If you aren't doing what scares and thrills you, you are just wasting time. In my heart of hearts I know that everything else is just procrastination. I have always been a writer, always written, hardly ever shared but it all sits there, pulsing quietly in a storage room, in cupboards and folders, and in massive online storage folders in Google, on Evernote, on Dropbox, on things I've probably forgotten about. There are years of memory, analysis, commentary, creative writing, outlines, stories, tiny fragments of things that have moved me, pieces of writing.   All quietly whispering to me in the darkness.

Bane of my life, yet there's so much else to do that is interesting, that feels productive, that feels like it is making a difference, that can be justified in so many ways.  But deep down, it's just lightweight.  Not pulling at the anchor that weighs me down in this port. 

No shit, it scares me.  The darkness to  be explored, the monsters that may lurk, the despair that may have no remedy, no solace, no reprieve.  

It is so much easier to take a job, work hard at teaching, learning, school leadership, helping to not de-skill teachers and  o fight against the machine that commodifies and objectifies a good education, teach young people to think, have integrity and be brave.  Yes, all very worthwhile, all necessary.  But it feels like floating in the sea, rather than riding the waves to brave new worlds, lying in wait of discovery.   

So onward I press, having committed myself to another few months of busywork that may or may not make a difference, in South London where another generation of children are being let down.  There has to be another way for me, if only I can find it in me to be brave, have the integrity and fearlessness to look into the deep and set off in my little rowboat, alone.