Remember when I was going to post updates every quarter? What an ambitious plan that was.
I love reading challenges. In fact, I love them so much, I’ve got five going right now. I would not have picked up some of the great books I’ve read this year if I didn’t need them to fulfill a prompt from a challenge:
A lot of the prompts, though, just feel like homework. That’s fine occasionally – I am an avid proponent of reading outside one’s comfort zone. But I also get that from my book clubs pretty often, so I’m not sure I need an extra dose of it. I know for certain I don’t need five extra doses.
So I haven’t decided if I’m going to commit to a specific reading challenge next year, or just read for pleasure. I am currently leaning toward reading for pleasure, as I have a lot of books at home that feel neglected as well as a ridiculously long TBR list (curated according to my favorite genres). I may just decide that comfort reading is my focus next year:
Cozy mysteries (or mysteries in general)
Books about books (collecting them, reading them, writing them, solving mysteries near them, etc.)
Books about food (fiction, memoir, magical realism, cozy mystery set in a bakery – I love it all)
Romance (but only for characters I like. I will DNF a romance faster than anything if I think a jackass character is unworthy of the person the happy ending trope demands they end up with. I do not need this particular fiction to mirror real life, thanks.)
Also, I’d like to actually read all my book club books (not just the ones I actively discuss in person).
No matter what I decide to do, I know one thing will remain constant. Having a rich, lush reading life will continue to be one of my most treasured priorities.
Matching pjs and silly socks – girls’ weekend with Maggie and Michelle
As I have already mentioned, I get peopled out pretty easily. My introversion is getting more pronounced/intense as I get older. Or maybe I just had less self-awareness and more energy in general that I mistook for the ability to be more social when I was younger. At any rate, there are very few people I can spend a large amount of time with without eventually getting to the staring-into-space overwhelm that I need many hours to recover from.
This may be why the concept of hygge is so appealing to me. Calling something a cozy gathering automatically implies that it’s a small one. Going to the farm to visit my parents, having a few people over for dinner – anything that allows me to enjoy time with others without high-impact social fallout. Ideally, this would be all my social interactions ever.
During the summer, I was discussing with Maggie how nice it would be to have a large house (with actual guest rooms and a huge kitchen) but also the time and resources to really enjoy it. Maybe even have a few people over for the weekend more than once every year or two. I feel like if I didn’t live in a constant state of over-peopled, I’d be a better host. Or at least a less reluctant one.
This week is busy, but the good kind. I have a couple of bookish gatherings, a practice for our performance coming up in November, and just a couple of meetings. All small groups. Then I am looking at a few days off! Socializing means also planning time for recovery for me, but it’s almost always worth it.
“If hygge was a person, I think it would be Alice Waters.” Meik Wiking – The Little Book of Hygge
From the moment I heard about Alice Waters and her connection to the Slow Food movement, I’ve been hooked. Maybe it’s because I grew up on a farm where we grew our own peaches and pecans and enjoyed the bounty of MeMaw’s robust garden. Perhaps it’s because I’ve always harbored secret fantasies of building my own version of Chez Panisse. It could just be the simple fact that good food, especially food grown or produced within driving distance and/or cooked with love, gives me a solid sense of place like nothing else can.
The fastest way to my affection is to cook for me. One of my favorite birthdays was one of the years I was vegan. I was having a hard time coming up with a restaurant that all my friends would enjoy and where I also could get food I loved and would eat. I was about to give up when my sister offered her house to host a potluck. My friends brought over such a feast of all my favorite vegan things. It was so kind and generous and the best gift I could have asked for. Another favorite birthday was the year I invited everyone over to my apartment and served three kinds of lasagne.
I don’t always love cooking, but I love sharing food. I doubt I’ll ever actually own a restaurant, but I love feeding people. For me, there’s no such thing as a lush life without shared meals.
I go through phases of different favorite things to make. Bread. Pie. Cookies. Risotto. A couple of times, Maggie and I put aside a whole weekend to bake and invite people over to enjoy what we made. Cookie weekend was epic. Pie weekend was pretty good, too. Maybe July wasn’t the best time to bake pies all weekend, but it was delicious.
I’m on a real soup kick right now. Yesterday, I did not want to go to the grocery store, so I did a pantry sweep to see what I could make for the week without running that particular errand. Imagine my delight at finding a goldmine of yellow split peas. With some onions and bell peppers and a few herbs, I now have a vat of one of my favorite soups to indulge in all week. Bliss.
Saturday, our church is hosting its annual Empty Bowls luncheon, and I’m looking forward to sampling soups from several restaurants in the area. Maybe I’ll even host a soup party of my own someday.
