It’s been a whirlwind three months. But in the first week of January we finally took two days to just stop. We left the cats with their auto-feeder, loaded the chilly-bin with treats, packed up our little blue car, and drove west until the tangle of motoways and supermarkets and suburbs gave way to bush. Bethells Beach. We stayed at the kind of place you really wish existed, but can so rarely find – I lay on the grass, sun on my legs, listening to the Grey Warblers and the sound of the wind in the pines, and felt all the tight bits inside me soften. There will be much more on the perfection of this place, but for now, here’s why we are blogging again…
We live in Auckland. We love it here. Mostly. After all, big cities have big perks. I love my pilates studio, and the organic supermarket in the neighbouring suburb. I love our weekend trips to a farmers market in town, the guys at Organic Mechanic who make our green smoothies, the city gallery, the concerts, the exhibitions, and all the pretty stores in Ponsonby and Newmarket. I love the beaches – the calm white ones and the raw black ones. I love the yachts in the harbour, and the cones of the volcanoes. I love the groups I can join, the classes I can take, the conferences I can soak in. I love the kindred spirits at Fail Club, the whizz-kids at Creative Mornings, and the wholehearted ones at Desire Map bookclub. I love, ridiculously so, that I can dance in the dark with a bunch of strangers at No Lights No Lycra on winter evenings. I love that there are good things to eat everywhere. I love the people – our friends, our colleagues, clients, and collaborators – all the smart, creative, kind-hearted people that cross our paths. The city swarms with them. We are Aucklanders. It is our home.
But.
I pine for simplicity. For silence and space. For nothing but the sound of trees and birds and water. I daydream of the absence of the detritus of everyday life – the junk, which we once thought so necessary to our happiness, that is constantly threatening to engulf our little flat. I want, badly, to be resilient against the churning pace of the city and the unspoken acceptance of working all the time. And to feel immune to that awful, clawing desire to consume that cities feed so well. I want to rest – away from WiFi, away from cellphone coverage.
For the longest time this has been our ‘one day’ conversation – usually had when we are both exhausted and frustrated and worn down by the unceasing clip of our lives. One day we will move. One day we will find this place. One day our lives will be balanced and sustainable, and one day we will suddenly be ok with saying goodbye to all the assorted awesome folk, ditching our jobs, moving to the middle of nowhere, and giving up our Aucklandy accoutrements – the raw food cafes, the bow ties and ankle boots, the classes, the craft beer, and the stores stocking heavenly organic batch-made peanut butter. But one day is a flightly thing. And we have grown impatient.
I want all of it, and now. I want to live here – fully, vibrantly, appreciatively – and I want to restore there. To remember and prioritise and rest. To find significance and courage and space. To nourish. To create. To breathe.
And so we, no strangers to side projects, have fallen into another.
We will do this: explore – in small, simple ways – moments of retreat, moments that give priority to our wellbeing. Find people and places and thoughts and things that help us restore, and provide us with sanctuary and renewal. We will unearth, and make time for, the salves and the quiet places, rather than waiting for them to appear. We will write.
Today we are scheduling tiny sanctuaries.
Scheduling tiny sanctuaries
