One of the factors in my decision to go freelance was my health.
After losing a lot of weight a few years ago and being in the best shape - and health - I'd been in for years, a combination of factors have meant that I've slipped back from that peak.
By quite a bit.
I've been wanting to do something about this for quite a while now, but spent so much of last year having one cold/flu/upper respiratory infection/bout of tonsilitis after another, and between that and working full time and commuting, there didn't seem to be any time or energy left at the end of the day or week to do anything serious about it.
The other factor was that, actually, I find going to the gym massively dull.
Not a good combination for losing weight and getting fit, really. Even the embarrassment of going to the doctor and on three separate occasions him telling me I was a bit overweight (no shit, sherlock) and kindly printing out some information on how to lose weight (as if the reason I'm overweight is that I just don't know how to lose weight) was sufficient motivation to get me to sign up for the gym. Mostly because there isn't a decent gym directly on the line of my commute, and I just knew that there'd be no way I'd go out of my way to do anything if I was in any way tired/late/it was a day ending in y.
Strangely though, as I began to think about going freelance, an image kept popping into my head.
I kept having this very clear vision of me, freelance, getting up in the morning when Karl gets up. Leaving the house when he does, and rather than going to the bus stop with him as we usually do, giving him a goodbye kiss and then walking in the other direction, towards the park. Walking past the duckponds, up the hill past the tennis courts then down the other side, and spending half an hour to 45 minutes in the gym. Then walking back across the park, coming into the house, having a shower, making breakfast, and, by 9.30, being sat at my desk, awake, energised and ready to start work.
It's a strange image for someone who a) is not a morning person by any standards, and b) hates the gym, but nevertheless, a few weeks ago I joined the gym, and even spent a couple of hours on weekend mornings there.
I've had moments where I've doubted myself, and my decision to do this freelance thing, but this morning, as I walked out of my house, said goodbye to Karl and walked across the park to the gym, my mp3 player, set to random, by wonderful coincidence started playing a FatBoy Slim track.
As the music played, I realised that, actually, this is absolutely what I want, need and am supposed to be doing.
Right here.
Right now.
Sitting on the bus towards Brixton High Street.
A good day, today. It wasn't too cold. Only two buses passed before I could get on one. We got a seat, together, halfway back on the top deck.
At the back, two schoolkids are bookending the back seat. One is quietly checking her phone, the other has what sounds like Alvin and the Chipmunks blaring offensive sweary gang promoting music blaring from the pathetically tinny speaker of his mobile phone.
As usual, everyone tuts when they get within earshot, but nobody will say anything. The air is thick with impotent irritation.
Two stops on, a voice breaks through the racket. A mother, reading a story to her toddler. The innocence of the story contrasts sharply with the "music" and the effect is strangely entertaining. Bitches and Hos vs Bears and Bows.
The bus trundles on and more voices join the throng, three conversations, and none of them in English.
Just another day on a bus in Brixton.
Five more bus days to go.
I wonder if I'll miss it.
Eight years is a long time.
For me, it's almost a quarter of my life - and an eventful quarter, at that.
What started as a vent for all my frustrations with my health has changed and moved and yes, even stagnated, as life and stuff has overtaken me - for both good and for bad.
I've missed it, too. I've missed the joy of stringing words together and putting them out there, for people to read, respond (or not), of (on a good day) making people laugh, or think, or even think I'm an idiot.
Eight years is a long time.
Eight years ago, I sat at my desk, in Scotland, in the middle of the night, and hit the publish button on my first blogger post.
Seven years ago, I was still in Scotland, but doing what I'd wanted to do for a long time - working as a web designer.
Six years ago, I was in London, six months in, starting my career at RNIB and adjusting to the bright lights and the big city, and waiting for that terrible phone call that came just a few weeks later.
Five years ago, I'd moved flat, got used to London, and was on the verge of changing job, still within RNIB, but moving into web accessibility, an unspoken goal for several years.
Four years ago, as an important relationship ended, with all the pain and angst that follows, I found reserves of strength I didn't know I had, and a new relationship that opened my heart and mind.
Three years ago, I'd moved on, changed jobs again (this time, promotion to being a Web Accessibility Consultant) and I thought that life was good.
Two years ago, I saw my (soon to be) niece for the first time, and my health fell apart for a bit, along with my relationship and my sanity.
Last year, I was in transit to Austin, Texas, to check off two ambitions at once - a visit to the US, and attendance at the SXSW Interactive conference. I left behind my new love, in our new (rented) flat, and returned inspired, and with a new sense of purpose.
This year, we've just signed the lease on the flat for another year, and we have a plan. A plan for the future. A plan which involves scary grown-up things, like buying a house, and much, much more. It's the scariest plan I've ever even contemplated, but the time for being scared is over. As someone far clever than I wrote, once - the avalanche has started, it is too late for the pebbles to vote
.
Grand Plan, Step 1 - Resign from RNIB. Done.
Step 2 - who knows for sure, we all know what happens to plans...
...but won't you stick around and find out with me?
... the online home and (not very) alter(ed)-ego of Ann McMeekin, a recently freelance Web Accessibility Consultant.
... passionate about many things, most of which will turn up on this site at some time or other.
... contactable via email.
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