Dear Readers,
The excitement that has been building around the forthcoming launch of my debut novel was shaken out of me a little last week when I experienced a health scare.
After being sent to the emergency department by my GP because of a concern about ongoing headaches and my eyesight, I spent nine hours watching the extraordinary conveyor belt of humanity that passes through a busy hospital.
During those long hours, I found myself talking to a beautiful young woman who was very unwell and struggling with addiction.
We talked for hours. She told me about where life had taken her and, eventually, about the life she once imagined for herself. I gently encouraged her to remember some of the things she had dreamed of before her life took a difficult turn.
Before she was taken away for treatment, she said something that stayed with me ever since: she hadn’t felt so seen and heard in a very long time.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. I hope with all my heart that she finds the strength and support she needs to help her back to some of those dreams.
During our conversation, I told her a little about Aoife, the woman at the centre of In a Different Light, and about the life she eventually builds after believing for too long that she’d ruined her chances of happiness.
Our conversation reminded me why stories of recovery, hope and second chances matter so much to me.
When it was finally my turn to be seen, I almost felt guilty for being there. There seemed to be so much suffering around me. But I had been sent to hospital for good reason, and over the following hours I underwent a battery of tests. A lovely Irish doctor who only recently moved to Perth took wonderful care of me. I’m not completely out of the woods yet, but the results so far have been reassuring and I’m feeling much better.
I came home exhausted but grateful. I realise how lucky I am to live in a country that provides amazing healthcare for everyone.
And then came George.
Some of you will already know how much I love my dog. George the groodle has been my loving and loyal companion for nine years. He is an integral part of our family and seems to possess an uncanny ability to calm all our nervous systems simply by being here.
Yesterday, George was diagnosed with mitral valve disease. There is no cure, but he has started medication that we hope will slow its progression and give us plenty more good times with him.
I was gutted. Maybe because my own health had frightened me only days earlier, George’s stopped me in my tracks.
For months now, I’ve been looking towards September 12 – the long-awaited day of my first ever book launch. A day I dreamed about for decades.
There are still a million and one things to do. Books to sell, social media posts to create, musicians to brief, food and drink to organise, people to contact, speeches to prepare. Not to mention the search for the perfect dress to wear – something I dread as I don’t like shopping. And yes, I am still ridiculously excited about the whole project.
But suddenly I’m less inclined to rush towards it.
George doesn’t know that my book launches in just over two weeks. He knows whether I’m sitting beside him or that we’re going for a walk. He knows the sound of the fridge opening and precisely which member of the family is most likely to drop something edible onto the kitchen floor.
George is very good at being in the now and I’ve got much to learn from him.
Because that’s really what this past week has made me think of. We spend so much of our lives waiting for something. The weekend. The holiday. The children to come home. The diagnosis. The dream job. The book launch. The moment when everything will finally fall into place and we can relax and enjoy ourselves.
Meanwhile, our actual life is happening – right here, right now.
I’ve spent decades dreaming about becoming a published author. Now that the dream is finally becoming real, I don’t want to spend these precious last weeks before publication so consumed by what still needs to be done that I forget to enjoy the present moment.
My book exists. People are reading it and writing heart-warming reviews.
My husband and children are healthy and I’m feeling better.
And my beautiful, precious, curly companion is still here beside me, ready for his walk and blissfully unaware of Goodreads ratings, book launches or the length of my to-do list.
There is something calming about that.
So, the countdown continues.
The flamenco will play. The sangria will flow. And September 12, surrounded by people I love, I will celebrate the publication of the book I wondered whether I would ever manage to write.
But I’m not wishing these few weeks away.
There are walks to take, a family to feed, and a groodle to cuddle.
I hope you took some inspiration from this and will find peace in the present moment.
Thanks for being here.
Love,
Gill ?
