2020

Usually, as a new year approaches, I'm ready for a fresh start. I have a list as long as my arm detailing things about my life I'd like to change, resolutions I'll definitely keep this time, brand new bullet journal spreads to put into a fresh notebook and a reflective blog post about how far I've come and how excited I am for the year ahead. But nearly a week into 2020 and I'm still waiting for that inspired feeling – instead, I'm still mourning the Christmas tree my dad took down just two weeks after we put it up.

Before writing this I was reading a blog post I wrote two years ago about lessons I'd learnt in 2017. I love the archive of my blog (it's a great indicator of how much my writing has improved), but this post, in particular, made me feel like I'd made no progress at all, like I've only gone backwards, and that doesn't align with any of the motivational quotes I keep seeing on Instagram. It scared me to see myself so positive and sure, when just six months later I went through one of the most difficult periods of my life to date, taking a huge blow to my confidence and mental health.

Of course, there's another part of me that knows I needn't be so hard on myself, and it is that part that reminds me of a few things here.

God's plan might not be the same as your plan. My idea of happiness and success may be something totally different from what He has in store for me. I compare myself to others more than I care to admit, and I know it's totally wrong and unhelpful to do it. but I do it anyway. But here's the thing – I'm only human, and I can't do it all right, I'm not perfect – and that's the beauty of being a Christian. I know that even though I thought at 27 I'd have a very different life to the one I currently lead, I am blessed in so many ways and I know my current situation is not my final destination.

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding, in all your ways submit to Him and He will make your paths straight" - Proverbs 3:5-6

There are bumps in every road – life is about the ebb and flow (something my best friend Emily wrote once that is ingrained in my mind forever) and I know that progress isn't linear. So, while I've seen lots of people talking about how much they overcame in 2019 and are now the best version of themselves, I'm here to tell you that if you're still going through some of the stuff that in an ideal world would slot nicely somewhere in the middle of the year, that's okay. Just keep going, keep doing the best you can, because sometimes great things happen in the most unexpected places and at the most unexpected times.

And for now, the things I'm holding onto: His constant presence even when I feel too low to notice it, my ever-supportive family who, sometimes quite literally, hold me up and my friends who love me no matter what. It's thanks to all of them that I have a plan in place to make some positive changes in my life this year.

2016

There's a theory that time goes by faster as you get older. It's not just a feeling. When you're four a year is a quarter of your life. When you're ten it's a tenth. Time gets smaller as you get bigger.

In 2016 I was 23 then 24, and in a few months I'll be 25. These numbers pass me by like I'm blinking but not really thinking about it, like one of those unconscious habits we are born with. Do we learn to forget about time or is it in our nature?

Every year we wait for the new year with a strange excitement. What are we celebrating? I wonder what the next 365 days will be like, what they will be and... what was last year? Will I be a different person in 2017? I felt the same last year. It fades fast; the sense of excitement marred with melancholy. Probably something to do with the Christmas comedown.

I first identified with depression when I was 20, but there had been sadness before then. There are clues that are so blindingly obvious to me now that I wonder why it never hit me sooner. But there is always a reason for my sadness, and none for my depression. Having said that, depression is now an underlying reason for all my sadness and I know this is not right.

This Christmas has been my first break without plans – something I've longed for all year. There are always drinks with school friends and family gatherings that have become tradition, I suppose, but there has been more time spent alone doing not very much. I packed to come home for ten days, and each one has stretched out so far that I begin to wonder if I'm four again.

I remember details from last year, like ornaments on windowsills and conversations the other person probably forgot. My list of resolutions; to travel more, to start saving, to read more, to write more – the same every year – only two I can say I ticked off, but I'll make them again anyway. And soon I'll forget this period altogether, until next year – or do I mean next week? – when it begins again.

Twenty Minute Friends

To the guy I found myself sitting next to on my train journey back from London,

I stood arm weighed down by my bag filled with food and stuff. Stuff like my pills and three water bottles which I had to pack just in case, and my purse I've had since I was sixteen. Five different shades of lipstick, in stain, gloss and balm form. I had a book to read, and my new diary, and a notebook, and a journal. But only one pen, right at the bottom of all that stuff.