It’s all well and good to create a home environment that is lush and cozy. For me, what makes decor even better is to have pieces made by beloved friends or things I’ve crafted with my own two hands. I use coloring pages to recover plain journals or as a backdrop to poetry written on scraps of paper in my art journals. All the blankets I have are either quilts made by MeMaw or Aunt Edna, throws I’ve knitted, or the large fleece blankets with knotted edges that my mom helped me make when I was sick enough to need to stay still but just well enough to be bored.
As an added bonus, a lot of the DIY craft work I do is mentally soothing.
As a writer and a musician, I am used to pouring my creativity into things you can hear. I have my favorite words, and I love exquisite phrases. I spend at least an hour a week sight-reading new pieces on the piano and practicing old favorites to keep my fingers limber. My friend Sarah has introduced me to the wonderful world of experimental sound, and the skills I continue to hone after decades of playing help me be more playful and spontaneous during improv.
One thing I have discovered in the last few years, though, is that I love being surrounded by things I’ve created that I can see or touch. I adore making my home a place that tells my unique story to anyone who walks in. Both the process and the outcome of crafting are therapeutic. It quiets my soul, and that is a very lush feeling.
One of my favorite parts of the day is coming home, taking off my shoes (and if I’m staying in for the whole evening, putting on pajamas or loungewear), and settling into my reading chair. I love days when I don’t have anything planned or I at least have a couple of hours to spare before I head out again. That means I get to take a reading break (or a small nap – reading chairs are good for that, too) before supper.
Small, cozy nooks are the easiest way I’ve found to add little pockets of lush to my life. While any nook is bound to become a reading nook for me, it doesn’t necessarily have to be. I like breakfast nooks. Music nooks. Puzzle nooks. I once had a friend who had a tea corner that consisted of a cupboard with a vast selection of tea, a kettle, and a small table and chairs, and she started every morning there with a strong cup of tea and a crossword.
When it comes to creating cozy reading nooks, I bow to the expert – Modern Mrs. Darcy. Let’s see how mine stacks up:
The right spot – Most of the year (except during Christmas when the tree is there), my chair sits in the corner of my living room next to the patio door. I love this space because, while I have a lamp behind the chair for extra light, on weekend mornings, just enough sunlight comes through the blinds to cast a soft glow on the pages.
The foundation – This blue chair was a hand-me-down from my sister. It’s the first place she heads when she comes over. It’s the perfect size for me. It is firm but comfortable, and it reclines for optimal napping if the mood should strike.
The comfort factor – Not only is the chair comfortable, but it’s also easily movable, as is everything around it. I have a small TV tray that acts as a side table, and there’s always a blanket nearby.
The textures – The only thing I don’t like about the chair is its texture. There’s nothing inherently wrong with it; it’s just not as soft or lush as I’d like. When I need more coziness, I compensate with a velvet pillow or soft knit blanket.
A pop of color – There are pops of color all over the apartment, and the area surrounding the reading nook is no exception. I have a red glass bowl on a nearby bookshelf, and the box where I keep my pens and note tabs is bright pink.
The storage – As with most of the apartment, bookshelves abound near the nook. I have a short one where I stack up the month’s TBR selections and a larger one that holds the TV on one shelf but mostly books on the others. Extra pillows are within reach under the coffee table.
Signs of life – “Lived in.” That’s a nice way to describe the state of my apartment. As I sit in my reading chair, typing this sentence, I can look to my left and see last night’s tea mug. To my right are the shoes I pushed off as I sank into the cushion. I think I shall adopt this description when I get overwhelmed by the mess. It has a perpetual lived-in feel.
What kind of nooks do you have where you live? What kind of nooks do you want to have?
This could be a short post, because while I feel complicated about changing how I volunteer at church in order to carve out more space for other important things (and give other people an opportunity to serve in my place), it’s not actually all that complicated. Technically, all I have to do is decide which things to drop and set an end date for them.
I think we all know this is not going to be a short post.
I like being involved. If I’m going to go to the trouble of being a part of an organization, I want to be a real part of it. I don’t always see the line between “being a part of” and “doing too much,” though. For reference, here is a list of the teams, classes, responsibilities, etc., that I’ve taken on at church (and bear in mind – this is just with one of the organizations I belong to):
Outreach team
Fair trade product purchasing/organization
Library team (organizer)
Book club (secretary)
Choir (member and occasional cantor/soloist)
Assisting minister for early service (on rotation – not every week)
Monday night Bible study (attendee)
Sunday school (attendee)
Writers group (leader)
Communications team (writers group liaison and Facebook admin)
Church council (current president)
Every single one of those things is a worthwhile thing to do. Every single one of them is something I – to some extent – enjoy. It’s difficult for me to admit that doesn’t automatically mean it has to be my responsibility.
