we're inundated with choice and it's overwhelming us
simple things have strong, grounding roots
Has the world ever been more uncertain that it is now? I don’t think so. Alongside our collective catastrophic ache, we’re all still navigating the everyday stuff that feels overwhelming too. There’s not a bear prowling through the trees but it’s highly likely there’s a schedule that prompts you to take a sharp inhalation before moving on with what’s most pressing.
Give me the book, bath, warm drink, soft blanket, dim lighting, soothing music, please. I say this and I’m well aware that we can’t live everyday in a cocoon, shielded from what’s normal and necessary. But having these things on hand so we can soften throughout the day? Essential, in my opinion.
I’ve spent so much of this week online, as is part and parcel of book publicity. My shoulders have been creeping higher and my attention span is quickly disintegrating. My mind skips between apps and screens (it’s a habit known as ‘digitally switching’) and I feel the exhaustion settling on my brow; it’s both a dull heaviness and a hyper-vigilant scanner. It does not feel nice, it does not feel right and it doesn’t make me feel well.
We are human and we weren’t designed for an online life that promotes 24-hour consistency. I lie in bed each night and feel the tension of a body and mind that’s holding tight to expectations and obligations, trying to tick all the boxes. I’m planning an instagram hiatus part-way through July and throughout August to reset (my attention, mostly).
When we punctuate our busy days with intentional softness and stillness, we’re creating a mini reset so we can come back to the body and the breath. It’s what I’ve been reverting to when I can no longer think straight: very intentionally stepping away from the laptop and phone, going to the garden, to the ocean, turning my face to the sky. Walking where possible, savouring hot tea, letting my tongue fall down from the roof of my mouth. Talking with a friend, slowly washing the dishes in the morning sun, reading immersive novels. These things help me come back to myself. They are small and simple but they have strong, grounding roots.
When we’re overwhelmed we forget that the smallest and simplest of habits can be deeply meaningful. They can carry us through all the hard stuff. Of course, when our brains are spinning and we feel like we’re constantly playing catch-up, we crave big life change and in the same moment, recognise that it’s probably not going to eventuate. This is a quick thought: a wish for a 180 degree pivot and the acceptance that it would be far too much work. Usually we give up and keep trundling along but what we really need is a gentle reminder to stop for ten minutes and breathe deep, reach our arms up to the sky and turn away from screens…a little voice to remind us what the next step is. Our perspective gets muddied so easily.
I think so much of our personal and collective overwhelm exists because we are inundated with choice. I know that when I’m busy and distracted, it’s difficult to maintain a thrifty mindset and I suppose that’s capitalism working as intended. I’m sure your inbox, like mine, is full of sale notifications and while it is a good time of year to buy what you need, it’s also easy to be lured into what isn’t very necessary.
I was about to buy new underwear (there was a $110 shopping cart waiting for me to checkout) but then I did a big load of washing instead and figured that 8 pairs of undies is plenty. Since then, I’ve been shown every underwear brand - and all the bottoms - via instagram ads and I’ve been reminded via email that there’s items in my cart and still, my resolve has remained steady. It feels like a small frugal win.
But also, why are some pairs of (very normal looking) underpants now $80? And why is there a debate between brands as to whether cotton or bamboo or some modern form of eco-silk is better?
This is one reason why we’re all so overwhelmed, because even choosing what undies to buy (if we want to make a conscious decision) requires many steps. We have so much choice but that’s not a good thing because if we’re conscious consumers, we want to make the best decision for our budget, the environment and longevity. And so we spend hours thinking about what is better and what is best and that decision making process gets added to the mental load that we already carry; it squeezes it’s way into the minimal mental space we have and lodges there until we do something about it.
Granted, when uncertainty is the undercurrent of our days, a supportive pair of briefs that cover and support and hold you, are a prerequisite for normal life. But my brain doesn’t need to spend so much time working out what brand, style, colour, cost best works for me right now, even if there is a 40% off sale.
This is why it’s easier to make do with what you’ve got. It saves money and a whole lot of time and mental to-ing and fro-ing. It allows you to live lighter — literally and metaphorically.
A few months ago I mentioned that I would probably stop walking in the early morning come wintertime because the cold is so abrasive. But what I hadn’t considered is that I’ve acclimatised to this island and now waking in the dark and walking while the moon and the stars are still in the sky is one of my favourite things. This morning I walked the beach at dawn and the tide and the clouds were low. It was just Sandy and I and she chased the gulls while I looked out to sea where there was no real distinction between the water and the sky. It was blurry and quiet and cold.
There are so few opportunities for quiet in our lives so of course we have to be intentional with creating it. I think one of the biggest, surest steps we can take is to turn away from screens and go outside. And if that isn’t possible, retreat to your cocoon; the part of your home that is warm, cosy and soft.
Resetting with stillness and quiet isn’t another choice you need to make; it’s actually what you need to live well in a busy world.
ICYMI:
other things
if beautiful sentences and remote island life in Wales is your kind of thing, please read the slim but deeply immersive novel Whale Fall
I wrote about cosleeping for
and matrescence for Women’s Agendathis week was the final in what will hopefully be a short hiatus for my favourite book podcast, Read This. It features NZ author Catherine Chidgey and host Michael Williams raised the very valid point: why don’t Australians read more NZ authors? Huh! I always recommend Emily Perkins’ The Forrests and Lioness but that’s about the extent of my NZ literary suggestions (Aue and Birnam Wood are currently unread on my bookshelf). Chidgey recommended Damien Wilkins’ Delirious so that’s now on my library holds list.
how to prepare for postpartum without a village (I think this is probably the number one question when it comes to new parenthood)
Till next time, take care x
Re. Why aussies don’t read more NZ books — I’m currently reading The Bone People by kiwi author Keri Hulme. It’s so beautiful. There’s also a sequel to Aue which is waiting to be read on my shelf too :)
I can’t wait to receive your book! I eagerly check the mailbox for it everyday. Congratulations again xx