There’s something unsettling about being higher than the clouds, knowing that the only way down is through them.
I keep going back to this picture, taken during my time in Le Grand Bornand, but I didn’t know why. Now, I realise it’s become a personal metaphor.
I’m currently on the edge of doing something that has the capacity to be great, but what lies ahead is unclear. When I was ill, my creative confidence took a knock. Going back to writing sessions, getting involved in performing again, even dangling from the ceiling has rewired my brain back to where used to be.
It’s been some time since I created work for the stage from ensemble beginnings. Despite it being my preferred method of creation, and one I’ve spent most of my life doing, I haven’t actually done it for nearly four years.
I accepted a long time ago that I was not the person who had things happen for her – I have to make it happen for myself. That isn’t me being bitter, I just don’t have the same lucky streak that many people I know do, and I’m OK with that. So I have to fight just that little bit harder to be seen, shout louder to be heard. Maybe I was nervous that no one would shout back.
Like being at the top of this slope edge, somewhere in the cloud I can hear voices answering my call.
All I have to do is jump.