It’s been a windy week, and that’s felt fitting somehow. A final bluster before everything changes. All manner of fancy daffodils have emerged from the garden - miraculously unbitten by slugs - and I cut some for the mantelpiece, because I can look at them more closely there. I started the week with spontaneous phone calls and chirruping group chats between friends and felt bloody lucky to have them all. The sunshine has been intermittent, so I’ve attempted to make it myself.

One of the harder lessons I’ve had to learn as an adult is how to take a compliment. The things make me squirm, much as - like many people - I seek approval. At some point someone wise told me it was poor manners not just to say thank you, which was helpful. I also know how fun and nice it is to shower praise on the good attributes and work of people you love and admire, and that it is a kind act to make space for that. Still, the good words I’m very fortunate to receive frequently slip out of my head, oil on water. The occasional bad ones stick like tar, amplifying what my own inner narrative has decided to admonish me with at some point or another. It doesn’t seem fair, but it is nevertheless the case. I’ve taken to making a little folder in my phone of screengrabs of nice things people have sent me. Perhaps one day I’ll look at it.

All of this is to say that rounding up stuff I’ve written in a newsletter feels… well, like it’s giving the black tar something to stick to. But I’ve done some work I’ve really enjoyed lately and I’m trying to be better at taking the time to acknowledge that. Perhaps you’ll find something of interest there - and thanks, as ever, for reading so generously...