Friday August 8th 2025
First day of new life.
What a sentence. Isn’t it beautiful? Have wanted to write that for so long, and now here it is on page one of a brand-new diary. Life. Starts. Here.
New me is:
Peppy. Maybe not peppy, actually—that sounds annoying. But positive. Upbeat. Inclined to wear hair in bouncy ponytail and look on the bright side, but does not require everyone else to do so (see: don’t want to be annoying).
Independent. New me relies on nobody else for validation. She makes her own decisions. She can do it alone.
Bold. I mean, look at me. I’m on a boat, sailing toward a secluded island to start picture-perfect new life running island farm shop! Am going to be like one of those women on Instagram who live on photogenic homestead and bake their own bread with stunning vista in background. Except without all the Reddit content dedicated to whether or not I’m in a cult.
Am wondering where the line is between manifestation andkidding yourself. Want to fill diary with positivity but don’t want to, you know,lie.
Truth is, I’m sitting here on a chugging old ferryboat, feeling a bit freaked out. Remembering former life of good job, nice coffee, steady boyfriend, and now considering future life of seclusion on relatively small rock in the English Channel. Don’t want to seem spoiled, but argh, will there be a coffee machine on the farm?
Once again unsure if this is wild adventure or mad pre-midlife crisis. Horrible suspicion that you can’t actually know until end of story, i.e., glorious happily-ever-after vs. perishing sad and alone in farmyard.
Spirits lifting again as island approaches. It’s beautiful! Rugged, shadowy crags jutting from the sea, tangles of wildflowers painting the rocks in greens and pinks…Looks too pretty to be real, like Sabrina Carpenter. Am buoyed by new confidence that my future is here on the Isle of Ormer, population 500. Soon to be 501.
Here’s what I know about the Isle of Ormer:
There are no motorized vehicles on the island except tractors. Everyone gets around on horses and bikes, like medieval people. Feel positive about this, particularly given the six points on my license.
The island is three miles by one mile. Tiny! With a real sense of community, according to Google. The perfect place to build a new family. (Getting ahead of myself, as per.)
Most of the land is farmed, and Bramblebay Farm has a shop, aka my new place of employment. Popular with visiting tourists, but a lifeline to the locals, too. Am envisioning crates filled with earthy potatoes, fresh milk in glassbottles and me swanning around with wicker basket under arm.
No streetlights on the island. Great: fits perfectly with new resolution to go to bed at nightfall and rise with the dawn like the lark. Or the blackbird. Whichever bird gets the first worm, that’s going to be me.
