I had a busy week last week. On impulse, I booked a poetry course several months ago, despite having only ever written a handful of poems in my life. So it was with some trepidation that I set off for the Arvon centre in Totleigh Barton, in deepest, darkest Devon.
Indeed, it was so deep and so dark, there was no internet, and you had to walk half a mile up the track to get a phone signal; as you can see, that was no hardship given the fabulous scenery.
Despite misgivings about being there at all, I had a ball. The tutors were fabulous, and the other students were a joy to spend five days with. I had my birthday midweek, and the group bursting out into Happy Birthday over supper was one of many highlights.
In one of the moments when we weren’t all holed up in our rooms writing poetry, I had an interesting chat with a couple of the other students about imposter syndrome. How so many of us feel we have no right to be doing what we’re doing, or pursuing our goals, whether at work or in our leisure activities. I could really relate to that – although I’ve got a handful of novels under my belt, I felt a complete beginner when it came to poetry.