There is always more, but less is better

Loves, it has been some time since I wrote to you.

There is a reason for that.

Over the past four months I’ve been tending to myself.

And in that time of tending I’ve learned some things.

For example, it has come to my attention through the observation of a friend that I am a “maximalist in relationships”.

That is to say that I bring it all to everyone and everything because, well, I’m in relationship with everything.

My writing. My coaching. My family life. My friendships. Myself.

I often bring it all without a true understanding of my capacity to do all the things I want to be a part of every day.

Perhaps that is evident in my last post, Stop Worrying. Start Storying.

I drained every last bit of energy I had into that post at a time when—once again—I didn’t realize I was on the verge of burnout.

The day after I hit publish I lay in a Victoria hotel room bed next to my wife and couldn’t muster the energy to get up.

It was Spring Break, I was excited to spend time with my family, and I could not walk the few blocks to Murchie’s for a coffee.

One of the most disconcerting parts of burnout is the moment you realize you’re in it and you have no idea how long it will take to regain the energy it takes to function.

It’s like depression. Except you WANT to get out of bed and do things, but you can’t. Which makes you feel depressed.

Self-care is something I’ve long struggled to manage for myself in a consistent way, on a consistent basis.

As a neurodivergent person who often misses cues for food, water, rest and movement—not to mention operates from an interest-based nervous system—I find it hard to do anything with consistency.

Even writing. Which I love.

This week I’ve been trying something new to get a handle on the energy cost of maximalist living (which is high even when quietly writing at my desk because hyperfocus is intense).

I’m trying to minimalize my life.

That means decluttering. Streamlining how I work. Making more time for rest and play.

Back in March, the week after I wrote Stop Worrying. Start Storying, I spent a few days on a DIY Vancouver Island creative retreat with my friend, Karen.

Once I slowly, gradually, felt my energy begin to return, we painted together in her cozy studio.

The message that comforted me at that time was MORE.

More is a reminder when we are moving through loss, or change, or a transition, we can’t run out of whatever it is we desire.

It is out there for us. There is always more.

On my drive to the library on Wednesday afternoon — a little work break — a thought arose: There is always more, but less is better.

Huh.

As I made my way down an aisle toward my date with the soundproof pod (yes, it’s a thing and it’s amazing) THIS caught my eye:

I began reading The Power of Less that night and decided to make my first small change: limiting the number of times I check my inbox each day.

My habit is to keep my inbox tab open and keep checking throughout the day, as if something urgent, monumental or life changing will be there requiring my immediate attention.

There is no such thing as a creative nonfiction emergency, so usually we’re good.

However, as Bloom: Letters on Girlhood is getting set for the printer, there were emails that needed my attention this week.

Every time I chose to respond with a sense of urgency, I felt the impact of my choice. Task switching requires me to re-orient myself to the one thing I’m meant to do, when my distractability can throw me off course.

Every small switch takes additional time and energy to re-focus, affects my overall productivity and I’m certain plays a role in burnout over time. #adhdandlearning

When I did stick to my plan, checking email a few times a day between focused time blocks, I felt a sense of peace that felt novel and empowering. I felt less tired. I felt like I was on top of my life.

It can be overwhelming to live in our world, filled with distraction. In many respects we do lack power.

Still I believe in our power as individuals in charge of our choices and our lives. As writers, we have complete control over our stories.

The stories we tell about our past and what is possible for our future IS our reality.

Creativity is a delicious space in which we are in total control. The process of storying is really just making one creative choice after another.

Writing the 13 letters addressed to my Bloom co-author, Claire, allowed me to stand apart from the stories they reveal.

I have a different relationship to the events that shaped me as I transitioned into womanhood than I did when the younger me experienced them.

Now I get to decide what they mean to me and how—if at all—they define me.

That is powerful.

So is giving voice to the things we aren’t supposed to talk about including sex, sexuality and sexism.

Although writing as an act of empowerment may not be a new or radical idea, what did surprise me as I co-wrote Bloom was how loving it felt to reach back in time to my teenage self.

To quote a line from Bloom’s final letter to Claire:

I needed to stand next to my younger self … and let her say the things she never felt she could.

I see the power of storying as very aligned with “There’s always more, but less is better.”

We will never run out of things to write about. Just one event can be storied from varied points of view, in different shapes and forms.

In that sense our stories truly are limitless.

And… less is better. To release our stories is to stop carrying them. To set them free. Let them go.

By storying we unburden ourselves and make way for the new. For the more that is always out there waiting for us.

Bloom: Letters on Girlhood is available for pre-order in Canada at this link.

Our friends in the US can pre-order