CHANGES WE CAN ALL MAKE TO LEAN TOWARDS BALANCE

This weekend we were home, and it was perfect (even with the addition of yet another bout of colds in my household).

After my post last week about finding balance, I have made a few small adjustments in my life.

The biggest change (and surprisingly the fastest) I made was rearranging my hours at work and (thanks to a flexible work place, thank you thank you!) I now have three full weekdays home with my girls (along with weekends). This has been the biggest change, and I was surprised at just how easy it was to make. Sometimes, though, we have to try things before we realise they aren’t working.

I unfollowed over 200 people on my instagram account – mainly brands and big names that I won’t miss. I remember the early days of instagram when I would hop on and each little square that I saw would elicit a sense of connection to the person who posted it. I would usually know their name and I would comment knowing they would ‘know’ me. These days it got to the point where I would think to myself ‘who are these people!?’ This encouraged mindless scrolling, thinking there must be something of interest somewhere in my feed. I felt disconnected and the whole thing felt very random (I’m not even going to mention the ads every third post). Suddenly the people I really wanted to see were not appearing in my feed at all (thanks, algorithm). Now I’ve taken a whole lot of chatter away, I once again recognise the people in my feed.

I have declined things that I know I don’t have time for – even if they are things I enjoy. This has included sharing a market stall with one of my besties at a market I have been wanting to be a part of for a long time, attending a meditation class I know I would love, filling in for a yoga teacher I admire, and declining the opportunity to take over the specific prenatal yoga class that initially motivated me to become a yoga teacher. Some of these things have hurt! But I have to focus on my family, my writing and creative projects, and the work I can do; I can’t be everything and everywhere at once.

We are all swept away by busy-ness and many people responded to my previous post by saying there is no such thing as balance when you have small children. Part of me agrees; there’s no doubt it is easier to go with the current, for it is strong and unyielding. For me, that life is not sustainable and I reach the brink all too quickly.

There are things we can do to slow down and lean towards balance. And when you’re leaning towards balance, when you’re saying no to the extraneous, I would argue that there is more space to see the beauty in household chaos and disorder. There is heart in disharmony and we can cope. So. Is there something you can tweak in your life to make the cogs roll a little bit more smoothly?

The Work (and the Seemingly Endless Pursuit of Life Balance)

I have been speaking with friends lately about finding life balance. Some questions we have asked are: Does it exist? How do you get it? Is it ok to have passions and pursuits that are internal and just for you? [Paused this to help P with her playdough]. I haven’t written here for what feels like an eternity, though I do regularly write draft posts that never see the light of day (I currently have 145 draft posts that I have begun and discarded). So rather than begin another, you’ll know by now I whinge about this topic regularly and, what do you know, there was a post about something similar waiting patiently in the wings. I thought I’d publish it today. I wrote it last year and it was originally titled The Work.

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I was listening to a podcast recently where a writer was interviewed about the work involved in writing her first novel. It took years. Writing, rewriting, editing, pausing, submitting. It took hours each day, after other work that consumed her daylight hours. It took brain space, it took energy, it took an unending amount of commitment and will. It took sacrifice of other enjoyable things; relaxation, time with friends and family, television.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this work. At first I was relating it to my own writing pursuits, and still am. Then today as I was getting P her lunch, it dawned on me: this writer was also describing the work of motherhood. The end product of her lunch was absolutely insta-worthy. Bento serves of bits and bobs. If you saw it you’d assume the person who prepared it is a mother in control, someone who’s really got things together. In reality, her lunch took me 45 minutes to prepare. P got down from her chair 11 times (yes, I counted)*. And wanted my help each time to climb back into her chair, but at the same time she wanted to do it by herself so I was required to stand behind the chair and hold her hand while she climbed up. I walked back and forth from the kitchen, trying to put together something for her to eat from leftovers in the fridge. She ate the mandarine and the kiwi fruit. She stuck her hands in the yoghurt and smeared it on the table. She threw the vegetables on the floor and didn’t eat anything else.

This was just the work involved today in one small meal, for one small person.

Now I’m cleaning the kitchen so I can cook dinner before collecting the other two from school – I tore off my dishwashing gloves to write this. P is watching an episode of Play School and I am feeling guilty as she hasn’t watched telly for days and I was feeling good about that. All these thoughts are spinning around in my head.

