I think part of my university experience has been trying to find that for myself. To have a moment of deep pride in my accomplishments.
In my sleep, I descend the stairs and you rush past me, telling me to hurry up, people are downstairs and they are waiting for us. I’m confused, my jaw opening and closing like the door you just came through; swinging on its hinge at a loss at your presence.
Whether we mean it or not, productivity is charged with a complex definition; what you produce has to be something we can measure against society’s standards, and it has to be useful.
Grief is not a one-size-fits-all experience. If you are grieving, be gentle with yourself. Know that everyone copes differently. And when you do fall apart, know it is normal. Make room for it.
When life slips down the hill, Katie and I often turn to each other and ask each other the same question: What is the point? With our feet slipping, trying to stop everything from falling, our arms aching and our bodies covered in mud, we scream WHAT IS THE POINT IN TRYING SO HARD?
I decided I enjoyed being bad at yoga. Of course, I was bad at yoga. I’m a clumsy girl. Yoga is reserved for a different type of elegance, one I can’t even begin to harbour.
I think this is a poignant question, and one I think about often; especially as a young person being without their Mum. I think a question that is good to ask ourselves when we are trying to work out whether we have done the right thing, is how do we know when we have done the wrong thing?