My journey to a slow & simple life

and how I hope it might inspire yours

Photo by me

In 2018, during a period of intense personal and professional turmoil, life decided I needed to live it differently. In truth, my body had been telling me for a while but I hadn’t listened. Having mastered the skill of pushing on through, and imbibed the toxic liquid of expectation and responsibility until I was so drunk on it I no longer knew who I was, I had been blundering my way through life and it had taken its toll on my physical, emotional, and spiritual wellbeing.

So in 2019, with no real plan other than a knowing deep in my bones that even just to survive things had to radically change, I left the security of a well paid job without another to go to. Reckless, you might say. Brave was what some said. For me, it was simply something I had to do.

What I thought would be a few months of rest whilst deciding what next, in fact turned out to be a long period of deep recovery; of grieving the most heart-wrenching experience of my adult life, and looking closely at everything I had believed to be true about me and how life should be lived. It turned into multiple cycles of descent, death, and renewal.

I started by creating space, time space and mental space, so that I could give my body, my heart, and my spirit everything they needed. And I protected that space fiercely. I still do. I learned to slow down, to listen, notice, and pay attention.

I had to let go of a lot to do this. I live with far less money; every penny is counted and stretched to beyond an inch of its life. I’ve decluttered my life of a lot of stuff, both in my inner and outer world. I’ve let go of my heaviness, the excess weight that persistently clung to my body, along with the beliefs I persistently clung to about the world around me.

And in the space, things happened. In the less, my life became far more abundant.

I’ve watched the moon wax and wane in the sky, releasing in her fullness and awakening in her new cycle.

I’ve risen with the sun and watched as he set outside my window, him dictating the time, not the clock.

I’ve seen the river rise and fall, the trees lose and bear their fruit, and the sky go from blue to grey.

I’ve noticed the hedgehog path in the grass that we no longer concern ourselves with cutting every weekend, and watched the birds peck excitedly at the worms as we’ve done the first cut of the year.

I’ve talked with the blackbirds and the crows, gazed upwards as the peregrine falcon circles the sky.

I’ve stood to watch the heron on the canal, and not worried about my to-do list or the need to be somewhere; herons can stand still for ages you know.

I’ve picked nettles and waited patiently for them to dry so I can gently pull their seeds to store for winter.

I’ve picked up conkers and feathers, pinecones and holly leaves, things that nature has let go of, and I’ve brought them into my home, my sanctuary.

I’ve nourished my body with healthy food and time spent outdoors. I’ve nourished my heart with beautiful words; those I’ve read, heard, written, and conversed. And I’ve nourished my spirit in nature and contemplation.

I’ve made friends with elders in my community and learned from their wisdom of life; and the myriad skills I’ve garnered over my lifetime are offered wholeheartedly in a job that doesn’t sap my soul.

I’ve tended to my grief – profound personal grief, as well as the ancestral and collective we all hold. I’ve tended to my body’s ache for connection to the land, and to all that is good and natural in this world.

I have let the soft animal of my body love what it loves¹, and allowed its gentle voice to guide me along the path.

And I am softer, kinder, more compassionate, patient and understanding as a result.

Oh I have sadness and regret in my heart, but because I tend to the pain, I now also have joy and gratitude.

Grief, nature, and self-enquiry have been my biggest teachers over the last few years. And as I constantly move within theses cycles of death and rebirth, I know that life is meant to be lived simply, slowly and in deep connection with nature. When we live this way, we are able to listen, to fully listen to what our heart tells us is most important about how we walk this path of life.

And so my wish for the world is that we can all slow down, notice, and give attention to what matters most. My wish is that we can all listen deeply to the whispers; those gentle nudges that guide us to tread lightly, and to walk with kindness and compassion in a world that is crying out for more of that from all of us.

This is what my work is now, to be and do all of the above, and through my words, to inspire the same in others.  

1. These are words from the poem Wild Geese by Mary Oliver