back home

I'm sitting in my office, in the big front bedroom of my typical Stretford terrace. I chose to make the biggest, sunniest room into an office because Heather of olden days used to spend most of her time there. It's a habit I've successfully broken. The brave rays of early spring would be fighting through if it weren't for the two mini greenhouses erected in the two windows; one positively bursting with green, the other misting up in the warmth of an old plate warming rack where I'm attempting to germinate seeds. I never know whether I am in reality boiling the poor little buggers.


It almost beggars belief that just over a month ago I was still in South America, avoiding going outdoors because it was just too hot and feeling the at-times pleasing thrill of being in such a foreign place where anything could happen.


Yesterday I was turned down for a programme I have wanted to enter for years. The prospect of interviewing for it filled my head in the last few weeks of my trip and it felt like the only route for success with my project. So much so that when it came to the interview process I was struck almost dumb with anxiety and very much not my best self. It's a kick in the gut but it happens to everyone and there are many other situations which I've managed to navigate with a little more grace despite being a ball of dread inside and I wouldn't swap those for all the social venture incubators in the world.


I'm constantly reminding myself that in just a month of coming back all sorts of ace opportunities have sprung up, some of which have stuck thus far and some of which have proved dead ends. Is suppose working within this sort industry must be like that. IT'd be nice to know what I'll be up to in six months time though, for once.


So, life cracks on. Since I've been back a month, those seeds in my greenhouse have only been growing for that long, each one developing its own vibrance and individuality, bursting to get outing the allotment. I may well be more closely associated with a dried up old prune but there's life in the old dog yet.

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