Unfortunately I’ve decided to reschedule The WildlyKnown Retreat. If you read on, you’ll understand a bit of the “why”. It will most likely happen in the spring and if that sounds like better timing for you, let me know in the comments. If you were looking forward to it, thanks for understanding. I promise I’ll let you know as soon as it’s back on the calendar.
And this may have arrived in your inbox but you can read it and comment in the Substack App for a much better experience. Hitting the 💚 button is always brilliant too. xx
When I was about six or seven I decided to runaway, Dick Wittington-style1.
After stealing a tea towel from under my mother’s nose, I stuffed it with chocolate biscuits (cookies to my American friends), tied it to a stick, slung it over my shoulder, waved my goodbyes and marched confidently up the road.
London and a life of adventure lay ahead.
This summer, over fifty years later, there’ve been times I’ve longed to runaway again. To march off with nothing more than a tea towel stuffed with yumminess (and maybe a bottle of wine!) and the optimism of my seven year old self.
Because, to quote the eloquent Emily P Freeman, “Sunshine, beach waves, and crispy cocktails do not cover up or erase the pain of heartbreak, disappointment, or watching a loved one struggle.2”
Don’t get me wrong. My summer’s been packed with breathtaking beauty, laughter with friends, and an encouraging acceptance of the level of underboob sweat North Carolina gifts its residents.
But there’s been loss and heartache too.
Worry I can’t shake and an unhealthy desire to do a geographical as those in recovery circles would say.
When the going gets tough, the tough might get going, but they also want to hide, escape or sleep for a thousand years.
Women seem to be different to men like that.
Just watch this hilarious clip from John Crist 😆👇.
Women get away to have fun, to reconnect, to enjoy some peace and space from the kids, the laundry and the 5,632,683 things on our toilet-roll length to-do lists.
But sometimes we need to find a safe, slow-paced, pocket of protected terrain in the topography of our todays to ensure we don’t just survive until tomorrow, although simply surviving is brave and important work, we’re ready and able to emerge strong and at peace enough for whatever tomorrow hurls our way.
So in this week’s podcast episode Finding Your Own Personal Refugia, I explain how the ecological phenomenon of refugia can help us when life’s not terrible but either the landscape’s changed or it still feels off, and we wonder …
Why can’t I just handle this better?
Where can I find a little space and respite?
Shouldn’t I be more grateful?
Shouldn’t I have figured this out or have more meaning in my life given my faith, family and friends?
Listen in HERE and find your own personal refugia.
Slow Fiction
Not everyone loved Theo of Golden but the slow moving tale of a slow moving octogenarian in a slow moving town in Georgia, captured me from page one.
Now I’m reading the 1930’s classic, The Fortnight In September by R. C. Sherrif, that quietly and slowly chronicles a very ordinary lower-middle class London family called the Stevens, as they take their annual two-week holiday in the English seaside town Bognor Regis.
The slow, detailed observations and descriptions of the life of a very normal family, has been a refuge I’ve welcomed.
This beautiful copy from Persephone Publishers in the UK was a gift. Slow GardeningGardening is, by nature not the fastest activity (unless you count the instant transformation when landscapers swoop in and turn construction rubble to lush lawns around a new build), but this summer I’ve embraced its slowness in a new way.
The maple saplings I rescued from the nursery clearance pile are beginning to perk up and thrive two years after after I planted their wonky little trunks-in-the-making.
The clematis I’d hoped would frame the porch doesn’t seem to be enjoying the strong afternoon sun and is fading in protest. It’s tempting to pull it all up and start again, but I’m trying the slow work of pruning and fertilizing and patiently waiting until next year to see how it does.
The garden doesn’t rush it’s growth and it’s reminding me not to eitherSlow Nature Lessons (from my new favorite young naturalist)Izzy is a young English girl with a calm, intoxicating, storytelling vibe that draws you in and doesn’t just teach us about how the nature works and helps us, but leaves us calmer and more hopeful about the world and our day.
The next David Attenborough? Watch this space friends.
Slow MorningsAfter nearly sixty years of conditioning I’ve finally reached a stage of life I can ditch the guilt of not “getting down to it” first thing in the morning.
It turns out slow mornings are my jam.
Sitting quietly with a cup of tea while daydreampraying and staring into space (preferably on my bench under the tree by my back door) are keeping my nervous system and cortisol levels below DEFCON 2 which is good news for everyone.
My Facebook Market Place bench is battered and worn but fits perfectly. Slow PoetryLet’s be honest, I’ve never been into poetry. Reading it or writing it. But I’ve realized doing a bit of both are a place I can retreat to when needed.
My favorites are, of course, Mary Oliver and Padraig o Tauma3 but I’ve also discovered the very real and down to earth writing of British poet Lucas Smith.
His language is a bit spicy and you may question his theology but he always gives me something to think about and yes, hope.
Here’s his poem I met God at the supermarket.
[BONUS💚] Slow Decorating My plans to decorate the lake house in one big project and get it looking House-Beautiful-perfect within months of moving in were thwarted by finances, time and indecision.
A trifecta that’s left it looking unfinished and slightly unloved in places.But having read Myquillin Smith’s book House Hushing: The simple method to declutter & decorate for a more peaceful home (I was gifted an early copy 🥰) I’m realizing my lack of decorating has conveniently pre-hushed my house and I can add soul without losing the peace and simplicity I love.
Myquillin tells me exactly how, step by step, which, for the decoratingly challenged, it’s a dream!
[House Hushing hits shelves next week but if you preorder it you’ll also getthe audiobook free, so you can hush your house while you listen 🎧.
PLUS The 30-Minute Style Solution Masterclass so you can find your style, train your eye, and shop anywhere with confidence 🎓($97 value).]
You’re welcome!
Whether your summer has been all beaches, bar-b-ques and beauty or it’s a summer you’re glad is beginning to fade, may these small pockets of protection, these refugia in the chaos of life, calm and protect your soul.
What’s been a refuge for you this summer?
How have you kept your cortisol below DEFCON 2?
Until next time my friend, stay wild,
Niki
xx
Enjoyed this list of refuges and know someone who would too? Go ahead and share it. They’ll thank you!
Dick Wittington (Richard Whittington of the parish of St Michael Paternoster Royal, City of London), was an English medieval merchant and politician and the real-life inspiration for the English folk tale Dick Whittington and His Cat which tells the story of young Dick running away to London in the hopes the streets were paved in gold.
Apologies. There should be a little accent over his “o” but I can’t for the life of me figure out how to do it on my keyboard!
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.