Three nights of lightning

Oxmo is terrified of lightning.

We've had thunderstorms for three nights now.

He spends the night pacing, breathing in my face and demanding reassurance.

Needless to say, he was not my favourite pup by 3am.

His siblings sleep through the whole thing.

They trust the universe.

Oxmo, apparently, has decided that thunderstorms are a personal crisis and I am his designated emergency response team.

Come morning, he's a happy chappy.

Running around. Chasing swallows. Dreaming in the grass.

Me? Not so much.

My head is dropping onto the keyboard.

Or it was.

Until my laptop decided it no longer recognised its own keyboard.

And I still have no internet.

My hotspot kicks me out every five minutes.

So today I feel like shit.

Which is slightly inconvenient when you're in the middle of creating your new life in France and are apparently supposed to be having an adventure.

Because apparently nobody mentioned that adventures involve thunder at 3am, a laptop having an identity crisis, and repeatedly reconnecting to the internet like it's 2004.

Some days, this new life absolutely feels like an adventure.

There are the beautiful days.

The dogs running through the grass. Swallows overhead. Long evenings. The feeling that, somehow, I've finally made a move towards the life I've been wanting for a very long time.

And then there are days like today.

When I'm tired and cross and my technology has apparently joined forces against me.

And I sit here thinking:

What the fuck am I doing?

I think that's probably part of it too.

We talk about making changes as though once you've made the decision, you should feel brave and liberated and incredibly pleased with yourself every single day.

But that's not how it works.

You can be completely happy with a decision you've made and still have days when everything feels shit.

You can know you're exactly where you want to be and still wonder whether you've completely lost the plot.

You can be building a lighter life...

...and occasionally have a really bloody heavy day.

Maybe that's the bit nobody sees.

Building a lighter life doesn't mean every day feels light.

Sometimes it means getting through the day, swearing at your laptop, reconnecting the hotspot for the seventeenth time and going to bed.

Tomorrow, Oxmo will probably sleep peacefully.

The laptop may or may not recognise its keyboard.

The internet remains anyone's guess.

And I'll probably feel more like myself again.

Because that's the thing about starting over, moving somewhere new, and making a life that feels more like your own.

It's still life.

Thunderstorms included.