I write this, my first piece in nearly two months, on my Birthday Eve, having just peeled myself off the floor from having cried from the centre of a fort made of moving boxes. On the sob scale it wasn’t a big one, rooted in pity with a dollop of overwhelm served on a plate of my usual birthday-induced melancholy.

Back in January, I tried to spring into the new year with such verve and optimism. Proudly declaring I was 32, the same age as Lorelai Gilmore & Carrie Bradshaw & Bridget Jones the first time we met them all, I looked forward to what the year was going to send my way.

Since I’m turning 33 tomorrow, can we also get some new showrunners in please? Because, honestly, whilst I asked for new storylines, I’m outraged by what I got given.

Barely two weeks into the year, we were told that our school building would be no more – but there were plans to find a new location. Barely two weeks after that, we were told that wouldn’t be happening. Our school would be no more.

Nothing prepares you for hearing that the school you had left your previous job for, having been so filled with excitement at the prospect of being part of a team creating and setting up a BRAND NEW SCHOOL, is being shut down by various entities who are too busy pointing the finger at each other like that Spiderman meme to actively support you through the process. It’s a form of bereavement, mourning what you have poured into it and the years you thought you had remaining. The slate featuring all the wonderous possibilities of what was to come is wiped clean, the achievements that had gone on before seem futile and wasted.

Three months of limbo followed before I interviewed and then got awarded what I’ve always thought of as my dream job. Except, now it’s only a week away from starting, and I am plagued by imposter syndrome. Terrified that I’m not going to be good enough for it and they’ll catch me out immediately.

The nature of my previous job required me to be constantly on alert and anticipating every & any scenario. Curriculum content took a backseat to pastoral support. My brain became leaner and sharper having to respond & predict the unpredictable. And now I’m off to a high performing and high achieving school – a fact that has resulted in a residency of 3am anxiety dreams about how little I know or remember about how to teach.

I’ve been on 8 first dates, no second dates, and 6 singles events where I made really cool friendships and connections, but not the kind I really went there to form. Clearly the current scriptwriters in control of my narrative are favours of comedy and horror tropes, rather than those of romance. At this point, I’m pretty sure I’m going to magpie the plot of Sister Act and make the non-existent status of my love life official by joining a nunnery.

There is a set change happening though, as I move locations are 4.5 years. I’m moving to a new part of town, with a short term contract as I chase the small possibility that buying is within my grasp. We’ll see how the gods of plot let that story arc play out…

On a more positive note [I heard that a sigh of relief!] I continue to have some of the best family and friends a girl could ask for. My recent holiday and birthday drinks were a much-needed reminder of how lucky I am. My support network, a rolodex of loved ones from all walks of life and backgrounds, is testament to the fact I am not unloveable. I am seen and known, even if I sometimes feel adrift, colliding with what I feel my life ‘should’ look like and what it actually is.

I’ve undertaken 39 of my Project 52 adventures, but recent events mean I’ve totally lost will or momentum with it. Please, if you read this, please do hold me accountable for completing the final 13 within the remaining 129 years of this year! Set me challenges or suggest things we can do (post move and new job start..)

Whilst I feel battered by this year so far, there is still part of me that (naively?) remains open and optimistic to what awaits. Whilst my 32nd year may not have been what I wanted or hoped, and I will grieve that for a little longer, there’s been so much joy and brilliance within it too – I must resist letting it get drowned out by the uncertainty triggered by so much change.

Let year 33 be about truly appreciating and embracing what is there, rather than what isn’t. Let’s trust the process and find the beauty within it.

That’s what Superman tells me is ‘real punk rock’.