Stay soft

I'm dreaming of a world full of relaxed women.

I worry a lot. Always have, even as a child. Some of my earliest childhood memories are of my worries—that my parents could die in a car crash, that I might turn blind, that God was displeased with me. (I grew up believing in the white-bearded, stern God who could read—and judge—our thoughts. And my thoughts were a mess. I spent most of my childhood feeling vaguely guilty at all times.)

As Mary Oliver wrote so beautifully in her poem I Worried:

I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers
flow in the right direction, will the earth turn
as it was taught, and if not how shall
I correct it?
Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,
can I do better?
Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows
can do it and I am, well,
hopeless.
Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,
am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw, dementia?
Finally, I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And gave it up. And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
and sang.

I worry about politics and the environment, about selling our house, about forgetfulness and illness. I worry about little things—what colour should I paint this wall?—and big things—Will there be another world war?—and everything in between. Are my kids and grandkids okay? Are my friends safe? Is my husband going to live another twenty years, and if he does, will he stay healthy and sane? Will I stay healthy and sane? Who will become our next Prime Minister? Are these cramps “normal” or something to worry about? What is normal, anyway?

It’s a lot. But the good thing about being such an experienced worrier is that I know how to break out of the cycle. Mary Oliver took her old body out into the morning and sang, and I’m doing the next-best thing:
Taking action. The best antidote to sitting in stunned paralysis, worries churning wildly through your panicked skull while your body is immobile, is to take action.

I can’t control if and when we sell our house, but I can paint. For the last few weeks I’ve been painting the ceilings and most of the rooms of our house, and it’s put me in an excellent mood. Not only is painting one of those tasks that has a satisfyingly impactful before-and-after effect, it also feels like I’m saying a slow, intimate goodbye to the house that has been our home for the past eight years. It’s a great house, flooded with light and warmth. It’s not the right fit for us anymore, but it will be for someone else. It feels special and sacred to get it ready for its next family.

I can’t do anything about how others live their life (nor do I want to), but I have control over how I live mine.
I want to be the kind of person I like to be around: someone who cares, who is kind, who is supportive. I try not to do what I don’t like myself: being hurtful by “just being honest”; excluding people; being petty and small-minded; regarding other people, especially other women, as competition; unloading all my problems on whoever is around without checking first if they have the capacity to listen.

There are people who make your day better simply by being themselves. People whose general outlook is more positive than negative, who are curious and open and easily amused. I love people who find humour in any situation, and who don’t feel the need to point out the negative in everything. People who take responsibility for their actions and appreciate small kindnesses. I work on myself every day to become one of those people.

I can’t change the world at large, but I can change my behaviour. One of the shifts I’m making this year is that I’m spending a lot less money on stuff. How many Stanley cups or fancy water bottles does one person need? In my case, zero Stanleys and one water bottle, and I’m better hydrated and caffeinated than most (I drink water and coffee like it’s my job).

My weakness is clothes-shopping, and I have the overflowing closet to prove it. Shopping for clothes has always been a little pick-me-up, my treat for times of stress, boredom, or a job well done. There’s nothing wrong with treating yourself, but buying yet another dress that looks similar to the ten others hanging in my closet is wasteful. Because here’s the thing: my style and size have changed little over the years, which means I own all the scrubs, flowy dresses, jeans in different cuts, and jumpsuits my little heart desires.

“Add to cart” is a habit, not a need, and I’m currently breaking that habit. It’s so easy to get caught in the cycle of working too much—feeling stressed—telling ourselves we deserve to spend our hard-earned money to treat ourselves—needing to work more to earn back the money we spent.

I don’t like being stuck in that cycle, and I absolutely despise being manipulated or controlled. The interesting thing about stepping away from it is that everything gets easier: I can work less, I have more time for the hobbies and activities that truly fulfill me, and my mind is calmer. This results in less stress, more free time, a more regulated nervous system, and more living instead of existing.

What am I doing with all that extra time? Soft things.
Wandering through forests. Doing puzzles. Baking bread. Stretching. Smiling at babies. Being amused by lambs. Writing to you. Reading. Daydreaming. Napping. Collecting stories. Folding laundry. Exchanging little gifts with creative people. Having coffee with a friend. Making blueberry muffins. Laughing. Having interesting conversations. Connecting. Cooking a big batch of meatballs. Being excited: for my first cup of coffee, spring, feeling the sun on my bare skin, seeing my grandkids, going on an adventure, decorating my new home, learning new things. Excitement is the best, and we can get excited about little things every day!

The hustle is a trap. Being exhausted isn’t a badge of honour, its an urgent sign that you need rest. Being busy is overrated.

I hope this email finds you lying on the couch, relaxing. Or it doesn’t find you at all, because you’re dancing barefoot in the forest under a canopy of trees, your phone nowhere to be seen 🌲🐿️🍄