My Year of Nourishment

What I'm learning about doing less

Photo by Scott Walsh on Unsplash

One afternoon, in late October 2023, I opened the door of new, old, house. It was a renovation project. It’d took 4 months to get here. And here was a mess.

Dusty floors met scratched walls that sat at right angles to empty ceilings. Wires hung from those empty ceilings and new plastic pipes ran in every direction.

Like any good renovator with no idea what they’re doing, I walked the house surveying the current state. As I did, I noticed insulation poking out, nails that needed pulling off, the staircase that needed ripping out.

The list of jobs was overwhelming. There were jobs I knew about and jobs I didn’t, those were the worst.

The jobs I didn’t know about

As I glanced into what would one day be my office (the room I am now writing this in), I realised that the windowboard that had just been fitted today, was wet.

I didn’t know a lot about window boards but I did know, they shouldn’t be wet.

The cause? The window had been left open, the rain had got in, the board had started to swell. And I had no idea what to do about it.

Honestly, it was my fault. As I returned to the house I was staying in, I made a mental note that having the plumber, carpenter and electrician in, all on the same day, probably was a little overly ambitious.

Water, electricity and wood don’t go well together.

I was learning this the hard way. But on the list of things I’d foreseen, wet windowboards were not one. The next 6 months carried on much the same. Forward-thinking met with frustration because of my lack of experience.

Two steps forward, one step backwards.

But slowly, I made this house a home. But it wasn’t without its sacrifices. I’d spent every weekend apart from two in this house. I took zero time off. Instead, I worked every hour around my 9-to-5.

By the time it came to moving in, what I thought would be a lovely time full of cheering, toasting and lovely quiet moments just enjoying the space, actually I was mostly exhausted.

I spelt more than ever. Craved better food. Needed to be out in nature. And it all led me to my year of living quietly.

My year of living quietly

It’s been a busy, frantic year.

Full of phone calls, emails, clutter and chaos. Renovating a house, working full-time, running a part-time business and trying to do other life stuff, it’s been a lot.

Amazing, but a lot.

And right now, I’m in need of less. Right now, I’m setting out my mission to live a year, one full year, of living quietly. That doesn’t mean I won’t talk — that would be virtually impossible.

But instead, to engage in meaningful endeavours.

What are those things you might ask? Well, they are, but not limited to, these things:

Long walks, exploring the English countryside, country pubs, warm fires, chopping wood, baking bread, making homemade soups and stews, learning new skills, planting and gardening, making my house a home, building things, growing things with my hands.

But more than that, it’s about a year of living more meaning.

To sit and absorb

I’ve always been a doer. My measure of a good day is progress. How many things I’ve ticked off my to-do list is my nodd that I’m doing okay thank you very much.

But lately, I’ve been questioning if that thinking is serving me anymore.

Instead, I want to live more in the moment. I want to enjoy this bowl of porridge, I want to taste the golden syrup, the oats, the creaminess of the milk.

I want to bake bread but pay attention. I want to repot my plants with focus and care. I want to enjoy the experience, not just rush through it to tick it off my list.

I don’t want my life to become one big, endless, to-do list.

I want to read more and do nothing and not feel bad about it. This is my year of living quietly.

A simple, honest existence.

So that’s what I’m doing.

---