The Hague Online's 'Writer in Residence' Jo Parfitt is musing about . . .

I’ve seen the first shoots of green daffodils poking through the damp earth. Spring is coming. Winter is on its way out. It’s always the same. Where there are endings there are also beginnings. Yet while the ground was barren and the trees were bare I did not take the time to appreciate the emptiness that comes between winter and spring. Instead I just longed for the colour to return. This got me to thinking about the time in between.

Endings are tough. I’ve moved house 20 times and moved country six times in my life and each time I leave I’m sad about all that I leave behind. But then, the moment I arrive at the new place I have a blank canvas, a clean sheet, a new start. But that feeling of emptiness and anonymity is frightening and my fear leads me to start filling up the spaces in the empty house and the spaces in my empty diary as fast as possible.

Why is it so hard to step into a new, silent space and just enjoy it? God knows, once I am busy again and back on the treadmill, I long for five minutes’ peace and time to breathe!

Last week was one of those weeks. We had to say goodbye to our black and white cat, Lily. The emptiness once she had gone was palpable. It feels as if the house is full of holes. Everywhere I look I see a space instead of a black and white, breathing mound of fur.

Endings are tough. We focus on what we have lost rather than what we still have. We still have fond memories. We still have a lovely home and garden. Yet all we notice is the emptiness that was Lily and long to fill that space again. Deep down we know we need to take the time to remember the good times and to grieve.

For many of us our instinct is to move from the ending to a beginning as quickly as possible and in doing so we miss out on the opportunity to sit back, take stock and experience the emotions we need to feel and express instead of pushing them to the back of the cupboard and getting on with life.

In work it’s the same. I’m always planning my next book before the current one is at the publishers. My next writing workshop dates are in the diary before the current session is scarcely underway. My diary is filled through til the summer.

As a freelancer if I ever have a lean period, I panic and fill my days with marketing. Then, when the work floods in again, I regret not having taken advantage of the break I just missed out on. Why is it our instinct to fill the time in between?

My client, Carolyn, has just finished writing the complete draft of her memoir. She sent me the manuscript with the words: ‘and now I am going to do nothing for two weeks. I am not even going to think about it.’

I met Carolyn for coffee yesterday and she told me how she really is doing nothing.

‘Just sitting around, doing nothing, watching television. Nothing. It’s bliss!’ she said a huge smile across her face.

I was incredulous. The thought of actually taking a real break between writing projects is alien to me. But Carolyn’s smile reminded me of the value of simply stopping in the spaces in between and taking a break.

The holes in the house are still there, but each time I notice one I shall take a moment to remember and to grieve. Next time I move house I pledge to allow myself a few weeks of blank pages. And the next time my diary is full of holes I am going to turn on the television. In the daytime.

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