Category Archives: how to be happy

Sometimes I think I must be mad

10 Replies

I have chosen several threads to run through my life.

I am a therapist. I am a writer. I am interested in Buddhism. I grow things.

Sometimes I think I must be mad.

I have a private practice – I’m on my own. There’s no sick or holiday pay, and sometimes I don’t have enough clients. The work is hard – it’s always challenging me. I’ve written for more than a decade, and have had more than a decade of rejections and self-doubt. It’s hard work. I’m on my own. I haven’t made a penny from it so far. My interest in Zen encourages me to dissolve my ego. I sit and look at a wall and become aware of my breath. It’s hard work. I’m on my own. I grow things. Slugs eat my seedlings. Deer eat my tulips. It’s hard work. I’m on my own.

Other times, I feel blessed.

Like last night, driving home after two amazing sessions with long term clients. What a privelige to be there with them for a part of their journey. Like this morning, writing this blog, and working on my novel, and getting emails from people who appreciate what I do. Like after my meditation, when my mind begins to settle and I can see everything just a little bit more clearly. Like the days I slice courgettes from their plants with a sharp knife and fry them in butter with my own garlic.

The threads are really golden threads.

This is one of my favourite quotes, which I plucked from Sally Basile’s eclectic garden. Another thank you to the author of the quote – I’ve carried these words around with me for a long time now. Their edges have been worn down by my reading them – they are even more beautiful.

When you’re hanging on by a thread, identify that thread and do all you can to strengthen it. Gardening is my thread, consistently providing therapy through years of ups and downs. If this blink in time seems a bit crazier, well, perhaps it is. Gardening serves as a gentle reminder that the wheel turns and seasons come and go, each filled with its own impossibly tender beauty. So maybe it’s time to go outside and look for tulip noses poking through the damp earth and reaching into the winter mist.

When you’re hanging on by a thread, identify that thread and do all you can to strengthen it. I wish you luck in finding your own threads. I’m supported by so many, I could lift up both my feet up and I still wouldn’t fall over.

Primroses and garlic mushrooms on toast

2 Replies

All morning I have been sitting in a sunny spot around the back of the house, with wild pale yellow primroses and a snoozing Silver to keep me company.

I’ve been making notes on my friend Esther’s manuscript for her new collection of poetry, which is a wondrous thing – full of light and grace.

I just came in to fry up some chunky brown mushrooms in butter, garlic and fresh thyme from the window-sill. I tumbled them onto coriander rye bread, and ate them all up. Yum.

Lucky me. Lucky me. Lucky me.

The difference between loving and hating gardening (or how to potter)

9 Replies

Last weekend the sunshine was warm and bright, and I got out into the garden for the first time this year.

I am a rather sloppy, erratic gardener. I’ll spend all weekend doing bits and bobs, then abandon it completely for a while. Sometimes I love it, and sometimes I hate it.

Last weekend I repaired the net over the veg patch, planted some beetroot outside, planted all sorts of veg seeds inside, got some new potatoes into the ground, did some weeding, planted lots of flowers in pots, and went on several trips to the garden centre. I really enjoyed the things I did, and it led me to wonder why.

Hmm. I’ve been mulling this over, and the best way I can think of putting it is how ‘spacious’ I feel when I approach the garden. If I feel spacious, I approach one task at a time and I don’t feel phased by the 99 tasks yet to do. I notice the rich smell of the earth and the rosy pinks of the rhubarb shoots. Trying to fish the dead leaves from the icy water in the watering can becomes a game rather than an annoyance.

If I feel hurried, I want to get what I’m doing done as soon as possible so I can get on with all the other jobs nagging for my attention – both in the garden and in my office. I feel impatient with myself for not getting things ‘right’, and for the objects around for me for being so awkward and time-wasting. I feel like a pretty rubbish gardener with too much garden and too little time.

The first way of working is pottering, and the second is battling. Although it feels like I’m working more slowly when I’m pottering, everything seems to get done.

The same is true for my writing. To get my writing done, I need to clear the decks as far as possible, and calm myself as much as I can. I need to focus on the little bit I’m writing now, rather than thinking about the whole book at once (argh!). I need to be kind and encouraging to myself, whilst not letting myself off the hook. I need to relish the words.

How can we get better at pottering? I’d be interested in your thoughts. Maybe starting to catch ourselves when we’re speeding up can be helpful. Meditation is good for me. Here’s to a week of pottering.