For Love or Money

Do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life, they say. Well that's bollocks. Codswallop. I never dreamed it possible that I would one day write for a living. Until now. Until I started writing for a living. And it's hard. The hardest work in fact. Why? Because I care so much about doing it right. I guess so that I can continue to do it. Also, no one except perhaps Piers Morgan gets to write exactly what they want. Or possibly Ian McEwan and his ilk, although I'll bet that even he feels the pressure to produce another bestseller. Professional writers write to get paid. No matter the brief. No matter the client. It's only the unemployed writer who can afford to write what they want. And I can't afford to be unemployed.

This blog is the perfect case in point. I love to write here. I love the fact that I can, and I do, ramble on and on about everything and nothing. It's a digital diary of a life lived. I sometimes scroll back and giggle or gag, mostly gag, at the overshare from years gone by. I rarely have the time though these days to do what I love. To express myself within the relative sanctuary of this screen, knowing full well that there are only about five regulars, including my mum, who read my latest rant. I resolved today that there would not be another week that goes by where I write a whole lot of stuff for a whole lot of people, but I neglect to write something about myself, for myself. And the five people who'll read it.

So here I am. Work notwithstanding, it's been a whirlwind for us lately. We've begun the process of applying for dual citizenship. This deserves a blog post all of its own. But I will wait until we are further down the road in this journey before I share all of the details of how one acquires dual citizenship and the organs paperwork required in order to do so. For fear that what I say can and will be used against me. This exercise has been an epic undertaking in human perseverance and bureaucratic tenacity. But then everything about this journey has been epic. We've been here six years. It feels like a lifetime and yet feels like just yesterday that we sat at the Spur at the King Shaka International Airport with our family having a final drink before we boarded a flight that would take us to Heathrow and the start of our adventure, a million miles from normal.

We're older. We can see it. We can feel it. Our children are older too. Taller. With more words and less teeth. My 10-year-old can wear my blazers. And does. He's virtually my height. Lithe and pointy-featured. Confident, compassionate and kind. My daughter is tall and leggy, a tip-toeing little waif with a mega-watt smile and a constant stream of chatter. My youngest, a fearless four year old who is the age now that our eldest was when we first moved to the UK. A solid build that belies the softest, most tactile nature - a sensitive soul who shines in the light of his siblings. They're a remarkably strong and resilient trio. As all children are. But more so because they live with little extended family structure. And this is tough. I know so because it's tough for us and we're adults. Special milestones and Christmases remain heartbreakingly bittersweet and I don't foresee this getting easier to cope with. This too will not pass.

What has passed though is that I have finally acclimatised to the British weather to the degree that I now not only speak about it incessantly, like I did here, but I feel it less acutely. 10 degrees I now rate as rather mild. 14 degrees is positively balmy. This revelation may have a lot something to do with the fact that I have discovered the delights of down outwear. I'm totes down with down. Layering is so last year. This is massive progress for me. Feeling perpetually cold is not a happy place.

So back to where I started. It's sad that society deems you successful at something when you make money from it. It shouldn't be that way. But it is. Ricky Gervais said it best. He says a lot of things best in my opinion. He said "Happiness is the only success that matters and the one that your critics are the most jealous of." Of course he said that though. He can afford to. Until I can afford to say life affirming stuff that they make into memes -  I will write words for the money. And I will love this blog for the words.

Hemingway I am not. Bleed I do.

Ricky Gervais - writer, humanitarian and a lot that is right with the world