But ... what are you going to do next?

(Please don't call me a lady of leisure)

Photo by Noemí Jiménez on Unsplash

The house today smells of spices, a subtle perfume lingering after the kitchen has been wiped down: nutmeg, cinnamon, cumin. Top notes of lemon, parsley, garlic. A Persian Love Cake is cooling on the bench, awaiting a topping of marscapone studded with pistachio and pomegranate kernels. In the fridge, a whole chicken is marinating in our favourite Palestinian-inspired flavours, chunks of leg lamb soak in the first of two marinades, and a mograbieh (Lebanese pearl couscous) salad tempts my tastebuds. I am sipping ginger flames tea, uplifting and refreshing, making notes for this post. Later this afternoon our adult children and extended family will descend on the house for an Easter feast, but for now, our preparations are done, the Weber awaits, and we are free to potter and rest. Almost. It is time for the lamb’s second marinade - a thick mix of Greek yoghurt mixed with curry, cumin and chilli.

Earlier we walked on the beach, where the ocean was flat as a sheet; ahead of us, the sand was imprinted in thousands of footsteps and stories, and the uninterrupted coastline beckoned us south. Our feet in the Autumn-cooling water, we talked about

Saved by Grace

’s latest post ‘Money, money, money …’, and how the mindset of scarcity makes itself felt in our lives even when we don’t want it to.

Money, money, money.....

The post struck a chord because I am in the process of scaling back work - let’s call it a sabbatical - a life choice we both want to make work for us. It’s a test - can we learn to live on less? We are trusting that this experiment will lead us to the wholehearted life we want, a simpler yet joyful life where we have less money but equally, less racing around.

A has always said that I should step back from work first, but recently, I have started to think that perhaps now is the time to make our dream escape to the country a reality so we can both slow down. Why don’t we? Why haven’t we? It’s a complex push-pull of wanting to live somewhere quieter, but not wanting to move far away from the adult kids, A’s ageing parents and the airport that will take me to my ageing parents across the country. And then there’s the job situation - if we move, we will both need to find part-time work, which isn’t as easy in the country. It’s hard to let go of a scarcity mindset when it’s embedded in the way you’ve grown and shaped.

But we keep coming back to this:

“At what point do we face up to the fact that the time we have left is a lot less than the time we’ve already had and consider changing our outlook on money, saving, spending, investing and accumulating altogether?” - Saved by Grace

We haven’t finished with this conversation yet and something tells me that we are both getting better at ignoring the anxiety of scarcity, and turning that simmering pot of what ifs … into excited, abundant what ifs!! This is confirmed when a friend, who lives in the town we want to move to, invites us to make use of his house while he travels overseas for six weeks. By the end of the weekend, we have decided to take our generous friend up on his offer for a weekend or two … and get an updated house valuation.

“Stop shouting, “What if?” and just take a leap of faith.”
― Haemin Sunim, The Things You Can See Only When You Slow Down: How to be Calm in a Busy World

Turn off the alarm

I am sitting at my desk, pondering the question I have probably been asked fifty times since I tendered my resignation. Outside, a ringneck parrot is perched in the Fremantle mallee that overhangs our washing line; its green and blue tail bobs up and down. At 30C, it is unseasonably warm for this late in April, although summer is increasingly reluctant to let go these past few years. This morning, we drove 45 minutes south to another coastal track to walk among revegetated dunes as waves crashed onto the shore. We marvelled at the turquoise waters, the perfect tunnels created by breaking waves, a family of orb spiders in a peppermint tree. At the halfway point, we picnicked on Turkish bread filled with sweet leg ham and nutty camembert, and on the way home, we came across a mob of kangaroos, lazing in a park, gazing at two curious humans without a care. The epitome of a slow life.

Melros Beach Walk

Now, home again, the salt has been washed from my skin and my urban backyard is my vista, all green and gold, breezy and bright. Two willy wagtails give chase, a high-speed love pursuit. A red capped parrot lands in the golden leaves of the apricot. The weather station spins, and I hope it will soon spin the air into a day of soaking rain.