Thankfully, one item on the list – church council – already has an end date. My term is up at the end of December, and I am ready. I’ve enjoyed seeing how things work behind the scenes, and hopefully, I’ve been a little helpful. But I am TIRED. So much so that I don’t really trust my judgment right now about what else to step back from, because my gut reaction is “everything but choir and book club.”
A therapist once called me out on my affinity for making big decisions when I feel overwhelmed or burned out or when I experience a sudden surge of energy or angst, all of which almost always result in regret. “Consider that when you feel left out, used, or put upon by others, it’s often at least partially your own doing.” Ugh. RUDE.
And accurate.
This year of reflection on what a lush life would look like to me has highlighted this tendency even more. So many things that I do were born of a jolt of excitement or an acute and sudden recognition of a need that quickly fizzled while my commitment to them did not. And now I do them out of habit or obligation, but there’s no real passion there. That would be bad enough on its own, but this phenomenon also has the unfortunate side effect of almost constant longing for more time to do the things I am passionate about and a lingering sadness every time I say no to them due to a prior lackluster commitment.
My ability to make decisions easily is something I like about myself. I’m good at gathering information and strategizing, and I can do both pretty quickly. That infuriating “Where do you want to eat? I don’t know where do you want to eat?” conversation? You don’t have to worry about that with me. After taking a general poll about what everyone has already eaten that day (because people get weird about repeats), eliminating things people don’t like at all, and settling on a price range, I can give you a ranked list of places within a 10-mile radius that are sure to please most of the group. And if no one has a clear preference, I certainly do and will have no problem deciding that’s the place.
But I have learned that there is such a thing as being too decisive. I need to make space for choices that have repercussions beyond the day I make them in order to ensure that I’m responding to actual needs or desires rather than reacting in the emotion of the moment.
So I’m giving myself a decision vacation. From now until the end of January, I’m not agreeing to anything new. I’m also not making any choices about what to move on from. I already have a schedule in which everything (technically/barely) fits, so it’s not any extra work to keep doing what I’m already doing. And a big part of what I’m already doing will naturally come to an end by the new year. I’m going to let the dust settle and decide from there.
I love design books, websites, and social media accounts. They’re so visually satisfying. Even if they don’t reflect my personal style, I love seeing what people do with their spaces (or the spaces of others who have paid for their services). For example, I could watch videos of Anna Page’s New York apartment for hours. It’s so soothing.
In my lush fantasies, I know exactly what I want in a home. When I’m daydream shopping for houses, the ones that stick out to me are those that have large, open kitchens, a nice backyard (swimming pool preferred but optional), a small additional kitchenette/wet bar (especially if there’s an upstairs), and an extravagant laundry room. I once saw a laundry room with an overstuffed chair and bookshelf in it, so now, of course, I need it.
For many, home is their social center. I’m not sure that’s the case with me. I prefer for my home to be a bit of a getaway from social activity most of the time. But even if I’m the only one who usually sees it, I still crave good design and order. I want nooks – for reading, napping, daydreaming, creating, snacking. I like ceramics and glass – bowls made by local artists for our annual Empty Bowls luncheon and makeshift flower vases in the form of white pitchers, wine or sake bottles, and Mason jars. I enjoy soft and luxurious fabrics. I adore art made by beloved friends. Kitschy items with nostalgic stories attached. Good lighting.
My main home design strategy, though, is to be surrounded by books. Decorating is just another term for acquiring more bookshelves. At one point, there was a meme going around with a home layout that was a small kitchen, a small bathroom, and the rest of the space was labeled “library.” It was meant as a joke, but I would definitely live there.
According to Meik Wiking (The Little Book of Hygge), every home should also have a hygge emergency kit. If I were to catalog mine, it would look something like this:
Unscented candles
Good chocolate
A robust selection of teas
A full wine rack
A shelf of cozy mysteries or foodie fiction/memoir or this month’s TBR selections next to my favorite reading chair.
Comfort TV or movies (my frequent go-tos are Pushing Daisies, The Good Place, Gilmore Girls, Chocolat, and Under the Tuscan Sun)
Good bread with Irish butter, goat cheese, and/or homemade jam
Warm socks and blankets
Journal
Soothing playlist or records
Just reading that list makes me want to cancel everything for a week and stay home.
I’ll finish up tonight’s post with a few books about design or making a cozy home that I’ve either enjoyed or are on my design TBR list:
The cute kitchen where we made meals together on Cape Cod
I have a busy calendar this month, and I’ve (sort of) accepted that I’m not going to make it to everything. Yesterday, for example, was National Coming Out Day, and my art collective partnered with a local advocacy group to host an open mic. I had planned to go but was utterly drained by the end of the day, so I went home and went to bed early instead. Tonight there is a performance that I want to attend, and I am hoping to make it. I am mourning the days when I had the energy to plow through a full day of work (or school), go to class or meetings in the evening, and then still go out afterward and have no problem getting up and doing it all again the next day.
