Slowing

Green and red leaves flutter before my eyes as I gaze out of my stationary van window. Cars whizz by. But still, the leaves are gentle in the breeze, barely moving. 

Oh how I long to be unmoved by life, to not feel like I’m being rushed and pushed along in the inevitable busier times but instead, able to breathe into them without effort.

Nature knows, doesn’t she?

When it rains, a tree stands in the storm. Resigned. And yet, in that resignation there is no pity to be found because it is a resignation laced with kindness: 

“Well here we are. It will pass.” 

Right now I am ‘here’ … in a city picking up furniture and white goods, lost in a sea of renovations in our new (old) house in France, juggling camping out in the living room with studies and work commitments, and always fighting the desire to create and share goodness, whilst trying to give myself over fully to the quiet moments when they do appear, which might not look like creating at all.

Instead, these moments might take the shape of morning walks along new lanes talking to cows, or slowly drinking a cup of tea while staring out at an unfamilar—maybe sometime soon, familiar—view, or making time for my own daily yoga practices.

We, none of us, can do it all and when life overwhelms I believe it’s important to be gentle with ourselves and carefully consider where our energy is best directed. For me, today, the quiet moments called out for writing whilst wrapped in a blanket amidst boxes and half-painted walls and taking just a few minutes to listen to the birds singing outside of an open window. 

And being okay with that. 

There are days when I wonder why we have embarked on this project; this project of turning a house left empty for 20+ years into a home base for these wandering feet.

The other day I worked out that roughly every ten years, we do this. We tire of moving from narrowboat to van, cabin to caravan, country to country, and instead find a neglected old house to breathe some love into. We make a home for a time and marvel at stillness, bookshelves, our own washing machine, and spaces where we can each be alone.

In time, I know that here, too, will become such a place. But right now it feels daunting and overwhelming when the roof is leaking and the garden is a jungle and there are untold amounts of belongings from the previous owner in the attic that I feel compelled to sort out respectfully. And so in the quiet, slow moments, I try to be that tree in the rain and give myself over to the influence of the earth. Of life.

and breathe…

Sometimes this looks like closing my eyes and tuning into my heart for five minutes, and other times it looks like staring blankly, or listening to a story that takes me away to another world.

And today it looked like writing a blog post off the cuff whilst sitting next to an open window…

Five Days of Slow

This offering 👉 Five Days of Slow is now available as a standalone PDF download so you can enjoy it at your leisure, whenever you need to slow down. It includes:

🎥 Links to five five-minute videos from here in France with thinking points and inspirations.
✍🏻 Five journalling prompts that encourage you to explore your thoughts on slowing.
🧘 + Bonus Yin Yoga class to help you still your mind and body, and reflect on your week.

🌟 If you’re new here—welcome!—here is where you can find out a little more 👉about me. In time, I hope to know a little more about you, too.💕