Last night, I had a dream that I was in an old friend’s house, my dream house. A little American-styled wooden-clad house with a wide front porch. It wasn’t huge, but big enough to feel spacious. Each room was a deep, bold colour – plaster pink, hague blue, calke green (all Farrow and Ball paint colours I pine after). Brimming with top-of-the-line furniture that was made to look chic farmhouse, with accents that weren’t quite minimal but also not cluttered. Outside was a green paradise with enough space for the boys to play football, with fairy lights (that hadn’t been chewed away at by rats, as ours have been) strewn crisscrossed over a deck full of people and platters of fancy tapas.
I’ve been feeling the same way. I know I am incredibly fortunate for having so much in my life but I want more. I want to sell more books. To be published by a leading publisher. On good days I am grateful to my readers and for what I have achieved but other times I despair and feel a failure. I know I only feel like this when I am tired.
I expect having dependent children you are often tired. Maybe accept this is why you feel negative and be kind to you!
I’ve been feeling the same way. I know I am incredibly fortunate for having so much in my life but I want more. I want to sell more books. To be published by a leading publisher. On good days I am grateful to my readers and for what I have achieved but other times I despair and feel a failure. I know I only feel like this when I am tired.
I expect having dependent children you are often tired. Maybe accept this is why you feel negative and be kind to you!