We were meant to be buying a house. My intended handful of months in this city had already grown into years. We were planning to set down roots indefinitely. Instead, a new job was offered, and we began to listen to a whisper of adventure that stirred our previously hibernating hearts. We’ve answered that call.
The latter half of the year brought with it a relentless pace. Time was carefully measured and spent. Not a drop wasted. We found it to be manageable for a season, but more a question of surviving than thriving. We were head above the water but there wasn’t a moment to take a breath.
Moments – because they’re worth noting. Brevity – because it’s what’s required.
A vocalised moment: Opus, sonder, liberosis: the dictionary for all the emotions you feel but can’t express.
An uplifting moment: delving into all the online back issues of Conteu magazine.
It isn’t unusual for our dinner conversation to turn to what a wholly sustainable life looks like. We can find ourselves treading a familiar path of logic: that the only way to avoid harming the natural world and other people is to escape the infrastructure and culture of the modern world; both can be so unkind. A truly sustainable life would be living off our own land, off the grid. Making and growing our own. Total retreat.
October’s pickings centre around persevering. Continuing well, or at least the best that you can. This isn’t to invite concern – life’s rhythms are more extreme than we would choose, but we are learning to keep our heads up while our feet keep walking on. We are fortunate; we know it is not forever.
Earlier in the year I outlined our plans for year two of venturing further into the world of gardening. As the harvest wanes and dark evenings have snuck up on us, I’ve been reflecting on what this growing season has taught me:
This reflection on September is rather delayed as illness once again visited our house. We’re emerging out of it now, though to my slight dismay this seems to involve more opening of email inboxes rather than actually venturing outside. Something has perhaps gone a little awry there.
The Lake District will always be special to me. The site of several holidays, it is also the place where my husband asked, and I agreed, to build our future together. We have gone there as visitors, leaving work behind for a few days to find refreshing and inspiration from the mountain heights and the lakes’ depths.
Life has changed. The rhythm of my working week has altered considerably. The same amount of hours in the day, but less flexibility in the filling of them. A lot of time for writing but practically none of it at my computer. This is a season, not a forever. I want to embrace what it is, and am learning to be ok with what it is not.
Sometimes I slightly envy those walking a clear career path. The ladder rungs laid out before their eyes; they just need to climb. This is not to deny the effort in the ascent. Exams to pass, interviews to nail, promotions to seek. I’m not looking for an easy life; the thing I envy is the clarity of the path and the destination ahead.
Julia Kendal 