Putting on Your Own Sunscreen: Part 3

The Landscape of Our Lives

I have a curious case of accidentally, unconsciously but also often, blind-willingly, living a bit like every day is my last.

It’s both a blissful blessing and sometimes a crying-out-loud mf curse.

Life is very precious and nothing is ever assured. We never know what’s around the corner. One day, you might just get hit by a bus…

That’s quite a morbid thought, I know. But it slumbers in the back of my mind. Its presence a heavy deep breathing, a reminder of an eternal reality that maybe, this is just all there is.

This thought is motivating. It inspires me to love deeply, to give my all, and to pack my days with ALL THE THINGS.

But the thought is also overwhelming.

It leads to burnout and a sense of being un-anchored within oneself.

I have been packing this year FULL. Almost living as if it was my last year on earth (hopefully, it isn’t).

In doing so, I became filled with exhaustion, the days sliding by without even rest days being restful. Instead, I began to drag my mind through the thick, oppressive, over-thinking mud, of “why am I not making the most of being here!?”

Coming to Europe has been like walking into a buffet with a spread of, not only, all my favourite foods but new delights and wonders I’ve only ever dreamed of tasting.

And boy, have I wanted to taste all the different flavours of travel. Sensory overload.

It’s something I’ve done all through my life… Trying to do everything, all at once.

It’s a steady slick shadow - this feeling that I always need to be on the ascent, the slog, the climb, teeth-gritted as sweat trickles between my shoulder blades carrying a heavy pack full of self-imposed expectations, striving to reach the tallest mountain that reveals the most extraordinary views. I’ve got to be doing ALL THE COOL SHIT, or at least, attempting too.

At the beginning of August, I found myself in Barcelona. Utterly exhausted.

I was in this vibrant, bustling city and the inspiration to explore and be a curious tourist had deserted me. A traveller without a map, and my phone dead, I had no idea which direction to go in. I had no energy to climb another peak.

Just before, I’d spent a couple of days in Rome. But I felt so unsettled. I found myself spending those few days either sitting outside drinking Peroni while the sun-dappled freckles on my skin, or strolling streets soaking in the magic but longing to share the incantation of Rome’s breath and chatter with someone. Rome remains an undiscovered mystery to me.

It was here that I finally started to re-read messages from friends and family and actually tried to pay attention to what they’d been trying to tell me for years…

SLOW DOWN.

There is time.

Hopefully, life WILL be long and there will be tomorrow after tomorrow.

And for every lofty mountain in the landscape of our lives, there are also valleys and far-reaching plains basked in sunlight, begging you to take a rest.

Slowing down is so important. In slowing down, you learn balance and can build yourself an even keel.

It’s important to refuel. To breathe a little deeper. To give yourself permission to rest in the now.

And so now, I find myself in London. Refuelling over the next three months before I head off into a winter wonderland adventure.

London stretches itself out lazily before me - inviting me to use this time as a challenge to be present. To stroll along this valley before I venture into six months of (literal) mountains.

I have been spending the last few weeks relaxing into the chaos of family life. The only boys I’m chasing after are aged one, three and six years old.

Children grab your hand and demandingly pull you into the present moment. You can’t be thinking of anything else other than right here, right now. Because what if the one-year-old wanders off !?

It’s a sweet relief to be so distracted by reality, by the now.

And there is so much simple joy in hanging out with kids.

I’ve spent hours pushing a scrunched-up-face-with-a-huge-grin baby on a swing.

I’ve become a bike thief, “stealing” the 3-year-old’s bike, my lanky legs almost whacking my knees into my face as I hunch over the handlebars and ride off, wobbling on training wheels, chased by a horde of kids, yelling “thief, thief.”

Yesterday, we had a dance party in the kitchen and I serenaded the one-year-old as he waved his lil chubby arms around (not) in time to Shakira’s Hips Don’t Lie, going “ra, ra, ra” with that sunshine smile.

I now eat three meals a day. I’m back to drinking multiple cups of green tea a day. I get to sleep and rise around the same time.

There’s such simple pleasure in routine, in putting down roots.

I’m realising, life is a journey. You don’t have to be striding, striving all the time to achieve success or to see beautiful things.

You just have to open your eyes and really look.

What is your landscape revealing to you?

Is it a steep mountain beckoning? A deep ocean ebbing and flowing? Is it a field of flowers, inviting you to rest in just the right amount of sunlight?

I’m learning it’s important to allow yourself to relax in the quiet.

Life doesn’t always have to be loud to be exciting.

There’s always an adventure to be found in the daily humdrum of life.