And I realise. To do anything we care about, there is work. There is sacrifice. There is mind-shattering frustration. In saying that, there is nothing more important in my life than being a mother. And I don’t say that to be a saint, I say it because it’s true. I knew from an incredibly young age that I wanted to be a mum, and I never strayed from that vision. And that is why I do the work, that is why I try my hardest every day. I often get things wrong (like everyone else), but I try.

The conversations I have with other women are like sneak peeks behind the scenes. At school pick up I see smiles and sunglasses and nice jeans or swish sports clothes. But I know that behind each face are the hidden moments of loneliness, of self-deprecation, of inadequacies.

Let’s share them sometimes. Because we’re not designed to face these things alone. Just like any other great work of art, motherhood takes time, it takes brain space, it takes energy. I hope you know that, and I hope it helps you not to be too hard on yourself in those sticky moments.

* Pearl can now (finally) (usually) get up and down from her chair by herself – let’s all breathe a collective sigh of relief!

Domesticity

Sitting here, Sunday morning. Coffee. Cereal. Sunlight pouring through window onto faces of children. Dirty dishes. Discarded pyjamas.

Domesticity.

School goes back tomorrow. Today we will move our way through all the jobs Sundays require. I went through the washing basket before making my coffee this morning and found that we hadn’t yet washed the school uniforms… the washing seems to pile up so fast that often the top layers get washed but the bottom of the basket is forgotten. This is probably so unhygienic I’m not sure if I should mention it publicly. Never fear, all the uniforms are in the machine now and I’ll hang them out in front of the heater later this morning.

The girls both have holes in their navy school leggings that I put off as a school holiday job. They haven’t been mended. In January this year I bought a few metres of navy bamboo jersey material to make them new leggings. They haven’t been made.

I always look ahead to a place where there will be more time, where life will move a little slower. It seems to be an unending lesson that this time never actually comes. These holidays I have to give myself a break though, as I have not simply been contending with time; I’ve spent the entire two weeks coughing and spluttering with a second bout of a wintery virus that has its tendrils tightly wrapped within my chest.

On the long list of holiday jobs we are slowly working our way through is sorting and clearing our home as we get ready to put it on the market. A few days ago I found an old journal I wrote when I lived in London in my early 20s. Despite being excruciatingly disturbing to read, it made me realise how domesticated my life (and I) have become. The majority of its pages had me galavanting around London at night, begrudging what he said and what she said and complaining that I can’t afford to top up my phone and there’s too much plastic on the broccoli at Tesco and maybe I’ll quit my job and move to Edinburgh among a variety of other things that I’ll never mention here, or anywhere, ever. I had nothing to worry about beyond the 18p on my phone and where I was going to buy my next can of corn.

In comparison, domestic life is… what is it? It is full and busy and intense. I like to tell myself it is rarely dull, though at times when wrapped up in the cycle it can be endlessly dull and repetitive. Sometimes it seems like a ridiculous game, a never-ending attempt to reach a certain point (that never eventuates) and I wonder if I’m trapped in some sort of experiment. Eg. Once I’ve washed the dishes I’ll… or If only I could get through this washing basket, then I’ll have time for… or Once I’ve written these emails and filled out those school notices I could… and somehow (I still haven’t quite figured out how) that moment never, ever comes. If you want it, you have to allow it to barge through the wall of domesticated life. If you want to write something, make something, listen to something, you have to grab the moment by the horns and if the proverbial hits the fan, ignore it. At least, that’s the basic theory. I can’t say I have mastered it, although, I am sitting here typing so I suppose in some ways I have. The girls are all at the table with me, colouring in. Between every third word I type there is a question usually beginning with a repeated Mummyyy Mummyyy Mummyyy Mummyy if I don’t answer within the required millisecond. It’s delivered in that kind of whiny, elongated pitch, that cuts straight through your motherly ears (I know you know the tone). That’s ok. I can truly say I love this life. I love the messiness of it, the chaos. I love being around these little, crazy people, despite it being the most exhausting, all-consuming, insane thing I have ever done. I love hearing their conversations, I love organising their things and planning out activities, birthdays, clothing, food. I love cuddling them and reading them books from my childhood, reliving them through their eyes and minds. I love the safety and cosiness of family, of a solid family unit. I love all the nerdy things associated with motherhood: meal planning, wardrobe organising, sewing lists. Sometimes I wonder if I am really an 80 year old trapped in this 36 year old body.