I pull my focus back to the question: what are you going to do next? It’s a difficult one to answer in a way that satisfies many questioners because I don’t exactly have a plan yet. Yes, there are many things I would like to do. Many things I hope to incorporate into my week: more writing, plus holding workshops and retreats, a craft-for-the-soul group … as well as my other just-for-me creative: sewing, baking bread, gardening, photography, watercolour painting. And there are the ordering things: “spring cleaning” my kitchen and pantry cupboards and wardrobe, readying my tax documents for the end of the financial year. The sorting and checking and stocking.

Sometimes, I tell my best friend of more than three decades, I feel as if people want me to justify why I am making this choice. Why I am stepping back from paid work and accepting a season of less. Why I am rebelling against the push to make more, consume more, take more, do more. And I cringe when people jokingly add ‘lady of leisure’ to the question: What are you going to do when you’re a lady of leisure? There’s no lady of leisure about it, I want to say. Just trying to ‘argue’ this point in my head to an imaginary person makes me grit my teeth. It’s insulting. It reminds me of people asking, ‘Oh, you’re a writer? Would you have written anything I would have read?” And yet, I smile and let go of the expectation that they understand. I can no more control what they think than I can the rain.

Perhaps the question is, she said after a moment, what’s the first thing you will do with this sabbatical?

Turn off my alarm, I said.

Photo by bruce mars on Unsplash

Un-busy

I have a lot I want to do.

But first I need to learn to un-busy.

To re-set my busy mind.

Although I am still going through the motions of waking up, going to work, my heart is calling me to prepare. I find myself drawn towards books that touch on similar themes of slowing down, simplifying; these books are like magnets and I don’t know I’m looking for them until I see them. I realise, after a trip to the library and another to a charity shop, that I am curating a pile of slow reads to help me re-set into this coming, exciting season. Here are a few on my bedside table:

• Care by

  Brooke McAlary

• Practising Simplicity: Small steps and brave choices for a life less distracted by

  Jodi Wilson

• The Things You Can See Only When You Slow Down: How to be Calm in a Busy World by Haemin Sunim

• Rituals for Every Day by Nadia Narain and Katia Narain Phillips

• Something More: Excavating Your Authentic Self by

  Sarah Ban Breathnach

• Romancing the Ordinary: A Year of Simple Splendor by

  Sarah Ban Breathnach

• A Year of Nothing by

  Emma Gannon

“Wisdom is not something we have to strive to acquire. Rather, it arises naturally as we slow down and notice what is already there.”
― Haemin Sunim, The Things You Can See Only When You Slow Down: How to Be Calm in a Busy World

When I am ready, I will write. I have put it out there that I want to write another book, one about my own journey with burnout, reconnection with my creative self, about choosing to live an (extra) ordinary life. Some months ago, after my mother-in-law and fellow muser

Teena Raffa-Mulligan

said: “I read your lovely post. It occurs to me you may not have been writing a novel but you are writing a book. And it will touch the creative soul of those who read it.”

I want to collaborate with other writers here on Substack with a yet-to-be-named series, starting by sharing some interviews from my blog like this one with

Lorena Carrington

. I’m also planning to create an online gathering place for my paid subscribers where we can share prose and conversation.

And I have a dream about creating a real gathering space. Once I thought this would take the shape of a bookshop - I even had a name picked out (I’m saving it, just in case). Now my vision is shifting and I see creative souls coming together to slow down, share stories and create. Yesterday, we saw a house for sale with a separate workshop and studio - with a bit of work, it could be just right. Yes, there are glimmers of possibility opening as our real estate journey morphs from scrolling down online listings. Our minds are opening to compromises and different perspectives, working out what are deal-breakers and what just needs time.

There are still six weeks to go at work, I tell A. It seems so long since I leaped. And it has been - I resigned in February and would have been finishing next week if I hadn’t offered to stay another month.

You know, you don’t need to stay on until the end of May, he says.

And suddenly I find myself agreeing to finish earlier than planned.

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