Creating the Cat Race

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Tauriel, being the light at the end of the self-isolation tunnel…

I have been doing a lot of pondering since I wrote my last post, when I railed against returning to the rat race in the post-iso world. My words seemed to gain traction with many people who read the piece, though the most frequently asked question I received in response to my musings was quite simply: How?

How, exactly, do we do things differently now that we are experiencing life, rebooted? How do we put into context and practice what we have learned during this, the craziest of years in living memory? How do we stop ourselves from falling back into old patterns and habits when we know there are alternative ways to do so many things?

Well, one of the more outlandish suggestions I received in response to my rejection of the rat race was that we create the cat race instead — and this, folks, is something I believe I could get behind.

As an aside, I have often said if it turns out reincarnation is actually a thing, I could do a lot worse than returning to this world as a cat. More specifically, if human options were definitely off the table for me, I’m pretty sure I’d be OK with reincarnating as a domestic cat in a comfortably appointed and well-managed home.

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Living with Tauriel has reminded me of the many things I have learned from cats.

In all seriousness, however, there is a surprising amount we can learn from cats and apply to our daily lives.

For starters, cats never over-commit: they exercise occasionally, eat moderately, eschew unnecessary interaction, and resolutely stick to their own schedules. Cats say precisely what they mean to only when they need to, are masters of saying “No” without uttering a single syllable, and fastidiously ignore anything that fails to capture their interest. Even so, cats consistently present well, most probably because they — very wisely — prioritise sleep and self care, and they appreciate the comforts of home. Finally, cats whole-heartedly embrace spontaneous pleasures, even if these involve pursuits humans deem spurious or frivolous, such as speed-scampering up and down hallways at peculiar hours.

I ask you: what’s not to like about the cat race so far?

Quite simply, it’s not so different from what I am attempting to do in my life now self-isolation is over.

I am committing to being less committed. I’m working out what is important to me and my family and making room for those, and only those, things. I’m shopping only once a week, which means I’m planning more and buying less. I’m making more conscious decisions about the projects I take on, and better predicting how these will impact my week and my interactions with my family.

I am sticking to my schedule. Even though I am committed to doing less, I am scheduling more. We all knew there were 24 hours in a day before self-isolation, but I now have a better appreciation of time and how I spend it. By sticking to a routine I can accomplish what I need to and still make time for things that make my soul sing, and for much needed restorative sleep.

I am appreciating home. Yes, we all saw a lot of the same four walls during self-isolation. But I’m far more appreciative now that I have four walls around me (even if I’m also far more aware how much they need re-painting), and a roof over my head to keep the winter weather out. By extension, I’m also making sure that I am supporting businesses close to my home, such as my local beautician, bakery and bookstore.

I am embracing spontaneous outbursts of fun. It’s easier than you think to say no to things, but sometimes — particularly when you’re overcommitted — it’s harder to say yes. I have discovered that when I combine the three things I’ve mentioned above, I have far more space in my life, my head and my heart to say yes to unexpected delights. During the past week, for example, I went on a long walk with my elder daughter and in two hours learned more about how she was feeling and what she’d been doing than I had in the two months. I played a game of Scrabble with my Dad, The Professor, which — given he has dementia — is something I will cherish as I don’t know how long his ability to play will last. I bought a bunch of flowers chosen by my younger daughter and they are still brightening our kitchen today. And most days, I sat and relished the luxury of a large cup of hot coffee.

These, my friends, are the cornerstones of what I am calling the Cat Race, and anyone — I mean anyone, is welcome to join in.

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Tauriel suggests spontaneous delights can also be encountered in a bookcase (which may or may not include enticingly tasselled mala beads, as well as books).

 

 

 

The Year of the Odd Sock

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Expectation…

As 2019 draws to a close, I’ve been looking back on the past twelve months and trying — as I tend to do in this little patch of cyberspace — to make sense of it all. Like all years, there have been moments of achievement and moments of challenge, but if I’m totally honest there’s one thing that symbolises 2019 for me: the Odd Sock.

I’m an organised person, which is both a gift and a curse to those who live with me. For the vast majority of my life, socks of all kinds have been carefully kept in pairs. Some of my friends have been known to tease me for hanging socks with their pairs on the clothes line.¬† Needless to say, those same friends find it endlessly amusing that I have designated rows on the clothes line for each family member so I can sort the laundry as I fold it into the washing basket, which quite obviously enables me to get the family’s laundry sorted much faster than they can mutter things like “anally retentive”.

Now, I would normally be completely comfortable with being an object of house-keeping ridicule were it not for the awful fact that I currently have an entire drawer full of odd socks in my house.

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…and Reality.

Never have I ever been beset with such a proliferation of single socks!¬†Some are sports socks, some are ankle socks, most are white socks, and none of them are my socks. And yet, there they are…more than a dozen of them, a collection that would liberate a small army of house elves from servitude were they to discover them.

My sense of order is somewhat offended by the presence of an entire tribe of single socks residing in a drawer usually reserved for stationery and postage stamps, but after my initial dismay wore off, I have to admit a part of me is quietly relieved.

For some odd reason, at some point during this year the sight all the odd socks reminded me of a quote from Melinda Gates’ powerful book The Moment of Lift:

I suspect most of us, at one time or another, say “I quit”. And we often find that “quitting” is just a painful step on the way to a deeper commitment.

This year has thrown a bunch of changes and logistical challenges at me, and I’ve had to find ways to adapt and adjust. I’ve had to let some of my (probably too high) self-imposed standards slip a little, and find new ways of caring for myself so I can care for my family. I’ve had to encourage my kids to step up and do things for themselves, which has had the flow on effect of them becoming increasingly self-confident and self-sufficient.

I’ve also had to let the odd socks stay single.

At the end of the day — and the end of the year, for that matter — I am at peace with the odd socks in my life. I can laugh at the irony of so many socks being unpaired, despite my desire to “keep it together” on every personal and professional front. I am content to embrace the odd sock as a symbol of my deeper commitment to my family and myself, and to know that the way we measure success — in happiness and time spent together — is what works best for us.

And if an odd sock is the worst thing I have to put up with in life, then life must be pretty darn good.

Blessings for the holiday season,

Blue Jai x

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…and finally, Peace.