I know that by the time I have figured all this out, my girls will be grown and this brief window of my life will be over. Most days I don’t give it a second thought, I just move with the motions. But now and again I try to tune in, to pay attention. Because domestic life may be inane at times, but I don’t want to miss a second of it.

In an hour or so we will head off to the farmers market and stock up for the week. I don’t know what we’ll cook this week. I’ve been so unwell that we haven’t eaten very well or cooked much over the holidays. The day will flow on as all days do. We will try to make sense of the messiness, and then we will let it go.

Three… A Birthday

Baby P is turning THREE.

I can’t believe it. Some birthdays seem to fly by, unnoticed. For some reason this third birthday is playing on my mind. Age three seems to signify something… saying a final farewell to babyhood, looking ahead to the beginning of kinder, which inevitably leads to school, and on and on and on. Perhaps it is because P is my last baby, and we are now moving into a new phase of our lives as parents. Things do seem different without a baby for the first time in many, many years.

I want to say that time seems to fly by, but I don’t want to because it is so utterly cliche I can’t bring myself to. But it does, doesn’t it? I’m hearing everyone around me saying, “I can’t believe it’s already June!” and realise I am thinking it too. Where has the year gone?

For P’s birthday I’m keeping things ultra simple. When I’m thinking about presents I always try to stick to something I want, something I need, something to wear, something to read. So far I have the want which is a little collection of sea animals for a small world play scenario. I bought them from a local shop but they are the same as these ones which I was eyeing off online before I stumbled across them in person. The need gift will be a new bike helmet which is still on the to-do list. For wear I am in the process of making this popcorn kotori cardi, however I have just run out of wool! I have enough left to finish the edging – but not the sleeves… so she may have to be given it as a vest and when more wool arrives I will fix it up. Something to read is still up in the air, probably an Alison Lester book, I will never tire of them.

I want to enjoy our birthdays instead of being swept up in the frenzy of it; cleaning the house, making the cake, racing around buying gifts, deliberating over how and when to celebrate and if it involves other people – sweating over the details of the food and the state of the house and so on.

So here’s to not sweating the small stuff, and to my third baby turning three… how lucky am I.

That Elusive Thing Called Balance

Sitting Down, Stopping, Staying Still. These are all things I am trying to practice. It has been a long time since I’ve written here. I have drafted a few posts, but for the most part I have simply not been able to find the time. After finishing Yoga Teacher Training last year I promised myself that 2018 would be the year of routine, of slow. I wanted to have a breather and get into a run of the mill schedule that included a bit of work, school drop offs and pick ups, family time, time for cooking and the farmers market and of course craft and cups of coffee. Nothing big. Nothing busy. Plain old pure normal.

I have managed to incorporate most of these things into my life. All good things. I’ve somehow landed an incredible job at a not-for-profit that is truly family friendly. I’m job sharing with another mum of three, working the amount I want and I love it. I’m making and selling things. I’m teaching yoga. I went to the farmers market on the weekend. We spend lots of time in the country on weekends. We have chickens and a veggie patch. But after five months of trying to do it all I have realised that life can’t be contained. Things come up. Physical things. Scheduling issues. Emotions. Time or a perceived lack of it.

Truth is, I am exhausted.

And I’m still searching for that elusive thing called balance. It has to be out there, right? I feel as though I am in a constant battle with time. Each day I get up, fight with time, feel disgruntled at the lack of it, and go to bed. I stay up late to try to do things, to have time to myself. Each morning I wake tired and do it all again. That all sounds very bleak and of course I smile and do good things with my days and for the most part I am happy. But I can’t help but feel I spend more time chasing than being.

In a bid to encourage myself to slow down, to do one task at a time instead of racing time every day, I was standing with P by the school gate this morning after drop off, watching a digger move dirt. A Mum I am getting to know tapped me on the shoulder looking rushed and tired. We had been passing each other in the playground and managing nothing more than a quick “hi!” for weeks. She has been working four days a week during school hours since the start of the year, thinking it would be a good balance being there for the kids in the morning and afternoon. She’s exhausted. She can’t get everything done around the house on her one day off and she feels as though everything outside of work is just falling to pieces.

Another friend of mine has been struggling with a sick husband and sick kids during the seasonal shift, while trying to balance studying full time. She told me she woke up at 2am the other night and got out of bed to wash the lunch boxes and do the kids’ school lunches for the next day to save her time in the morning.