Or am I just forgetting how tired I was then?
A big part of the reason I keep putting things on the calendar and trying to make it is that I firmly believe that showing up is part of community care. I have been in groups that practice mutual compassion well, and I have been in places where it was every person for themselves. I’ve had friends who cooked me meals and did my dishes when I was sick. I’ve also had times when I felt so alone I wondered how long it would take for someone to find my body if I died. Self-care is important, but community care is equally essential.
Sharing resources and helping when it’s needed are both aspects of community care. Maintaining connections, listening to others’ points of view, showing up, and offering validation are vital components, too. I know I shouldn’t feel like I’m failing my friends when I just can’t make it to an event after a difficult day, but the feeling persists. It’s hard to shake the notion that, if I were practicing lush life correctly, I would have the time and the energy to do so.
Perhaps part of lush living is letting go of my lingering perfectionism. Or remembering that I, too, am included in community and thus am allowed to receive/take care when needed.
As I’ve mentioned several times already, the state of my mental health has a large impact on how much I actually enjoy life. In fact, being generally OK is so crucial that I’m not sure a lush life is possible without it. There can be moments of joy, fun times, and productivity on days that are still hard. I can make everything around me as cozy, rich, comforting, extravagant, and luscious as possible. But if I’m not doing well mentally, I don’t actually get the full lush experience.
I spent most of yesterday at the World Mental Health Day Conference on campus. Some helpful reminders and takeaways (besides the fun bag and coloring pages and relaxation crafts):
Fight or flight is the body’s natural, healthy response to a dangerous or stressful environment. So much of my progress has been aided by first asking, “Is this something wrong with me or something wrong with the relationship/situation/world?”
Forced positivity is invalidating.
Being aware of our own vicarious trauma while taking care of students is important.
Take a real lunch break. Like…leave the office and go somewhere. [but…where? I feel like this is advice for people with money to buy lunch every day and longer lunch breaks – and no, getting less sleep so I can get up earlier so I can have a longer lunch break doesn’t help my mental health.]
Take more breaks and move around more often.
Damn. I really am gonna have to make a phone call to set up my sessions. *heavy sigh* Can I count “having to make a phone call” as an issue for which I need counseling? Kidding. Sort of.
If we could have a staff nap room on campus, that would be great. I would literally never use it, but I’d be comforted just knowing it was there.
What do you do to take care of your mental health?
It seems that a lush life would involve travel to some extent. I’m pretty much a homebody, but I do like to get away occasionally. I’m not a packed itinerary, see-all-the-sights person (on account-a I believe vacation should be a change from my usual pace, not just the same busyness in a new location), but if I’m at a place for a week or more, a couple of main attractions are nice.
My favorite trip to date was the week I spent with a few friends in Cape Cod. We rented a cottage and cooked most of our meals. In the morning, we woke leisurely. Those of us who got up earlier had coffee and some sort of pastry, usually from dessert the night before, while we read or journaled or stared at the trees. Later in the morning, once all of us were up, we had brunch together and discussed what we would do that afternoon. We spent an afternoon at the beach where I read Like Water for Chocolate in one sitting. We had tea in Sandwich, and drove up to Provincetown one afternoon. In the evenings, we made or went out for supper and had many wines (observe a selection of the week’s corks above). Sometimes other friends joined us; sometimes it was just the three of us. It was perfect.
A proper vacation for me is something super laidback. If there is a schedule involved or activities for which one could be considered on time or late, I’m probably not interested. I want to eat delicious food, drink copious amounts of adult beverages, and have coffee at irresponsible times of the day. I am hardly ever spontaneous at any other time, but on vacation, it’s a requirement.
Of course, vacations also require money, so I don’t take them that often. When I do, it’s usually somewhere in the U.S., and I typically drive. Sometimes the vacation portion is only a part of the trip because the main reason I’m going is for a retreat or conference. I do have a running list of places outside the U.S. I’d most like to see:
Italy
Lisbon
Denmark
New Zealand
Argentina
Nepal
Perhaps someday.
But that doesn’t mean life can’t be lush with smaller trips. I like day trips to bookstores that aren’t necessarily local but are within reasonable driving distance. Discovering new bookstores and coffee shops is one of the reasons I’m fond of road trips. I also enjoy visiting friends and family, and I want to find time (and funding) to make these trips more often.
M. Suzanne Terry 