The shooting star

Oh baby, this is going to beĀ exactly as corny as it sounds.

A couple of weeks ago I was walking home from the bus stop in the dark, having stayed in London late to go tap dancing. Considering it’s always dark by the time I get home anyway, there was absolutely no reason to mention exactly why I was coming home in the dark on this particular occasion. But this is the internet, and we must always be bragging, even if it’s subtle, and suddenly tap dancing seems to be cool, so whatever.

I was thinking about a lot of things I had going on. I’d recently taken a secret trip down to Cornwall for a job interview and was trying to avoid getting my hopes up and planning every aspect of my new Cornish life in case I didn’t get it and I wound up disappointed. I’d recently submitted a novel to my first batch of agents and was desperately trying to avoid planning every aspect of my new high-flying author life in case it didn’t happen (almost inevitable) and I wound up disappointed. I was desperately hoping there might be some dinner waiting for me at home, but I was was trying to avoid thinking about what it might be in case it was something healthy and I wound up disappointed (Sorry mum).

In reality, it’s a pretty short walk from the bus stop to my house, so all I really had time to do was celebrate that the first song on shuffle that night was an absolute banger from Joseph and His Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat, because the first song that plays tends to be the only one you have time to listen to in its entirety. But I was also having a lot of thoughts, as previously mentioned.

As I walked, I happened to glance up. And I saw a shooting star.

I’ve seen a meteor shower once in my life, and it was amazing, but it involved lying in my back garden at about 3am in the middle of February hoping a mad axe murderer wasn’t about to jump out of a neatly-trimmed suburban hedge. It was a lot of effort, and involved quite a high-risk gamble with the gods of hypothermia. In contrast, this one just appeared out of nowhere. It burned for a few seconds and then it was gone. And then I flipped out a little bit because I watch a lot of Professor Brian Cox, and even though I claim to be interested in nothing but science and straightforward fact, right at that moment I was looking for a sign.

And, just like that, I decided to stop stressing out about all of the non-things I had-or-maybe-didn’t-have going on, because I took that shooting star as a signal that things would all work out the way they needed to in the end.

I know, barf. Professor Brian Cox would not approve.

Two days later, I found out I was moving to Cornwall within the month, which is mad, but instead of stressing I decided to make a list of all of the things I needed to do (including ‘find a flat’, which is apparently a hilarious thing to put on a moving ‘to do’ list because who’s going to forget that?) and, instead of freaking out, I got to work.

So now it’s less than a fortnight from the day I had my interview and I already have a job and a flat. Next up: washing machine ownership.

Now. Let’s all listen to this absolute classic of a song a thousand times each and then meet back here to discuss the fact that it’s the best Disney song (or just plain song) of all time.

One thought on “The shooting star

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