A new me?

So we’re one month into the new regime and so far, so not bad. I’ve successfully stuck to my vow of abstinence and I’ve even made some headway on the book…2000 words counts, right? I know, I know, these aren’t exactly noteworthy accomplishments but from a personal point of view, it feels like a step in the right direction. My usual new year’s resolutions (stop smoking, start budgeting, drink less) tend to last all of five minutes before I throw caution to the wind, buy everyone a shot, knock one back and head out for a quick cig. But this year, something’s driving me on like it never has done before – maybe it’s because I’m approaching another birthday, maybe it’s the fear of finding myself unmarried and still writing for a bridal title this time next year, or maybe it’s just the right time but whatever’s going on, it seems to be working.

Taking some time out for myself on a weeklong press trip to the Maldives undoubtedly helped a little. Yeah, I know, it would help most things, wouldn’t it? But before you hate me, can I just remind you – single girl, wedding magazine, four years – if they didn’t give me the odd treat, I’d literally have gone insane by now. And this time round, I decided to try out a new approach, opting out of the group fun with the other journalists in favour of spending some quality time with myself. Ugh, I hate that phrase – it sounds all self-help doesn’t it. “You just need to spend some real time with yourself, get to know yourself a bit better, reconnect” – like we’re not completely familiar with ourselves already. Frankly, most days it’s thoroughly anti-climactic to look in the mirror of a morning and see myself staring back. Anyhoo, I digress…so there I was being all sensible and serene – eating healthily, taking long swims, doing some writing, a lot of reading, and even (wait for it) some gym-ing (GASP!) - while the other girls in the group headed off for snorkelling trips, island tours, and kayaking lessons, when who should decide to pop into my phone and shatter my newfound calm: Chris, of course.

It was 7am Saturday morning my time and I’d just woken up early with the intention of doing the floor section of my new Ministry of Sound Pump Up The Jam workout DVD before breakfast (ridiculous but true). For Chris, it was 2am (big surprise) and he sounded…well, a bit perplexed really: “Hi, sorry it’s so late. I know what you’ll think but I’ve actually not been drinking in the extreme. I’m not even sure why I’m texting. It’s just been a long time since I’ve seen you. I dunno… I just wanted to say hey…”

Rather than annoy me in the same way his previous late-night texts had done, this little mess of a message immediately made me smile. It wasn’t what he’d said so much as what was written between the lines: he was thinking about me, he missed me, and most surprisingly, he was reaching out despite knowing it wouldn’t end in my bed.

Breaking several promises to myself, I promptly replied and soon found myself in a nice little text catchup, which only ended when I conceded that I might be willing see him again…just not to sleep with him. This idea that Chris might actually want to spend time with me outside the bedroom was a new and dizzying concept to me - I blame the sudden rush of blood to my head it caused for sending me back to my old sinful ways. I kissed my phone, switched off the DVD, wandered out to the pool, ordered a bellini, and lit a cigarette. (Could it be any more clear how closely linked my bad habits are with my relationships?)
I awoke the next morning to a thumping at the door of my villa: “Carrie, it’s Jade. We’re leaving now – the boat’s waiting to take us out to the seaplane. Are you up?”

I so wasn’t up. I lurched out of bed, started wildly throwing things in my case, and desperately tried to recall the events of the previous day. Our PR, Jade, who was hosting the trip filled me in on our way to the plane: “You remember the bellinis with breakfast by the pool?” I nodded. “And the champagne at lunch?” Yup. “And the cocktails with dinner?” Uh huh. “Well then there was the dancing, the shots, the flaming shots, and the dancing on tables.” Oh god.

“Don’t feel too bad, at least you just went to bed after smoking that joint with the hotel band,” Jade reassured me, “Sarah went for a swim fully dressed, I threw up on my own feet, and we can’t actually find Violet.”

It was enough of a shock (and a hangover) to get me back on the straight and narrow, and since my return, I’ve cut down on the booze, kept up the healthy eating and lost half a stone; signed up to mentor a troubled teen with an interest in journalism; and started pitching freelance ideas out to several glossy publications.

No pesky men are going to knock me off the wagon this time. No way.