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The Alphabet Years: A is where the adventure begins

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It’s 24 days into 2018 and I’m only now sharing my new year’s resolutions. I am, however, giving myself a pass because mine aren’t just for one year, they’re for 26. Since university, I haven’t planned my life more than a few months ahead. I thought I was a free spirit, but I now believe it was indicative of the opposite – one caged by fear. One that’s scared to plan and be disappointed; terrified to make goals, in case I miss the goalposts.
x While I had an incredible past year of achievements, I experienced something akin to daily stress fractures on my brain, which created fissures and cracks in my mind triggering mania and depression in rapid cycles. Now, I have chosen to unlock the cage: I’m committing myself fully to my creative endeavours all while travelling wherever this wild spirit finds itself drawn to, because that spirit was slowly dying. I was not in a good way.
Now, here I am with the vastness of life stretched out before me. These endless possibilities are exhilarating, …
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Best of Bermuda

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It's been a few weeks now - as it usually is between my blog posts and I know I must change. I will change. I have to now! Because I've been named in The Bermudian Magazine's Best of Bermuda 2017 awards as Best Columnist/Blogger. And when you're neglecting your blog as much as I am, the guilt is accentuated when you win an award for something you're neglecting. Yes, I've been writing columns about Pepper Spray and Women's Rights, which I must admit is much more frightening than blogging about the inner workings of my troubled mind. I received very good advice once, "Don't look down." This applies equally to tightroping over a cliff as to when you've written an opinion piece and are terrified of the comments (read: trolls).
I've been struggling with mania for months now, which is the opposite to my usual long bouts of depression. But I know the causes: it's lack of sleep, it's too much caffeine, it's lots of stress, it'…
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The Ballad of March Forth

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After a year’s unintended break, I am drawn back to The Year of Celebration. Today, on my late father’s birthday, I pored through emails, articles, photographs, essays, newspaper clippings and videos. I feasted on his life. The portion I spent with him and the portion before me. I don’t reserve that purely for his birthday of course, but on March 4th I always celebrate him, because often I just can’t. Sometimes, even now, the pain is too great and to remember him is to remember that he’s gone. And when I lost him, I did everything I could to lose myself.

I learned many things from my dad. He was my greatest teacher, both in life and in death. His life story rivalled the best of any Shakespearean drama, but if I could condense it into one soundbite, his birthday sums it up: March Forth. It’s not just a date in the calendar, it’s a direction – to do something, to go somewhere.
My grief and depression following his death was the launch pad for The Year of Celebration. I needed to find some…
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