Precisely five years ago I decided to leave Portland, abandoning a life that was truly delightful. I walked away from the best friends I’ve ever had, the Chorus, an extended and rewarding community, the only home I’ve ever known.
Four years ago I owned a beautiful house in Seattle with a view of the mountains and my entire life was sorted for the first time ever. But the only thing on my mind was the fact that a beloved relative was in a coma, near death. I understood for the first time that material security does not equate to safety.
Three years ago I impulsively decided to emigrate and I was in England looking for a place to live. Wandering next to the river on a brilliant sunny day I caught my first glimpse of a narrowboat and thought – I want that.
Two years ago I was in New York to do a reading at the National Arts Club and I stood on a corner across from Union Square, crying down a payphone because someone betrayed me in a way I never knew possible.
One year ago I had a meeting with my UK publisher and my agent took me to tea at the Savoy and I was amazed and confused to find myself there, in that moment, laughing.
Today I sat in the sun watching a lady swan sauntering about with three babies on her back, six more paddling madly to keep up, thinking about my aunt and a lost family and a series of secrets that will change my life once again.
I don’t really understand why this week in May is so significant – perhaps it is just the fact that it is spring. Summer is nearly here.