Well, this is not something I ever thought I’d be writing about. If you’d asked me 18 months ago about my adult swimming journey you would’ve received a very short answer: I can’t swim.
Why is it that a new year always makes us hopeful that things will be different, better, this year? The older I get the more 1 January just feels like any other day, but there’s still something about the calendar ticking over another year that makes just a small part of me feel that maybe something new is coming.
Is there anything more therapeutic than a big clear out? As someone who is such an aggressive culler that I once made my mother cry while trying help her sort through her stuff, I guess I might be a little biased, but there’s not much that makes me feel more alive or de-stressed than getting rid of a whole bunch of stuff I really don’t need anymore.