Inktober/Blogtober Crossover: Day 30

When I read that today's penultimate Inktober word was "jolt," I thought back to the times in my life when I've had a realisation about myself, someone close to me or the world in general, which has genuinely taken me aback and made me see things in a new way.

There's something quite special about the moment that the penny drops regarding a certain situation or person.  That instant when you realise why you feel the way you do about things can be genuinely life-changing.  Every time you have a major realisation, it causes you to look at yourself and your life through fresh eyes and often, one moment of understanding sets off a chain reaction.  That initial "jolt," when you realise something important about yourself or your life, can alter the path you're on, forever.

My most recent "jolt" was probably also my most important.  It didn't happen in some amazing, lightbulb moment, or anything like that.  It was merely a case of my own mind bombarding me with questions, as always.  But this time, the question came completely out of nowhere and the answer knocked me sideways.

My entire life, I've identified as straight.  My only relationships have been with men.  All my celebrity crushes were on men.  All my real life crushes were on men.  

Whilst I've always been a champion of LGBT+ rights, I never ever saw myself as anything beyond straight.  In fact, if anything, the idea of personally being with a woman always made me feel a bit uncomfortable.  It wasn't what I was into.  I had no desire to be with someone who wasn't a dude.

And then, early last year, my life went through a lot of upheaval.  I had a female acquaintance who knew a lot about the situation I was going through and, despite us not being close friends, or living near to one another or anything like that, she took it upon herself to try to support me for a while.  For a couple of weeks (if that, really), she'd message me via Facebook every other day, to see how I was.  As expected, we ended up chatting about things beyond just my woes and I felt like I got to know her a lot better as a result.  Then, one day, out of the blue, a question popped into my head: 

"What would you say if she asked you out?"

It was a ludicrous question.  She was straight.  I was straight.  There was no chance of that happening.  So I attempted to ignore it, because why answer a question you'll never need to actually respond to?!

But the question was still in my head days later and eventually, I realised the reason I was trying not to answer it - even in my own mind - was because the answer scared me.  Because the answer was "of course I'd say yes."

She was funny and kind.  We had a lot of things in common.  She was easy to talk to.  She was objectively attractive.  Why would I say no, based purely on the fact that her gender was "wrong?"

Of course, given that I was going through a whole mountain of crap, early last year, I didn't have much time to dwell on this potential new piece of information about myself.  Besides, I still fancied guys.  I wasn't gay.

But over the course of the year, I started to realise - and more importantly to accept - that I was open to the idea of being with someone of the same gender as myself.  I began to understand that it's the person that I fall for, not their sex.  My crushes have always been based more on personality than looks, so it perhaps shouldn't have been as much of a surprise as it was.  I fall for someone based on things like whether they make me laugh.  Whether they seem kind.  Whether I can open up and really be myself around them.  It shouldn't have been a surprise to reach the conclusion that those things aren't exclusive to males.  Eventually, I realised just how capable I am of falling for someone regardless of gender and whilst it came as a shock, it wasn't something I felt any kind of worry or embarrassment about.  I was probably very lucky, in that sense.

Now, it's just a part of who I am.  I don't like to put a label on myself, but I know that when it comes to who I fall for, gender is essentially irrelevant.  I believe we're all much more sexually fluid than we ever realise.  Some of us might never feel anything for someone of our own gender and some of us might feel something and be too afraid or confused to act on it.  That's okay.  Others might fall for someone of their own gender and decide to take a chance and see where a relationship might lead.  That's okay, too.   

As long as we can learn to love and accept ourselves, that's the most important thing of all.

I Can Do Things ALL BY MYSELF.

Like, take awful selfies outside the Queen's house.

So, this week I was meant to be going on holiday to my spiritual home, Butlin's (I'm a frustrated wannabe redcoat, what can I say?!).  Instead, at the very last minute, as I was sitting in my car, packed and ready to dance to The Music Man every night, everything fell through.  My friend felt poorly and didn't want to go (get well soon!).  

