Hydra, Leonard Cohen and the sting of Brexit continues

I'm sat on a terrace, overlooking Hydra. Craggy rocks, blooming pink and yellow blossom and the beautiful blue sea. I feel relaxed. I am still tired from lack of sleep (the result of waking up too early from church bells and the need to catch ferries or planes), but I am with a beautiful group of women - celebrating a 40th - and breathing in the luxury of three nights without children. 

These are the only moments where it is possible to scrap out some time to write a blog. 

I breath. I feel myself still holding tension, unable to completely relax, and yet, it is glorious here. The sunsets, the conversations, the sensation of stretching into my old self. 

There's a job that closes today that I coveted, but I am not applying for it: The logistics of both Da Berg and me needing to be in London on a Tuesday; the idea of taking up full-time work with the kids still so young; the challenge of leaving a permanent job. But with my current role precarious, though permanent, and the lack of certainty on international development, it is hard not to feel anxious and hard not to want to leap ship. 

Anxiety. It is the essence of this moment. 

I second guess my decisions. 

LIke the one we're currently making about our "dream house" - we put a letter through its door four weeks ago. They emailed us back almost immediately, telling us that they were about to put it on the market... at 125k more than our budget. We sighed. It felt like another example of a property market that is off kilter with reality. Since then it has come down by 50k and it is almost within reach. We think we love the house (we think, we have yet to see inside), but we feel cautious about stretching ourselves to the very edge of our budget just as the world feels like it is shifting on its axis. 

And in between here I sit in beautiful Greece.