Last weekend I was on a course in Yorkshire for the weekend, learning how to identify grasses, being geeky about botany and generally enjoying the outdoors. It was fun, which was no surprise. I always enjoy these courses, the people are friendly, and I love the challenge of learning new things. Spending time with a group of like-minded people, even if I don’t know them to start with, is refreshing, inspiring and strengthening. It reminds me there are other people struggling with the same things I am, working towards the same aims. And also that those that have made it aren’t super-human geniuses but ordinary people like me. I always return feeling like I can get there, and that all these things are possible.
However, when it comes to actually going, to packing my things and leaving home for a few days, I always wish I wasn’t going. It suddenly feels like the worst thing in the world, which this time was a bit harder because instead of just leaving my own flat I was leaving *our* flat, and Chris, for the weekend. Its something that I wish I didn’t have to do, and I’d rather be doing anything else.
But then, if I know its going to be really good when I get there, why is this? I guess its the fear of the unknown. Even if its not a big fear, and its not a big unknown, its still something I can’t anticipate and there’s a part of me which wants to stay with what I know.
Human nature. Its a funny beast.