Some hyper-active children were running about the place squealing at strangers. At about eight or nine they looked too old to be behaving that way, but we all develop at different ages, don't we? That's what I've been thinking about this past year. I have these things going on in my head for a long time, and eventually some sort of conclusion is made - influenced by just one thing someone might say that makes me think, yes, that's it - that's exactly it. But I haven't got there with this one yet. I still ponder over the fact that we all develop at different ages. And when do we finally get there? What is the final destination?

Eventually the platform was announced for our train and a herd of suitcases hurry their way behind their owners, and I followed, unbuttoning my coat along the way, sipping on the orange mocha that I regretfully bought from Starbucks. It tasted like orange peel, and too much sugar.

I used to come to London with my ex boyfriend, but London is so big that it doesn't get marked by people or memories so much. Every time you go there you make new ones, and the taste of the past still is there in the present, but it's not too strong - not too painful. We used to play this game where we would guess what platform our train would be on on the way back home, the tension building in Paddington station as passengers waited, eyes glued to the screens for the number to flash on - it was never announced until just a few minutes before departure. I remember winning once. Platform one.

But that evening I met you I was going somewhere else entirely. I was glad that I hadn't booked a table seat, at least. Inevitable eye contact and brushing legs and too many bags. I like to stare into the back of the seat and listen to whatever is going on behind me, or think about tomorrow or the weekend or talk to God or just listen to my crazy thoughts and either take them too seriously and panic or laugh. But that evening - 2nd January 2014 - I found myself reading my book. I read for the longest time. Maybe I just didn't want to talk to you. I can't even remember your name. Sorry. It really isn't anything personal.

About twenty minutes before my stop you turned to me, plucked the earphones out of your ears and put forward a hand.

"Hi, I'm bored, that's why I want to talk," you said. I know why I didn't believe you - because I'm naive and skeptical at all the wrong times. You genuinely were bored, I knew that the moment we parted ways, and you did just want to talk. But straight away I thought of ways to get out of this, knowing you would ask for my number at the end of it all, thinking of an excuse, all the way through the following.

"That's ok," I said, dog-earring the page of my book and putting it into my bag.

"What's your name?"

"Naomi." Then the look. "Nay-oh-me." Unfortunately, I had to repeat a third time. This wasn't the best start.

Soon enough I was telling you all about my Christmas and New Year, where I went to uni, how I was starting a new job on Monday, everything I had been thinking over the words I was reading in my book previously.

We had a fair amount in common. You said you lived in Scunthorpe but really you just work there. I can't remember the name of the village you said you lived in. You said you studied engineering or something, but again, my memory fails me. It's not that I don't care, but when these things happen, I forget the important information straight away. You told me your name and I forgot almost instantly because I'm too busy examining your face, wondering why on earth you thought it a good idea to get your tragus pierced (perhaps you think the same about me), figuring out your story, when really I should wait to be told.

It was easy saying goodbye. It was nice, in fact. And then when I walked away I felt a sense of relief, like I had achieved something, like I just finished an exam that I just knew I had passed. Maybe I am getting better at being an adult. Thank you for that. We were friends for twenty minutes, I am sure of it.

From,
Naomi.

Post Uni Life: Buying My First Car

Had someone told me this time last year that in a year's time I'd have graduated with a first class honours degree, secured myself a full time job in publishing, and bought my first car, I would not have believed a single word of it. 

I don't know what I was planning last year. I think that was where I went wrong. I seemed to just go along in life without any aspirations for the future, hoping that University would last forever and that I would never have to take responsibility for anything. I'm glad I pulled my finger out and went through all the rubbish I did, because at the end of it all was a whole host of rewards waiting for me, and now I am happier than ever.

So, here's me and my car just after I'd bought it, ready to take it home. Where I'll be working is nowhere near any public transport so a car is essential. I have been on a practice run to the offices but I am still quite nervous for my first day.

