sit with and notice
a good plan, I think
A Brain That Breathes: Essential habits for an overwhelming world, is available in all bookstores in Australia and UK this week. US readers, you’ll be able to get it on February 17th.
I’m thrilled to announce that it’s Booktopia’s Book of the Month and Collins Booksellers Nonfiction Book of the Month. No, I can’t believe it! Yes, I’m delighted!
I’m touring in Tasmania, Sydney and Melbourne; some locations are still to be confirmed, but for now mark these dates in your diary - it would be so lovely to meet you!
Feb 3rd, Devonport Library - reserve your spot here
Feb 10th, Fullers Bookshop, Hobart
Feb 11th, Better Read Than Dead, Newtown - reserve your spot here
Feb 12th, Constant Reader, Crows Nest - reserve your spot here
Feb 17th, Melbourne
March 4th, Petrarch’s, Launceston - reserve your spot here
On January 21st, 2024, I sent a letter titled how to make space and within it I wrote:
Space is:
some sort of homely order, with less stuff to sort
getting rid of the distractions
subtracting the unnecessary
days without plans (without guilt)
less rushing, more meandering
acceptance of what is instead of striving for the ideal
And most of all, it’s laying out a blank slate and waiting patiently for whatever lands there. This year, I need a little less cortisol in my body and more salt air in my lungs. I’m curious about where this space will lead me and what it will feel like to carry less along the way.
It led me into my fourth book, which is out in all bookstores on Tuesday.
This is why it’s worthwhile writing down your thoughts and, sometimes, returning to them. There, on the page, is the tiny crumb that would become a fully formed idea and a complete book.
How do you start writing a book? You get curious, you let your mind wander, you take notes (you handwrite them, preferably).
Life at the moment is full but not busy. There’s lots of little things to be done but they are of the summer-kind and therefore, not demanding in the slightest. I walk in the morning in a t-shirt which is three-layers-less than what I wear in mid-winter. We swim each day because despite the fact that the ocean is still cold, the warm weather has only just settled here and you have to make the most of it while it lasts, otherwise you’ll slip into autumn and wish for the warmth you didn’t bask in. That is not a regret I want to carry.
So we swim and then lay in the sun and I try not to get my paperback too sandy as I listen to the sounds of waves lapping and children shrieking. I pack a glass container of summer fruit - watermelon, mangoes and berries - and I eat it with salty fingers and think: this is pure luxury.
The garden is dry already; the spring winds were relentless this year, whipping any moisture from the surface of the beds. I water the vegie beds after dinner each night; the cucumbers and zucchinis have been slow to get going, the tomatoes are on their way, I’ve been pulling vivid orange carrots from the soil, my Lavandula angustifolia (fine, highly fragrant lavender) is in full bloom and my cornflowers, their cheery yet somewhat sophisticated blue, are starting to poke through.
The days are long here, the light stretching out, the bees swarming the blossoms on the tree above the shed where the garlic is curing. I’ve pulled one bulb apart and eaten the cloves; roasted them with chicken, added them to greens in chilli oil, crushed them into bolognese. There is an uncomplicated joy in growing a garden, a constantly evolving process that is never ordered or predictable but which requires you to observe and notice closely and as you do, you breathe deeper, you settle.
Yesterday the air was briny and the northerly breeze pushed it right through the windows so wherever you stood in the house you could smell the sea and I thought of it incusing the walls (but ideally not the appliances). When I pulled the sheets off the line I buried my face in them to inhale the salty cotton, just like I used to bury my nose in the soft folds of my baby’s neck, desperate for the fleeting, intoxicating newborn scent. My teenage daughter said to me: summer just feels so full of possibility, doesn’t it? and I agreed, thinking about how lucky we are to have a summer that’s warm with a cool breeze; there is rarely a day where the heat is oppressive.
My only plans for this year are:
finish the first draft of my novel
establish more growing space for vegetables, herbs and flowers
I write these points and realise that I don’t have any plans to create more breathing space in my life because it already exists; it’s part of my days just like boiling the kettle and writing sentences and stirring whatever is cooking.
But there is one thing I want to shift and that’s my money mindset. Yes, I live frugally and the choices my partner and I have made mean that our outgoings are affordable, but this daily reality exists alongside rising costs for necessities and an undercurrent of professional uncertainty and often it feels worrisome and distracting. I’ve chosen not to collaborate with brands or use affiliate links (both of which would definitely increase my income) because I feel deeply uncomfortable about promoting products; I don’t want to actively contribute to the noise, I don’t want to normalise the excess. When you come to my work I want you to experience space, not pressure.
This thought is still embryonic but as I consider what it means and how I can change I keep returning to the concept of ‘enoughness’ which I write about in A Brain That Breathes. It’s a reliable framework for decision making and it applies seamlessly to finances because it prompts you to really define what’s enough for you to live well. Of course, this is highly subjective but I think it’s also a step towards that elusive subject of…what really matters to you? What do you believe in? What are your priorities?
Big questions that can stir feelings of overwhelm, probably too much to contemplate in the first week of January. You don’t have to make any big decisions right now, I think perhaps it’s more realistic to sit with these notions and let them spiral and meander and unfurl. Blank slates are motivating for some and daunting for others, but a handwritten list of things that feel important in the moment is the best way to collate your plans, I think. Put it on the page, come back to it later.
This year, like all years, there will be the same humdrum: the dishes, the dinner to cook (again), the fact that the electricity and water bills are due in the same week, the viruses that arrive at inopportune times, the general fed-up-ness. But then there will also be days (many of them, I hope), when your perspective isn’t so clouded by what feels most relentless, and you look past the mess to appreciate the simple good of real things: a funny joke, a look that says ‘I see you’, a delicious slice of cake, the quiet comfort of a truth realised, the completion of an arduous but satisfying task, reuniting with someone you love, celebrating another year of being here.
Sit with and notice; devotion to life in all its ordinariness. A good plan, I think.
other things
author Emily Maguire talks about creative promiscuity and unlikely connections in her keynote: Pay Attention
of course I enrolled in Charlotte Wood and Emily Perkins’ new masterclass: Elements of the Writing Life as soon as it was announced
it’s been a summer of brilliant non-fiction reading thanks to Raising Hare, A Truce that is Not Peace and Joyride
Till next week, take care x
I am waiting for your book.Love your work.
My book shipped yesterday! I bought a signed copy from booktopia. I’m very excited to read it.