The past week has been filled with fears and firsts and, at points, a chaotic combination of the two. My relationship with fear is something I have been working on for some time. At least once a year I commit to doing one big thing that scares me. It was through this mini challenge that I became one of the hosts of The Observer’s Sensemaker podcast.
As a child I loved performing, but stage fright often caused me to lose my voice before big solos. My career as an audio producer has allowed me to remain safely tucked away behind the glass. Stepping in front of the microphone was a daunting role reversal that I have learned to enjoy.
Alongside performing, I spent much of my younger years playing netball. In this part of my life I was fearless. Competition or potential injury never scared me, despite a résumé that included two broken ankles, many broken fingers and a concussion. But, after deciding to step away a few years ago, I had yet to find the courage to return – until this week.
My mum’s local team was in need of a coach, and she had volunteered my services. Previous expectations to perform and play well were forgotten at the sight of the wide-eyed excitement of new players keen to experience the same thing that had brought me so much joy. Time and maturity had helped me make peace with the fact I was no longer that 17-year-old player in her prime. Where fear had once prevented me from playing, and instead of focusing on what I had lost as an athlete, I returned more aware of what I had to offer as a mentor.
My big “first” was also sports-related. My younger brother has played professional football for a decade, but until this week I had never seen him play. Why? Because in my family we’ve always believed that I am bad luck at a football game.
One day, about 12 years ago, I casually mentioned I hadn’t seen him win a game in a while. This set off alarm bells, and after some quick calculations it was decided I was the problem.
Well, this got me out of cold Sunday morning games for good, so the decision was a kind of blessing. But now, 10 years in, we all agreed that the upcoming game was one worth taking a risk on. Did his team win? No. The curse continues. But I had a great time nonetheless.
The final first was a trip around Gunnersbury Park. Until recently, my experience of living in London had been confined to its south. I had, without even realising it, created a mini community around me of neighbours, postmen and local shop owners. I knew my area intimately and had grown to appreciate it.
I had never intended to live in the capital long term, yet south London had become a home, instead of just a temporary stop on my journey back to Yorkshire. Now I live in west London, and find myself in a rebuilding phase. And my way of doing this is by actively getting to know my new home.
My childhood growing up in the north of England had built in me a yearning for quiet green spaces, and so naturally the idea of walking all the major parks in west London felt like the best way to get acquainted with the area.
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Gunnersbury was the idyllic blend of tranquil walking paths for quiet conversation and open space perfect for a spontaneous games of rounders in the summer. But a neighbourhood is not just one place, it’s the people.
If I'm to call west London home, it's the locals who'll make it a place I feel I belong.
Photograph by Chris Van Lennep /Alamy