Faced with the idea of a week off work with nothing to do besides furiously attempt to promote my novel (which you can totally buy here, if you live in the UK, by the way, or here if you live in the USA - it's basically on Amazon, check it out), I was pretty blue.  I had planned for a week away; dancing, doing silly stuff and forgetting the stresses of work and daily life.  Suddenly, there I was, looking at the very real prospect of turning the car around and driving an hour and a half back home, where I'd have to unpack everything I'd only put in the case the night before.

That was until my sister offered me her spare room for the week.  She lives in London and, although she and her fiancee would be working for the vast majority of the time I'd be there, she told me I was welcome to travel up and spend some time in the city by myself.

Now, despite being half-Londoner (Dad was born and raised there) and having spent lots of time in the city over the years, I was apprehensive.  I mean, I've always had people with me when I've been in the city.  I'd never even caught the tube on my own (not that that actually worried me in the slightest; I sort of love the underground).

No, the trouble was this:  One thing those who know me away from this blog are usually pretty aware of is that I'm a people person.  I like doing things with friends or family.  Yeah sure, I love my own space and I need to take myself off to write by myself or just chill out on my own now and then, but if I'm going out anywhere, I almost always prefer to have someone come along.  I won't go to the cinema by myself.  I don't even like the idea of eating alone in public, anywhere.  I'm a social creature, what can I say?!

Maybe I spent too much of my youth watching this...  YOU SAID YOU'D BE THERE FOR ME!!

Anyway, after a short period of umming and aahing, I decided what the heck.  I'd drive to London by myself (which I've done lots of times, anyway) and I'd spend some time with me.

I'm not even sorry.

And weirdly, I made a discovery:  I can do things by myself.  Not only that, but I can do things by myself and really, really enjoy it.

All the things that I thought would be a bit scary just... Weren't.  

Finding things by myself wasn't a problem; I only got lost once and that was because Harrods is just really badly signed - who has a Disney section in an area that's almost impossible to flipping find?!  Seriously, Harrods, HAVE MORE MAPS.

I conquered my weird fear of eating alone in public, by choosing to get a panini and a latte and sit in Regent's Park, watching the ducks on the water.  It was a genuinely lovely experience, until a posse of pigeons turned up to try to intimidate me into giving them my lunch.  BUT OH NO, PIGEONS.  I AM A STRONG, INDEPENDENT WOMAN AND THE PANINI WAS AAAAAALL MINE.

I not only zipped across the city on the tube by myself every day, but I even squished myself onto a packed train during rush hour and darted between commuters like a freaking pro.

I didn't get mugged or murdered, which was exceptionally good news (unless you hate me, in which case, why are you reading my blog?  Go away and plot against me or something).  

I didn't even get my phone stolen (yippee!), despite my utter insistence on whipping it out and taking touristy selfies at every opportunity.

Somebody stop me.

But most importantly of all, I didn't have a single moment where I thought: "I wish I wasn't by myself."  Hanging out on my own meant that I could choose where to go and when I wanted to go there.  I didn't have to ask anyone else what they fancied doing, because the only person whose opinion mattered at the time was mine.  I didn't have to rush, I didn't have to compromise and I didn't once feel bored, which was something of a revelation.  It turns out that choosing to spend time entirely by myself isn't lonely, scary or isolating.  In fact, going out into the big, wide world and doing stuff alone is absolutely fine.

Maybe it sounds like a lesson I should have learnt years ago, but this really did come as a pleasant surprise to me.  I thought I would feel awkward doing stuff by myself.  I thought maybe people would look at me oddly and wonder where my friends were.  But actually, people are generally pretty wrapped up in their own lives; too much so to notice the short girl taking terrible selfies in tourist hot spots.  And, as it turns out, having the confidence to say "I'm going to go out and do something by myself" is incredibly liberating.

Sure, I still prefer having people around me and doing things in a group.  But you know what?  There's a lot to be said for doing stuff alone, too.  Next time I want to do something and nobody else fancies it, that won't put me off going and doing it anyway.

So, here's to getting out there and spending a day with yourself.  Be brave - you might be surprised how much you enjoy it.