I can relate to all this so well. I don’t know many parents who feel as though they have struck the perfect balance between work, parenting and life. Who are able to pay the bills with ease and just sail on through. I’m sure these people are out there. But from my observation the majority of us are struggling to do everything.

I’ve complained about this before, no doubt. And I am a believer in not thinking we have to do everything. I’m realising though there’s a gap between believing in something and actually playing it out each day in your own life. This transition can require a cultural shift within the family, it means pulling away from things, getting rid of the “shoulds”. We are figuring this out in our family, slowly, slowly.

Balance… where are you, really?

Immersion in the Present

Time is passing. There is only now and now and now. With young children it can be easy to daydream through the motions: the feeding, the dressing, the herding. I’ve been reading Buddhism for Mothers of Schoolchildren and have been reminded yet again of “and this.” I find myself quoting as I pack the school lunches, as I wipe the daily grit from our old table, as I fold (or not fold) the washing, as I pull a tearful little face to my chest after a fall: And this. And this. And this. There is only ever this. At first I wondered if it only served to remind me of the monotony and take me, unwillingly, away from my airy thoughts, but with practice I have seen it bring me back into the moment, to ground me.

Over Winter I have been immersed in thought, in yoga study, in reading, in thinking. Perhaps this is nothing new (for me) but with the addition of yoga I have felt growth within myself that has surpassed all other things.

As I type, the littlest wanders over with a shell. I hold it to her ear. “Listen,” I say, “can you hear the sea?”

And this.

I sip my coffee.

And this.

Over the weekend we went to Apollo Bay and I attended a whole day workshop with Melbourne writer, Arnold Zable. The parallels between yoga and writing were illuminated as I listened to his words: “To be a writer, you have to be here, you have to be mindful, grounded. You have to witness.” Because if you aren’t there to witness something, to witness it deeply and fully, then to capture that moment in words later is going to leave you unreliable; the moment dulled through the fog of your inattention.

So go out and allow yourself to see. Notice the way the morning light hits the edges of a plant in your window. See the wisp of hair on your child’s forehead and know its habit to swing this way, or that. Feel the crackle of eucalyptus leaves beneath your feet, the solidity of your legs, your body moving through air – feel it as though you are moving through water, or soup. Step outside in the fading light and smell your neighbour’s open fire, smell the chill of the evening, the dampness of the soil.

And lastly, this: Xavier Rudd singing out from my computer speakers: Cherish this moment. Cherish this breath.

Bringing in the Weekend

It is a sunny winters day today. The girls are on the couch watching Play School in their pyjamas and I’m gearing up to clean their bedrooms. The smallest is sitting next to me doing some drawing and intermittently yelling at me if I don’t take a texta lid off fast enough. I’m finishing my luke warm coffee and knowing my time sitting is coming to an end.

Today we’re doing some tidying, meal planning, and a few other bits and pieces before heading to our local Winter Solstice later this afternoon. Things have been incredibly busy lately with both KB and I writing reports or marking for school/uni and we’ve barely had time to take a breath. I’m not someone who thrives on busy-ness, I much prefer white space in life and do almost anything I can to preserve it. Lately that has been impossible, contradicting almost everything I’m learning at Yoga Teacher Training! But it has provided me with a different platform to practice my learnings, and I suppose a window into what normal life would be like for many of my future students, who may or may not have an awareness of the importance of creating space in life, let alone the tools to do it.

So I have a toddler on my lap now, precariously lashing out at my keyboard, which means this post is coming to an early end. I’m off to tidy, potter and think about how I can carve out some time (because to carve out time is sometimes necessary when finding time is difficult) in these remaining short days to think about how to move forward as our days begin to stretch out and lengthen once again.

What are you letting go of this Winter Solstice? What are you moving towards?

Meal Prepping


Our weekly organic veg box arrived earlier this week. I haven’t been meal planning lately and have been wasting a lot of food as a result. It makes me cringe each and every time I find some godawful thing at the back of the fridge that was a vegetable in a previous life. We updated our budget recently and I am on a mission not to waste anything (not just for the sake of the budget, but also because it is just plain terrible to waste food!). I’ve also gone through my (makeshift) pantry (I don’t have a real one…) and have discovered all sorts of things like quinoa, dried chickpeas and adzuki beans, falafel mix, dried shitake mushrooms, among other bits and pieces.

