Hannah M. Clipston

When August brought about an unexpected event, it was reaffirmed that 2023 is just a strange year. At first I filled the kitchen with good food, fruits and vegetables and sweeter things that comfort me, knowing how important it would be to keep my body strong. After a couple of days I realised I had no interest in eating. I only did so out of necessity. I would take myself out of the house for the same reasons, meet with friends and talk through the thoughts I couldn’t make sense of on my own. They reassured me I was doing the right things for myself. These days would leave me exhausted and as soon as I returned home, I would lie down for hours and feel that somehow a great mistake had been made. That the world was wrong to have happened this way.

There’s nothing as humbling to advice as a sad experience. The advice I would give to a friend at once felt fraudulent, because it wasn’t working to ease my own sadness. But, after thinking about it some more I realised advice does not serve to cure your problems; simply to get you through them. It’s the outside perspective you need when your own judgement is clouded. That must be why it’s so much easier to give advice than take it.

Recently, I watched a neighbour pruning the rose bush in their front garden. How they cupped each flower in their palm and smiled as they parted the stems. I was reminded that we are lucky life is slow; we have the chance to enjoy every small moment as much as the bigger ones. So despite embracing this period of sadness (after all, no-one escapes life without a few scrapes), my focus throughout August has been to find some quiet parts of life where I can still see joy.

Here’s an example from my diary: One of my favourite things about living where I do is that if I leave my window open I can often eavesdrop on the conversations drunk people will have walking home. Just now, a group of men were laughing together and as they parted ways they all told each other they love one another. Explicitly, with names. How beautiful and lovely is it to hear unashamed, unapologetic love?

Today is the first day since this seemingly impossible event that writing has been easy. Over the last few weeks, each time I wrote was frustrating and fruitless. It’s a relief to finally have words on the page. Once the thunder and lightning began, I moved to the big window where my desk sits and I’m listening to the rain as I type. A lot of people complain about England’s “summer weather”, but I think if I can find joy in the rain then I can spend most of my life feeling good. I like to imagine the plants are smiling as the rain nourishes them. We need these moments to keep growing.

At this pivotal moment, I’ve been reminded of how strong I am as a person. This strength to slow down and take each day as it comes; to not act in a way I know I wouldn’t if I was clear headed. Though the picture I had of my future has disappeared, I will hold onto the faith I have. I will be happy to have experienced something that makes letting go so difficult.