It's incredible how quickly things can change - from bad to good, and sometimes good to bad, but that's the best thing; it doesn't take much for one's life to turn around. A few months ago I was thinking I'd have to work in a shop for the next year to save up to move out, but now I have the chance to gain some experience in an industry in which I am very much interested, as well as get back on the road and gain some confidence. 

I know I am extremely fortunate to be in the position that I am, and I know how difficult it is finishing uni without any idea of what to do next, but sometimes things just happen, and I have my friends, family and faith to thank for the way things have turned out for me.

It is such a big step in becoming an adult in the real world and getting your first car. I feel like now I will grow even more independent and stronger as an individual, and I hope that when I am traveling to and from work every day I remember to count my blessings and thank God for all of it.

New Year Lunch at Mishkin's - Covent Garden

One of the reasons I started What Naomi Wrote was because I stumbled across Estée's blog and YouTube channel 'essiebutton' at the end of 2012 and was inspired to create my own space on the internet. I discovered a whole world of bloggers and youtubers that I never knew existed before. I was amazed - this was what I had been looking for pretty much my whole life. I don't read many magazines - they are expensive and usually filled with rubbish so discovering quality online content was great.

To this day I still make sure I catch up with Estée's channel and blog because she is so honest, down to earth and intelligent. I feel like I can trust everything she says even though I have never met the woman. Okay, I realise how much of a creeper I sound, but if you haven't followed Estée's blog or subscribed to her YouTube channel, do it now. She helped me save a tonne of money when I was switching my high end brands to 'drug store' brands. Even though I am not a beauty blogger, I still love to read others and Estée's in particular.

Anyway, in a few of Estée's videos she mentioned a place in London called Mishkin's - and like a lot of things she shares on her channel and blog, I was interested. I wanted to visit this place. I wanted to taste the Reuben on Rye for myself. I love sandwiches. I love pickles. I love pastrami. I love cheese. I like most food but I really liked the look of this place. So, when I was visiting my good friend Jess in London over the new year, we took a visit to the restaurant that describes itself on its website as 'a kind-of Jewish deli.'

Situated on Catherine Street in Covent Garden, opposite the Theatre Royal where Charlie and the Chocolate Factory musical is showing (excellent musical - go see it!), Mishkin's was filling fast but my friend Jess and I were seated straight away.

When everything on the menu calls your name, you know you've found the one. I wish I had gone to Mishkin's sooner, but I know there will be plenty more visits in the future.

Mishkin's resembled somewhat of an American diner, although a more polished version of one you might see in a movie. What Jess and I loved was how close the tables were to each other - we enjoyed listening into locals' conversations about their typical Londoner lives while we chowed down on our fat sandwiches and fries.

The staff were so nice and attentive. As soon as we sat down our waiter poured us some water and handed us the menus. We both ordered a half sandwich each and East End fries and onion rings to share. Another plus was the option of small or large for each dish, consequently reducing the overall cost of the meal which is always good, especially in central London. I nipped to the loo and by the time I returned our food had arrived.

I have to say, the onion rings were a tad on the greasy side and I would have liked them to be slightly browner but that's just me being picky - everything else was spot on.

Those pickles. Oh my. As I write this I can feel my stomach longing for another Reuben on Rye. The bread was delicious and perfectly toasted. There was a generous serving of meat and cheese stuffed inside and I think it goes without saying that it tasted fantastic. I don't know what more I can say - if you like sliders, mac n cheese and salt beef - and who doesn't - you'll love Mishkin's. I can't wait to go again. 

The only disappointment was the 12% service charge automatically added to the bill which I just don't agree with no matter where I dine, especially since it used to be 10%! I am all for tipping exceptional service,  but when it is assumed or taken without consent it bothers me. We visited another restaurant during my visit and when we paid the bill the waitress actually asked us if we wanted the change! We said yes out of principle. We were shocked that she had even asked. In my opinion, tipping is at the discretion of the customer - not the company. Regardless, we were happy to tip Mishkin's as the service and food were equally outstanding.

Find out more about Mishkin's here.