On the same day that I stepped away from the laptop, my energy too prickly to be productive, I cleared and cleaned my desk in preparation for term 2 and a return to routine. A sense of clarity gained. That night we lit the first fire of the season and now the rhythm of breaking sticks and lugging wood and watching the flames curl around the dry timber will continue, anchoring us in the slow of autumn through winter.
Of course, I will curse the dust and the soot but there is also the comfort of stepping in from the cold, hanging your coat in the mudroom and feeling the warmth of the house as soon as you open the door. It feels like coming home.
Daniel bought me a weather station for my birthday because when you turn 40 these things start to interest you. It’s quite fancy, in that it sends information - temperature, wind speed and direction, precipitation - to a screen in the kitchen which I check a few times a day. I wonder when it’s going to rain again; it’s been too long. There’s a steep hill not far from my house and the bare grass has exposed the dirt. The large tree growing at the crest looks like it might lose its footing. I check on it each day, hoping for the best.
I don’t want to lose my footing either. Work has ramped up and I’ve got a series of firm deadlines that take me through to mid-December. I’m adding a casual 20,000+ words to my third book and then going straight into edits which will be tedious, I presume. It’s my job to hold the reader at the front of my mind when I’m writing a book like this and my reader is sleep-deprived, physiologically and psychologically vulnerable, navigating enormous hormonal and biological changes, stepping through the most intense identity shift and doing it all with minimal social support. Every time I sit at my desk I remind myself that I need to be honest, gentle and encouraging with my words.
I’m applying the same kindness to myself which has required a reframe and it’s actually working. I’m consciously prioritising what comforts, grounds and relaxes me so I stop the stress spiral and stay on an even-ish keel. The intention being that I keep my cortisol levels where they should be (and not the high levels they were at for most of last year).
This doesn’t mean I float from bed to beach and back again. Of course I’m buoyed by the energy that comes from a productive day at the desk and the fact that it stays with me long after I’ve closed the laptop so I can busy myself with all the neglected house chores; I listen to a podcast, whip around with ease and get everything in order. I love those days, when everything feels likes it’s flowing.
Because energy naturally moves up and down - moon, tide, season, breath - I know that energetic days also require the opposite. Quiet days where I move a little slower, when the ideas are stilted and I feel a little low, when I’m prone to doubt and likely to dither, moving from one job to the next without getting much done. They are necessary but frustrating and while I know what propels me on those days - walking, reading and comfort, mostly - I’ve also accepted that they exist for a reason. I know my body and mind needs those slow days where the work being done is largely invisible but no less important. I can accept these days and also wish I was getting more done but I’ve found it’s comforting to say…but not today.
I should be finishing that chapter, but not today.
I really need to organise that wardrobe, but not today.
I’m so tired but I planned to go for a long walk…but not today, I’ll rest instead.
Instead of being in a productivity mindset, where I’m ticking off jobs, to-dos and obligations, I’m in a de-stress mindset where I consider how I’m feeling and what I need. Consequently, I’m actually more productive when I’m working because I’m not sitting there in a state of stress; I come to the desk feeling revived and energised, clear-headed and grounded. This isn’t a daily occurrence (yet) but I’ve observed how powerful it is and I have every intention of continuing.
Mostly, it involves checking in with myself and asking what I need:
“Do you really need another coffee or do you think a cup of tea would be a better choice, you’re a little tense already.”
“You should stretch for 10 minutes, have a big glass of water and then come back to the laptop.”
“There’s no point pushing through with this, you’re tired, go and lie down for twenty minutes.”
“Go for a walk on the rocks, you need to get out of your head.”
The little things that are actually the big, important things. Because, if we are our own home we are also a lighthouse; the body gives us warning signals, we can choose to guide ourselves to safety.
other things
Helen Garner discusses The Spare Room on BBC World Book Club
I found the best yoga practise for writers or anyone who feels they need to open their chest and release their upper back. Bliss!
If you want a quick read that’s darkly funny, I recommend Everyone and Everything by Nadine J. Cohen
If literary suspense is your preferred genre, The Anniversary by Stephanie Bishop is superbly written (on a sentence level it’s exquisite in places) and eerily thrilling. I’m not surprised that it’s been shortlisted for The Age book of the year.
Till next time, take care x
"...but not today" and "what do I need right now?" can be so powerful to our health and well-being. At least, I have found this to be true for myself recently.
I attended a baby shower on the weekend for a new young mum-to-be. It was glorious to see her all aglow in her 36th week of pregnancy, and the excitement of meeting bub and beginning life together. As I pondered what to write in her card, it was actually the essence of "but not today" and "what do I need right now?" that inspired my words to her. Thoughts and prompts that, in hindsight, I wish had been shared with me as I began my motherhood journey.
And it seems that regardless of the phase of life in which we find ourselves, these prompts are still so relevant. Thanks, Jodi, for the reminder. May we give ourselves permission to follow through!
A beautiful read, as always. I’d love to know what podcasts you recommend? x