Looking for the swing-of-things.

Looking for the swing-of-things. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Looking for the swing-of-things. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

I find myself today looking for the swing of things.

Maybe I found it there at the edges.

Maybe.

Love

Luke

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Day 1,121

A lovely day.

A lovely day. Drawing Luke Hockley.

A lovely day. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

Today, the first day of 2019, looks like a lovely day.

It’s going to be 25 degrees, which is perfect in my book. The sun is shining, the air is cool.

And there is nothing in particular that I have to do.

A lovely day.

Love

Luke

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Day 1,120


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My friend Billie.

My friend Billie. Drawing Luke Hockley.

My friend Billie. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

I’ve been at my parent’s house for so many days now that I’ve lost track of what my usual rhythms and structures are.

That’s the magic of this time between Christmas and New Year. It belongs neither to last year nor to next year.

It is a timeless transition.

Yesterday my friend Billie and her family (Dale, Odin and Violette) called in for a cup of tea (with my brother Tom and Dad and Mum) and some back-yard water fights (with my nephews Lucas and Daniel and I).

What a delight.

It was one of those unscripted life moments that couldn’t have been more perfect.

Billie and I danced together in a company for about 3 years. Touring and rehearsing and creating and performing…and laughing, so much laughing.

Yesterday our families got to be with each other in that joyful, light hearted play that really reminded me of the spirit we had in our lives when we first met.

What a delight.

Love

Luke

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Day 1,119


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Disconcerting and beautiful.

Disconcerting and beautiful. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Disconcerting and beautiful. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

The days of the week have no meaning anymore.

It is strange and beautiful and disconcerting when that happens.

I’m on holiday.

Life is not being sorted in the way that it normally is.

This is that time of year where I can find it hard to hold onto the threads of myself.

I tend to let go of my early morning writing of this letter, letting it slip into later in the day and then later in the evening. Last night I completely forgot and got lost in a movie and making a pair of shorts and it was suddenly midnight.

I panicked.

Funny that. It’s only me that knows or cares whether I write this letter daily or not. But I have promised myself this, and until I decide to change that agreement I don’t like the feeling of not fulfilling that promise.

This morning I have woken up early and worked out what day it is (it’s a Sunday) and have sat down to write to you before the day gets underway.

Like normal.

It feels like it is time to come back to this thread.

Love

Luke

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Day 1,118


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Today, it's easy.

Today, it’s easy. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Today, it’s easy. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

I have made a promise to write and publish my letter to you by midnight every day.

It is almost midnight and here I am writing the letter.

It is much, much better when I get this letter written by 7am.

But holidays make the edges of everything become a bit blurry. And 11:34pm becomes the moment that I spend a moment thinking about where I am right now and what I need to hear.

Where am I? What do I need to hear?

Sometimes it has to be easy, otherwise I won’t keep doing it. So, today it’s easy. And that’s all there is to it.

Love

Luke

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Day 1,116

That next day.

The next day. Drawing Luke Hockley.

The next day. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

That next day. The day after the day where everything is meant to happen. Where everything happens.

That next day has all the elbow room.

A swim and a drive and not much at all.

And the making chutney in the Thermomix, the eating left overs and left overs and left overs. The reading for hours. And then eating more and more, four kinds of left over dessert and 3 kinds of home made biscuits with a cup of tea, and a cup of tea…and a cup of tea.

And nephews and playing and dinner with the family and too much food.

And dishes and a walk and no more cups of tea, please.

And a quiet, well chosen movie and then to bed with the air conditioner on because its still so very hot and still.

The next day, after the big day, is the day with all the space.

Love

Luke

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Day 1,114

It’s joy, it’s full, it’s everything.

It’s joy, it’s full, it’s everything. Drawing Luke Hockley.

It’s joy, it’s full, it’s everything. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

It’s joy, it’s full, it’s everything...it’s Christmas.  

Breakfast sun and toasted cheese and a cup of tea. The ovens on and family messages. Asparagus, carrots, zucchini, potatoes and beans, oh and red onions. And all that meat. Cooked perfectly. Under cooked. Just cooked. Over cooked. Done and done. And piles of food and family and visitors and champagne drinks and gin and tonic. 

More plates of food and cups of tea and laughter under the old peppercorn tree (or at least underneath the place where it used to be.) 

A game of cards and taking a teenager for a spin on their newly minted L plates. A walk in the park with the dogs. Half an hour of some crap old movie. One more pile of dishes, move the tables, sweep the floor...one more cup of tea and an Aunty Dot’s biscuit, just squeezed them in, just.

And then bed. Surely. Bed. 

Yes. Bed. And a merry, merry Christmas.  

Love  

Luke.  

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Day 1,113


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The country road.

The country road. Drawing Luke Hockley.

The country road. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

I’m in that bit where I am trying to change lanes.

Moving from the super-fast freeway to the slow and steady country road.

I find the transition a little disconcerting.

It just takes time.

That’s all.

Love

Luke

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Day 1,112