small pleasures in a slow week
+ my new non-fiction book (an announcement, of sorts)
If you’re in the northern hemisphere, you may like to return to an old post:
You know winter has arrived when the windows start crying. The full moon pushed extra light through the slip in the curtain this morning and when I walked it illuminated the white seagulls, bobbing dots on an otherwise inky sea.
I should have known that being smug enough to detail my ‘ideal’ daily writing routine would result in a week where life wriggled its way in to disrupt almost every precious hour. On Tuesday morning I was at my local ABC studio to discuss making change and feeling uncertain on Life Matters. It amazes me that eight years on I’m still talking about our decision to sell most of what we owned and travel in a caravan. Yes, it was a huge risk (we used money that we’d been saving for a house deposit to buy the caravan and 4WD) and for the most part, we had no idea what we were doing; we very much learnt along the way, step by little, tentative step. I think it was probably the biggest and riskiest choice I’ve ever made – and also the best one. As I mentioned in the interview, it went on to kickstart my publishing career which I never anticipated but which I will always cradle a deep sense of gratitude for.
On Wednesday I left my desk because every word was strained and I drove into town to collect the groceries and pick up some books from the library. By evening my nose was dripping and I had a fever. The sniffles I tended to last week caught up with me just as the rain started falling outside and I spent a few days in and close to bed, sleeping and reading and sipping tea and soup.
I went through a whole box of tissues and the dog stole the scrunched balls to tear apart, so by the next day the floorboards were decorated in white strips. I vacuumed, I washed clothes, I rubbed papaya ointment into the dry skin around my nose. Here we are, in winter.
I mean, I felt dreadful but a bad cold is totally manageable if I think back to how hard it was to be sick while breastfeeding or tending to young children. You never forget the almighty challenge of that. And perhaps that’s why I prioritise caring for myself in small, meaningful ways but also preparing for weeks like I’ve just had, so there’s herbal tea in the cupboard, chicken soup in the freezer, and a reliable stock of lemons, garlic and ginger — because it makes being sick that much easier.
Seasonal preparation grounds us in the moment but it also ensures we’re thinking slightly ahead so we can be held when we have the least energy. I tend not to even think that much about it now, it’s just something I do but that’s only because I’ve had years of practice; rituals deeply ingrained.