The hardest type of guidance

This PhD that I am doing right now is one of the most difficult things I’ve selected to do in my life. I keep on questioning myself over it all the time. I’ve never done work as big as this and have never had to manage as much on my own in my entire life. Being totally responsible for your own creativity and thinking and your subsequent steps can be quite scary. I have always had very strong teachers in my life – now I am the teacher and the leader and often I feel quite overwhelmed by this responsibility… just for myself and for the outcome of my work. Although the freedom to do what I love doing is wonderful, is tasty, delicious even, I think that self-guidance is the hardest type of guidance out there.

I am learning to trust myself. To trust my own judgment and my own ideas, but often I shake with self-doubt.

I know that when we do not have enough strength in our muscles, we tremble. I know that it is only with practice and regular exercise that the tremble subsides to the point that we even forget later that we had that shaky muscle. The longer I work on this muscle, the more I am convinced that tasks such as the one that I am facing are mainly about conquering myself. No one else. Nothing else. Just myself.

The universe got it right by giving us the seasons

The wind has started blowing a bit harder and the sun escapes from view much earlier these days. But home feels so cosy and just right for staying in. I like our home. I love the books scattered around the house, the remains of our toddlers’ adventures that need scooping up towards the end of each day, the fruit and vegetables in the baskets in our kitchen, even the sink still filled with pots from today’s cooking episodes. I think the universe got it right by giving us the seasons. The late autumn and winter and the cosiness that we experience of our own homes – doesn’t it support one view? That where we are is home. That where we are now we should be now, at this given moment in time. That everything is as it should be.

I will be using this winter to grow the same level of cosiness in my heart and look for every feeling in me that sends this warmth to the world and back to myself and my family.

What do you do to cultivate warm feelings?

Giving yourself permission to create

It was mid-October and my tomato vine was still producing its pearls. My toddler loved to grab this little coconut shell and move from one tomato pot to another to see if something was still lurking on the slowly drying vines. He was usually lucky.

I’ve been thinking a lot about talents and creativity lately. About how little I understand how creativity works but equally about how limited our lives are when we do not find time and courage to answer inspiration and to hear our enthusiasm speaking to us.

I once read an interview with a famous Polish singer in which she admitted that she relies on her audience to cheer her before she appears on the stage, that she almost needs their permission to sing although she’s been singing for over thirty years and has been having a very successful and fulfilling career. I think this feeling is quite a common one – we all need a cheer every so often, but the ironic thing is that until we don’t show what we can and want to do, those around us would not know what to cheer for. That is why having a go (or multiple goes) at doing something and then sharing it with others is important. Trepidation never disappears but it subsides and turns into a strong feeling of joy related to having something completed.

Maybe ideas are a bit like children, we need to help them grow, help them mature but then we need to let them go so that they meet suitable partners for themselves.

I am happy that I did not need a cheer to plant the cherry tomatoes.

Be gentle with your thoughts

Imagine how differently our life would feel if we accepted that the destiny of our evening thoughts is to give us the necessary ointment for our minds. That our evening thoughts are there to give a massage to our troubled and over-exerted neurons. That their evening flow is supposed to clear our tensions, dissolve our doubts and heal what’s limping or fatigued. That rest starts even before we go to sleep. How contented would we be falling asleep?

What do you do to make sure that your thoughts are gentle to your mind?

Happy to live with ghosts

In the corner of my mum’s attic there is an old sewing machine which is waiting to be transported to our house. It belonged to my grandmother and I can easily recall its clicking sound and the image of my grandmother’s hands bowed over it with a piece of navy blue fabric that she would use to sew a dress for one of her many granddaughters. I know that soon this sewing machine will take a prominent place in our house; somewhere between my desk for reading and writing and next to this vintage typewriter that once sat in a little closet in my husband’s childhood home, to remind me of all the things that my now deceased grandmother exemplified: discipline, work, beauty.

With the Internet being full of different approaches to decorating houses, I have been for a while thinking if I have one. I have been drawn very much to the ideas encapsulated in the Japanese ancient philosophy of Wabi-Sabi, so beautifully pictured and described here and here by my two favourite bloggers. You will learn from these posts that Wabi-Sabi is about seeing beauty in imperfections, appreciation of the ordinary, and although I feel a strong affinity for it I know that it is not me entirely. It definitely speaks to my imagination, helps me forgive myself for not being perfect, and agrees with my non-consumerist approach to the many of life matters… but I mainly draw courage from our family histories… to answer my curiosity and calling just as the people before me had the courage to do it.

Our house stores a few objects that once functional are now primarily memories of our ancestors, of people who at some time were present in our lives. We are now left with pictures, photographs, books, an old butler (the piece of furniture, not the man servant). I think that we keep those things because what we value is continuity and we appreciate what has been attempted by them. Those objects represent their dreams, their aspirations and their qualities. Sources of strength. I am delighted to live with ghosts like these.

Sometimes I think that we fall into the trap of believing that we live in the golden age and that previous thinking, products, or actions somehow did not exist in the past or were totally inferior to the present. Can we really be so smug, but at the same time so insecure, about our contemporary skills and successes? I feel that the things that we choose to surround ourselves with have the capacity to both ease our insecurity and give us the perspective that a) we are part of a story that is longer than our lifespans and b) that our lives will also become part of someone else’s history.

Isn’t it a reason good enough to live a courageous and fulfilling life abundant with gratitude?