There’s no mystery to how to make your life better, more enjoyable, more authentically yours: find the things that light you up, that give you energy and joy, then do more of them and see where it takes you. But of course, it’s more complicated, because, well, ‘Life’, as Briggs (Australian rapper, actor and legend) puts it in his awesome Voice referendum skit.
There’s so much other stuff that gets in the way though: decades of conditioning, family, kids, work, admin, renos; so many commitments, small jobs, habits, and ways of thinking and being that prevent you from prioritising enjoying your one life and filling it with meaning.
Beginning
So, where do you begin with the project of getting more good stuff in your life? This question leads to two others: what is this good stuff of which you speak? And how in the world am I going to fit it in?
This instalment will tackle the first question (or at least give it a good massage): what is this good stuff? Some people will think this is a ridiculous thing to ask: they’ve got a backlog of wonderful, life-enriching stuff, so much that they couldn’t get through it in ten lifetimes. The challenge for them is to filter through all those options to find the right ones, with the winning combination of being possible, happily challenging and fulfilling.
Others will understand the difficulty of this question – they’re so unused to thinking about what it is they actually want to do that it’ll seem like a bizarre, uncomfortable thing to ask, and the insistent, whispering answers will be quickly drowned out by all the things they should do and the reasons why even considering the topic is ridiculous.
A friend asked and answered this question of herself recently, and laughed when she began talking about fixing her driveway. Another friend mentioned how much she wanted to deep-clean her kitchen. Sure, both of these things are satisfying to have done, but they won’t add joy and purpose to your life, or address that niggling yearning that doesn’t go away.
We shy away from thinking about what would make us happy and life better mostly because we’re scared. (Or at least uncomfortable.) We’re scared that we’ll try something and it won’t be good and we’ll feel stupid; or that we’ll love it but we won’t be able to keep doing it and that will be even harder. That trying new things will lead to change, which is scary, hard and difficult to control. That we’ll be judged as ridiculous, selfish,. Or we’ll pick the wrong thing and waste precious time that could be spent being productive and useful. That spending time, effort, thought and money on ourselves is indulgent. (I’m not the only person who spends hundreds of dollars and tens of hours on kids’ activities weekly, yet finds it hard to justify spending time or money on myself.)
I’m queen of the scared crew. It took me a decade of earning a living with words to call myself a writer (too scared to own my dream). I’ve wanted to start a newsletter for five years now, but it seemed too indulgent and self-involved – I was scared no one would read or like it, and convinced that it needed to make money to be worthwhile.
But over the years of ignoring what I wanted to do (and there’s a lot: I’m also queen of the ