Months ago, husband and I scoured our west coast map for unseen places, zoning in on Glenelg. We went last week, exhilarated by the drive over The Ratagan Pass which had us whooping, awe-filled and delighted about the backseat being uncharacteristically empty so nobody was chucking up.
It was a flying visit, but a great place for orientation with Skye as the Arnisdale shore’s just 600m across the water. Glenelg’s history’s fascinating – and prescient. We’ll be back in future to bag the ferry crossing and drive up to Elgol (and whoop more).
What’s that? You need more #52and40 goodness in your consciousness? Clickety click here then, you brilliant, curious soul.
Years ago, while reading about dog training, I learned the phrase, ‘pressure creates counter pressure’. I was struggling with our then enormous puppy pulling on the lead. The phrase underlined my feeling that yanking back was only making my arm hurt more and my stress levels soar. So I stopped yanking back. Disengaged from negativity. Got used to standing, waiting for fresh eyes and curiousity. Eventually, it worked.
Scotland’s at a crossroads about whether, among other things, we value evolving multi-culturalism over a United Kingdom. Yes or No.
Pressure and counter pressure.
What’s all this #52and40 malarky about then? Find out here.
I’ve been a whirling dervish of clearing productivity. I’ve been thinking of the future and where we might be in five years time when, in all likelihood, the kids will be doing a lot more of their own things and none of us will need to live near school anymore. I’ve also been thinking about not getting too fixated on the future as well, lest I forget that actually, today’s the day we’re guaranteed so the happiness of now is much more important than perceived ideas of what might yet come. Tricky, isn’t it? You don’t want to take actions which scupper future choices but equally, a life lived in fear of hindsight is hellishly restrictive.
Anxiety about trying to control known and unknown variables kicking your arse as you move forward is never a great progress companion, I’ve found. As with most things, maybe the best approach is just to find a balance between planning and the now and maintain that as joyfully as possible, deleting unnecessary positivity-sucking-crap wherever it lurks and factoring generous margins for spontaneity into adaptable plans for the longer term.
One thing I am sure about for the future, however, is I want to own less. My first ten years of coupledom & parenthood had a definite theme of accumulation. By contrast,these last ten have moved onto a mind trajectory of simplification. That said, god knows we’ve individually and unitedly self sabotaged along the way – a new dog the size of a small horse, anyone? Old house at the very outer reaches of our budget to renovate rather than new house to simply enjoy and branch out from? Oh yes. Hello to you, contradictions.
An upside I didn’t see coming a few years back and have found out through daftness, I guess, is necessity really is the mother of invention. Too skint to buy a garden trellis that would mean more flowers to look at in summer? That’s a thought that lead me to up-cycle an old bunk bed step ladder I found behind a shed. Neither the looking nor the thought would have happened without the need. With cash for the trellis I’d have gone to the garden centre and bought one with decidedly less quirk. I know which trellis feels more like me.
[Side bonus: one less thing for landfill, too.]
Creativity’s like blowing into a Fairy liquid bubble cluster with a straw – each breath pops more bubbles up, sometimes huge, sometimes small. All that’s required is energy, space, inclination and wonder; the willingness and the audaciously human playfulness to still see a bubble and all its irridescent, cheap-as-chips-lustre as wonderful. If you can do that in the face of a world telling you to be serious, scared and reactive I say you’re winning because it certainly makes me feel like I am.
But back to the clearing. In the last seven days I’ve battled and won in the following cupboards;
Ovenware. Turns out that as we are not bakers we do not need 5 loaf tins, 16 muffin trays or 42 different shaped cake tins. Revelations!
Mugs – two varieties, only one of which was in a cupboard. Firstly, the corporate logo emblazoned type of coffee mug husband brings home from work promos and sticks in the cupboard till they’re all jostling like a cuppy version of a coin spilling machine at an arcade. Secondly, the facial type of mug. I’ve pretty much removed myself from Instagram for now – my feed suddenly seemed to become more faces than places and things and, lovely as faces are, it was the places and things that hooked me and inspired good work. So, for the moment I’ve jettisoned the app and am pondering what (if anything) needs to come back. While I ponder it’s probably also responsible to note the time gifted back from temporarily ditching a social media app: by my reckoning it’s between 60 and 90 minutes in 24hrs and this feels good. Of all the commodities in my life, it’s time I adore and lust after the most so I’ve no excuse for wasting it.
Aprons. For all the ‘we are not bakers’ reasons stated above. The kitchen hooks are dancing in the space and Mount Washmore will shrink as we focus on filthying just one apron, rather than a five-a-side football team of them. Hurrah!
Books, CDs and DVDs. Cheerie bye, redundant media and word collections. I’ve downloaded two apps that are helping me with this – Music Magpie and We Buy Books. The thought that I can transform stuff into cash as well as space is a handy motivator. Also, I like playing shoppies with the scanning in barcodes malarky.
Craft stuff. Yes, more of it. It seems I’m letting this collection go bit by tiny bit; jam jar of google eyes by jam jar of polystyrene eggs. What can I tell you? I’m shedding an old skin scale by scale, some months. There’s yet more to go. I’m sorry.
Games we don’t play. Like most of the above they’re on their way to a local charity shop. Farewell Cluedo & KerPlunk, time for you to go off and give other folk a shot of yourself and your luck based shenanigans.
As well as thoughts of the future and how I can’t be arsed cleaning stuff in the meantime, I’ve been super inspired by two programmes on Netflix, first off The Minimalist’s documentary is fricking ace. Its message is basically, live a deliberate life. That’s a phrase that just oozes appeal, freedom and sense to me because it reminds me succinctly not to get caught up in stuff – metaphysical or literal – that isn’t teaching me, aiding me or making me smile. Secondly, The Happy Movie, another documentary about how our accumulating behaviours mostly go haywire and can wreck things we thought they’d create. Both programmes are truly excellent brain fodder and left me totally uplifted and ready to chuck more, invent more and buy less.
There’d be no light without dark too though, would there? In case you’re hating me for being a smug, swotty Kim & Aggie-esque-clear-minded-bastard, know that I epically failed in the pared back Xmas department. Not only did I buy MORE decorations I also bought more cheap plasticky shit for stocking fillers. Watch this space for how ace I am for clearing them out sometime in 2017 when they’re tripping me up all over bedroom floors and never being used anyway (#anotherkindofmug). I’ve also bought a ton more books as I’ve managed to finally get my reading mojo on and, if they’re shit, I can sell them all afterwards on one of the above named apps too – HA!
So there you are, confessions and achievements done. I’ll leave you with this (possibly paraphrased) quote from The Minimalists, because I thought it so staggeringly brilliant, ‘Use things, love people. Not the other way round’.
Interested? Good. More about #Clearing40 here and by following the hashtag on Twitter.
Internalised misogyny’s kinda like the rat who lived in our back garden. Every now and then it poked its head out of a small hole in the dry stane dyke and scared the living shit out of me (but thrilled the dog).
For soooooooo long I believed the rat was simply a large mouse. Then, faced with faecal evidence to the contrary, I spent some time simply telling myself the rat was a large mouse and willing away memories of the enormo-shits by the bird feed in the shed. Denial can be a really handy part of adjusting to an unpleasant reality, can’t it?
I did not want the rat to be as big a problem as it was – so I simplified it away and mentally minimised it to make it easier to think about. La la la la la la.
Meantime, the rat had babies and I grew unable to continue deluding myself that the big pink semi-ropes intermittently hanging out the wee wall in the garden were anything other than rat tails. Then, the sight of a rat climbing the 7ft clematis trellis turned out to be a moment even Instagram filters & wine couldn’t soften.
We are now minus a shed and a rat colony. We found out the rats were living under the decrepit, old, rotting shed (very low air miles to the bird food) so it was time for the lot to go.
I’ve talked a lot about the rat now and not so much about internalised misogyny, haven’t I? If you’d like to read me talking about internalised misogyny for reals, I’m chuffed as a rat in a slop bucket to say you can do just that on Bella Caledonia this festive season.
I’m also dreaming of a socio-political re-org for Scotland which ejects a Daily Mail state of mind for the rest of time. And a plan for my big writing project more cohesive than, ‘yes, I might need to change the whole thing again. Hmmmm.’
Clarity will come. Meantime, the thing to fill the void with is art, air, light and laughter. And non-line shopping.