One of my favourite children’s books is I’m not cute, by Jonathan Allen. A teeny baby owl insists that he’s a big fierce hunting machine, despite the cooing and gushing from all he encounters. Look, I’ve got long claws and big eyes and huge wings. I’m not cute.
It’s interesting how we perceive ourselves. Over the past few months, two different people have referred to my blog as ‘sweet’ and, while I smiled and thanked them and chatted about blogging in general, inside I’ve turned into Baby Owl.
That’s probably better than ‘boring’, but still, sweet?
I don’t want
me this to be sickly, naive, unchallenging. I can probably cope with gentle, uncomplicated, but where’s the edge? I’ve been told I have a sunny disposition. I met a former senior manager of mine a few weeks ago who told me he always remembered my positive outlook. Is it possible that I am Pollyanna? Might that not be a little dull?
I tried to consider what the blog might be, since I wasn’t content with sweet.
Oh, I’m grumpy and exhausted and I complain a lot about the government, welfare cuts, ME, services for people with rare diseases. Ha! That’s not sweet.
Um, no, but I don’t really want this to be the ravings of a cantankerous old loon either. Also, my complaining usually consists of linking you to articles, blogs and people who can string an argument together, since I’m either too outraged or too tired to do it myself.
Alright then, what have I been writing about that has led people to think this is a world of sweetness?
Family, beaches, holidays, dogs, adventures, nights out, volunteering, caravan… Hmmm.
It seems I’m living through a, temporary I’m sure, untraumatic phase in my world. That’s a wonderful thing to recognise. Right here, right now, even if only for today, all is well.
Life might even be sweet.