When I’m on a mission (and have the time) there are a few key things I like to do when our veg box arrives to get things sorted and minimise waste. So the other night, when most of my brain was voting for me to go to bed with my laptop to watch Outlander, I:

:: chopped up a giant bunch of silverbeet and another giant bunch of spinach and washed it all thoroughly in a sink full of cold water. I blanched it until bright green then froze in portion-sized batches to use in soups, curries, stir-fries; as you would use any other frozen vegetable.

:: popped a fresh bunch of coriander in a jar of water in my fridge.

:: chopped up an abundance of sweet potatoes and potatoes into little bite size pieces and roasted them with a few dregs of mixed spices (rosemary, oregano, thyme) plus a squeeze of fresh lemon (finally got through them all!) and some salt and pepper. I divvied them up into a container for my lunch at work, a container in the fridge for snacking on or eating with lunches, and also threw some on top of our bowls of spaghetti. I’ve still got a lot more, I will roast some whole to eat with salad and kim chi for lunch, and make some into a mash to have with… something…

:: cleaned out the crisper and neatly arranged all the other produce in a way that was visually pleasing. Ok, so I just wiped it out and then plonked the new veggies in… but that didn’t sound as good.

Yesterday I pushed on and made another orange blossom cake (we have so many oranges suddenly!) for afternoon teas this week… unfortunately, as it is cooked with almond meal, I can’t send it to school or kinder due to nut policies. OH, and as a precursor to this I made my own almond/flaxseed meal, making sure to add a little extra in order to have some leftover to sprinkle on morning oats. It is always best to prepare this fresh yourself, if possible, as it goes rancid very quickly.

I also cooked up some of the dried adzuki beans I’d found in my cupboard. I set aside some for the vegetarian pasta sauce Bird and I ate for dinner last night (meat sauce for the other three), I froze some in batches, and lastly made an adzuki bean hommus which I personally thought was italics worthy delicious. Unfortunately, the girls italics hated it, the baby even went so far as to burst into tears after I spooned a taste lovingly into her mouth. Bird turned to me and said, “What we’re trying to say is, it’s a bit strong tasting.” Enough said, I will, without complaint, proceed to eat the entire batch on my own… with corn chips, preferably.

Last but not least I used all the stalks and roots of the spinach and other leftover veggies from last week to make a vegetable stock paste. Hashtag, no waste!

I have to say, I’m super impressed with my efforts. It does take time and energy to eat wholefoods and prepare things from scratch. I don’t always have the time, or the inclination. But when I get on a roll, it is very satisfying. I find the most important things to do are to get the big leafy greens into some form that makes it easier for me to grab and eat, as these tend to be the veggies I pretend to ignore when I open my fridge (so much effort, not my favourite to eat, but so so good for our bodies). Blanching and freezing works best for us. I also find herbs keep longer if you pop them in a jar of water. Other than that, chopping and having things ready to use helps as well. I’m sure you all have many tricks of your own, feel free to share in the comments, I’m always interested to hear how others manage their food.

A Slow Start

It’s Wednesday yet it feels distinctly like a Monday. With school holidays, three weeks off work due to the uni break, Easter, an operation, three trips in and out of Melbourne (for fun) and a seasonal change to boot, the last month has seemed like a circus. A mainly good and fun and happy circus, but a circus nonetheless.

Bird went to school for one day after Easter before having grommets in and adenoids out last week. A big week but overall, a success. That afternoon as we sat in recovery she looked at me and said, “Mum, everything is so loud!” After five years of hearing and congestion difficulties, I breathed a sigh of relief. For all the anxiety that had come in making that decision, will we, won’t we, will we, won’t we; in that moment, it was worth it.

She went back to school today and I’m back to teaching tomorrow and kinder is back and KB is at work and, as such, our life will start to resemble normality once again. No more late nights, dinner when we feel like it, pyjama days or nicking off to the country… at least, not during the week for the time being. Weekends are another story.

Last night I lay in bed as the night folded around us. I heard the flow of gentle breath coming in waves from all except me. My breath was full and awake at the midnight hour, though in the daylight, I long for sleep.

And such is motherhood, flowing from one moment to the next, the uncertainty coming in ebbs and flows, the solidity of our day to day routines seemingly fluid yet always constant and neverending.

