Out of control

It is not a new feeling. When I was small I didn’t like going too high, too fast or too deep. I always erred on the safe side. I remember when I was waiting nervously on the edge of an ice rink, my German exchange partner grabbed my hand and tore round the ice with me. Or standing on the deck of a top-heavy boat, futilely trying to fight the way it plunged towards the waves. I was the slowest by far when I went go-karting on the P7 school trip to the Isle of Man.

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Don’t go back,

There’s better ahead.

Over a month ago I drove up to the house we lived in before. I had one motivation: how big was the birch tree now? But it wasn’t there. The new owners had cut it down. I remembered the joy I had felt when it was first planted, the anticipation of it growing tall and making the front more beautiful with its delicate leaves, silver bark and dappled shade. But someone else had not had those same thoughts. Maybe it had been diseased, maybe they had not realised what it would become. I learnt my lesson. You can’t go back. You have to embrace what you have in front of you right now.

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