Alison and I run fast and hard, almost all the time.
Years ago, I was accused by a wonderful patient of mine, who was called Patrick (I'm sure he's died now), that I was a human doing, not a human being.
Initially, he set out by calling me that as an insult, and then, after time spent with each other, he questioned himself and wondered whether it was a compliment.
He's right, though; there's a space where being a human doing only goes so far and where you don't have enough time or room to see or hear things.
I moved house 3 months ago to the project of my life, it's not all plain sailing here; it's difficult, there's much to do, much to think about, much which was automatic in my old house, which is now conscious, taking up time, energy, effort that I never used to have to spend.
But one of the reasons that we moved was because the view from the kitchen window was the view from the kitchen window that Alison wanted to have her whole life. I knew that from when we met early on, and we never thought it would be possible, and then it seemed it was, and so we jumped.
And so, I've spent a lot of time in this house now on my own, just the way that life is working, split between two houses, split between the horses that Alison has and the stuff that's over where we used to live.
At first, the space was quiet, but there is a beautiful thing beyond silence, beyond space, beyond time.
I started to listen to things that I hadn't listened to for ages, started to look out the window that we were supposed to look out of and then to hear things, songs that I've loved, lyrics that I fell in love with.
And so, The Greatest Showman and Substitute for Love by Madonna were just playing out tonight, just while I was working in the kitchen, while I was singing, while I was dancing, while I was listening. The lyrics to both of those songs are enormously profound (at least to me).
I'm really glad I found a little space to hear them.
Blog Post Number - 4213