In the last blog I mentioned that it took me about ten months to wean off the concept of myself as only being a teacher. First and foremost I need to write here that I am proud to be a teacher, but that hasn't been the point of the year. If you have read any previous blogs then you will know that I had an additional plan in mind - to be a writer, to see myself as a writer and to try to build a more autonomous working life. Of course teaching is part of that life and I have loved those opportunities when they have arisen, particularly tutoring private students, but it seemed that all my energies were in that direction. So what changed? My desk is what changed it. Remember, that new desk that I set up at the beginning of the year and equipped with all manner of things to make me look and feel like a writer? The one that seemed to expect something of me and I wasn't sure I could do it? Well, I sat at that desk and I wrote. Much of it was the long neglected thesis and I'm pleased to say that I'm just about there. I fell in love with my life at the desk, surrounded by all those odd bits and pieces that reflect the person that I am. It's not so neat and tidy now. It doesn't look daunting, it looks like a real desk. My desk. A mess. Littered with academic articles, yoga assignments, reference books, journals that I write in, scraps of paper with notes and ideas, tutorial notes, collections of pens. The desk is my home. It has become so clear to me that there's nothing particularly magical about choosing a new direction and, hopefully, achieving a new goal. It's all about the work and the commitment to the task. I was becoming so distracted with how I was going to earn an income that I almost forgot what I was doing it for. It was to write, and my desk has reminded me of that.