Moondreams

Story Time #10: On belief + relief with a tiny flash memoir about a love affair with the moon

Story Time is a behind-the-scenes glimpse into my creative non-fiction projects, a place to explore brand story, life writing and the rhythms of the creative process.

As I write this piece, a new moon is upon us, and at this very moment it feels like an almost mystical turning point in my year: a time of genuine movement toward action.

I read an article about how this particular shift is impacting me as an Aquarian. While I only ever take what I need from horoscopes ― whatever fits the desired narrative, to be honest ― there was mention of restructuring my domestic and emotional life, which felt like something of an echo after choosing to commit more of my energy and resources to movement and wellness.

The article also suggested I carve out time and space to nurture myself and allow others to nurture me, and I nodded at this because I’ve been carrying a lot while also berating myself for not bearing that load.

On Thursday, I sat face-to-face with a friend and collaborator and was honest about how I feel. It was an unravelling of sorts, but it felt less like falling apart and more like falling together. I could almost sense myself shifting and shaping in full view, and being witnessed for where I truly am and still being chosen is an unrivalled feeling.

There have been other serendipitous moments this week: new client wins, movement on projects, exciting connections. And I see, not for the first time, that nobody is hiring me because I’m perfect; they’re hiring me because I’m human.

“Everybody has a little bit of the sun and moon in them. Everybody has a little bit of man, woman and animal in them. Darks and lights in them. Everyone is part of a connected cosmic system. Part earth and sea, wind and fire, with some salt and dust swimming in them.”

― Suzy Kassem

A constellation of belief

One of the most important things we can encounter in our lifetime is someone who believes in us. And not only believes, but dreams for us. I was fortunate to find that person in Mrs Gray, my Higher English teacher.

When I passed my Standard Grade English exam, she was the least surprised. And when my Higher classes started, we talked about my aspirations to put my words out into the world and how I felt torn between art, music and writing. Only she never questioned this or forced me to make decisions. She gave me permission and power to enjoy them all.

While I didn’t excel in anything that required me to tap into the recesses of my left brain, the creative subjects loved me just as much as I loved them. I still recall the thrill of receiving praise for a short story I wrote about my younger brother. It didn’t paint him in the best light, describing him as a “caveman”, and he tore the story up in a rage. But I was secretly proud. Sure, it taught me an early lesson about memoir and the dangers of writing others onto the page, but it also taught me that my pen could ignite feelings, and even wield fury.

The internal belief I felt then is slowly returning as I dip in and out of my memoir, which I’m surprised to be staying the course with because I find the excavation unsettling and rejection dispiriting. But with Shape Your Brand Story (due for publication this autumn), I feel curiously confident this weekend, and I’d quite like to hold onto that as the moon waxes.

When was the last time you truly felt like someone believed in you?

Orbiting a sense of relief

I’ve always been fascinated by the things we pass down. Not the heirlooms, although those are often beautiful and meaningful, but the invisible inheritances. The way we laugh, how we love, what we notice.

Just this morning, my son said “good job” after I walked over the playground bridge as he had instructed. He looked genuinely pleased and the sense of pride I felt in him, in his kindness and sweetness, was unbounded.

My daughter has the same knack for lifting spirits. We hugged the other day as I told her I felt terrible for not being a more energetic mum at this time. And what felt good was hearing her say that she sees I’m trying. I really do believe and hope to impress on my kids that trying (whether or not we succeed) takes spirit, devotion and curiosity — three of the most powerful things any being can have in their arsenal.

Feeling her arms around me, one inch away from being taller than me, wasn’t easy…like a role reversal. But I can’t deny there was something poetic about being held by this almost teen. A girl who is all art and music and writing, and who has so much love and light to give.

You might say that much like the new moon, there’s been a void in me, a darkness, but this is also a place where hidden things can begin to emerge. And this is a time for softening into that, of giving back to myself like I never have before.

Read on for a tiny piece of flash memoir which first appeared in the print edition of This Creative Life, lightly edited for publication today. I wrote it while in the depths of feeding my youngest, and it mentions Twelve Moons by Caro Giles, a beautiful reflection on motherhood and relationships. Her book speaks to some of the reasons I so love the moon and so love to write.

I’ve removed the paywall on this entry for a short time.

Moondreams

My son is having a love affair with our celestial satellite.

The word that falls from his rosebud mouth first thing each morning, and last thing at night, is “moon”. He points to the window, urging us to pull back the curtains so he can find his glowing companion. Nothing lights his face up more.

His joy reminds me of an animation my daughter loved: Papa, Please Get the Moon for Me by Eric Carl. In this sweet tale, a young girl asks her father to fetch the moon, and so he climbs a ladder to bring it down. She twirls with the lunar crescent on her fingertips, watching as it shrinks, until it disappears with the dawn.

Like many of the nature memoirs I’ve read in recent years, the story captures the magic and wonder of the night sky — and the art of noticing.

Last year, I read Twelve Moons: A Year Under a Shared Sky by Caro Giles. Each chapter explores a month and a moon, the night jewel her trusted guide, its presence woven into the hills she runs, the sea she swims. Steeped in landscape, her story even touches on St Cuthbert’s Way, one of Scotland’s Great Trails, beginning in Melrose, the place I now call home.

Since moving here, falling pregnant with and giving birth to my son, my soft spot for this constant yet ever-changing presence above us has only grown. Most nights, I feed him under the moon’s gaze, a moment of connection between us. Because of this, his love for the moon feels significant — more than a fascination, it’s an inheritance of wonder, passed down through whispers and stories and moondreams.

I can’t pluck the moon from the sky for my children, but we can watch as it waxes and wanes, knowing that some things — like love — don’t need to be touched or held or fetched to be felt.