Today, we took things slowly on our first morning back. We hung around at school chatting to parents, and worked our way back home to a hot cup of coffee, babycinos and a moment around the table cutting out pictures of dragons and making people out of toilet rolls with sticky taped wool for hair. We are heading off to swimming lessons now.

Even though the routine is back and a rhythm will once again be in place, I welcome it. Sometimes it’s nice to have something to rely on.

(Oh, and I baked a cake… this simple, delicious, refined sugar and dairy free orange blossom cake.)

Finding Balance

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And just like that, it is February. I find it so strange that the months can sail by, unnoticed. Soon the leaves will start to show the signs of Autumn and the wind will offer us a subtle shift; a coolness that we may miss if we aren’t paying attention. Our minds, too, without assistance from us, will turn towards the quieter things, the warm and nourishing things, the things that find us inside in the afternoons, staring out our windows to watch the wind whip up the trees. We will dim the lights and light the candles which will lead us gently into muted evenings and then: Winter.

And on and on it goes.

The only thing we can possibly do in amongst it all is to slow ourselves down, calm and hush our own thoughts, remind ourselves of the things that matter.

I broke a bowl yesterday, a Peter Rabbit bowl given to the baby for her first birthday from my Dad and Step Mother. I was putting the coconut oil away and as I went to place it on the shelf, I slipped and dropped it. It landed largely and loudly on the bowl which was waiting to be washed on the kitchen bench. Almost in slow motion I watched as it fell to the ground and smashed, unable to do anything to stop it. Tears came out of no where and filled up my eyes as I swept it up and tipped it, unceremoniously, into the rubbish bin.

I still have my own Peter Rabbit bowl from when I was a baby, and I wanted desperately to give little Peach her own baby bowl when she was an adult, like my mum did for me when I had my first baby. I wondered how my mum kept my bowl unharmed all those years, and use it with trepidation, often for the older children and not the baby which it was intended for (which also makes me wonder if I am missing the point – shouldn’t it be used and used well!?). But Mum also repeatedly tells me something that her mother told her when she broke or lost something special: It’s Just A Thing. I said it to myself over and over yesterday as I cleaned up the mess I had made and used the back of my hand to wipe away my wasted tears.

In time, I’ll forget about the broken bowl, the lost things, the tidying up, the school drop offs, the nagging, the rushing, the overarching messiness of life. So often the things we think are important aren’t the things that stay with us years later, they aren’t the things that comfort us in times of trouble or give us feelings of love and importance and gratitude and value. Am I going to care in ten years time about the morning that it took me fifteen minutes to get Bird to put her shoes on? Um, no. But at the time it certainly feels valid and important.

Over time I’m slowly learning what is important and what isn’t, in that moment, rather than in hindsight, and as our family grows our values change and adjust to accomodate balancing the needs of our little people alongside ourselves. As I rush from here to there with a baby on my hip and a four year old running ahead of me chasing her big sister into the school gates, as I run around the kitchen as though I’m chasing a world record, as I let the clock manage my days, as I fall about in a heap at 5pm when I haven’t planned our multiple vegetarian/dairy free/ketogenic dinners, as I flop onto my back on my bed at night and stare up at the ceiling, exhausted, feet aching, wondering what, exactly, I achieved that day – what I did that was good, that was important, that was real – it has made me think a lot about our culture of busy-ness and rushing and the meaning and value we (for some reason) derive from being busy. It often seems like busy is the new good.

How are you?

Busy! Ha ha la la!

Sound familiar?

It’s slow and gruelling work going against the grain, having thoughts that don’t seem to be the norm, fighting against invisible rules and running from invisible law enforcers. The biggest fight though is one against yourself, pulling and tugging at those fibres in your brain that tell you what to do and how to be, seemingly always dodging around the why and hoping you won’t notice.

Sometimes it feels like it would be easier just to go along with the rest, to be busy and not care, to chock your time full of everything you possibly can and then complain along with the rest of the doers, leaving any conversation about the real things that matter behind. But for me, it doesn’t bring much joy, I like having spare time, I like being at home and, most importantly, I like to think that there is a different way to live. I like to think that as I learn that new way, I can also teach it to my children so they grow up realising they don’t have to be busy to be of value, they don’t have to rush to be important. I want them to learn a different way.

The only issue is I have to learn it myself to be able to teach it and that, my friends, is always a work in progress.

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