Inspiration for the cynical

Hey there, little speedyheads. Join me in the river flow - come on in, it's warm in here.

Let's start with the basics. This blog's name is adapted from the REM song, "Find the River" (the last, glorious track on 1992's Automatic for the People, and therefore the last decent song they recorded). Google the lyrics and interpret them as you will, but I see it as a call to freedom, to escape from self-imposed rules , from the restrictions imposed by work or by society, to find your own way, to go with your own flow. 

Incidentally, my first choice of name for this blog was "Find the River" but it was claimed in 2003 by someone who made two entries in a language I can't read and never updated it again. Which turned out to be a fitting opportunity for me, not being blessed with any particular creative powers, to think a little laterally and find what turns out to be a far more inspirational name. 

And that's what I'll try to share. Calls to freedom are not my speciality. I'm pretty straight-laced, down-the-line, more train track than meandering stream. Cute husband (Mr B), cute daughter (Monkeyrina), house, car, job, blah. As my occasional C of E tendencies suggest, I'm not particularly spiritual, and I'm not inclined to warble on about chakras. I am cursed - blessed - cursed with an enquiring mind - I'm the sort of person who can't relax during a massage because I'm wondering why salons always assume you want to listen to pan-pipes while a stranger rubs your back. My idea of spontaneous is going to Morrisons instead of Tesco. My idea of daring is not typing an apostrophe before the S in Morrisons even though the omission is their brand style. My idea of a fun Saturday night is sitting beside Mr B, each with our laptops, as I write my blog.

So when the opportunity presented itself to look for new challenges (that's LinkedIn speak for being at risk of redundancy) I surprised myself with my enthusiasm for seizing them. The redundancy process is long and torturous, and I may not even manage to escape, but life is suddenly full of possibility, of painting and writing and dancing and being somewhere other than a badly lit office for 8 hours a day while the world spins on. 

More prosaically, I also have to pay the mortgage, so self-employment as a freelance proofreader / copy editor / copywriter / enquiring minder seems to be an option for at least some of my time.

So where does the inspiration come in? Once you start to look,  it is there in every imaginable form (remember, my imagination is a little, well, little). Sometimes it comes to you, as song, a phrase, a person. Sometimes it is brought to you, by a friend with a book or a blog. And sometimes you have to go out and find it.

So share the journey with me. Let's find the river and cast our dreams into the flowing water.

This is where I should insert an arty photo of a rising moon. But that would be too predictable. And I don't have one. So here's another wonder of nature - the inside of a tulip. It's included not just a shameless excuse for showing a photo I'm proud of taking (it's in focus and everything) but, close up, tulips don't look quite as you'd expect them to, do they? Rawer, more exposed. Hmm, I feel a metaphor coming on.