With the passing of the years comes the realisation that the time stretching in front of you is not infinite and needs to be spent well.
There are a number of things I want to be doing with my limited free time. Now that I’m commuting to London each day that free time has become increasingly precious.
I want to spend it with family, and relaxing, reading books in coffee shops with hot chocolate and marshmallows, and doing absolutely nothing.
I also need to spend more time helping the teen with her school work, or at least making sure she’s on top of it all in these crucial GSCE years.
Efforts to help with homework haven’t really worked as I’ve discovered I don’t actually understand half of it. Make that most of it.
It’s some time since I was able to calculate the perpendicular height of a triangle, or had the will to. Adult life has not required me to use that knowledge for several decades. But I can at least make sure the teen is studying the right books, or Googling the right things as seems to be the way these days.
I also want to write. I spend most of my holiday time crafting stories and starting novels that then sit in my head for the rest of the year because I don’t have time to pick up the thread.
Except it turns out I do have the time, I’m just not using it in the best way for me, and for us as a family.
I’m spending it packing boxes for central park bike rental business, which I do enjoy, and I love the ethos behind it, to deliver positive messages to tweens and teens. But it isn’t something I can continue long term in its current form.
It won’t disappear, but whatever I decide to do with it will mean I’m left feeling better about how I’m using that precious free time.
Spending my work day in the wonderful world of children’s books has made one thing very very clear. It’s time to write my own.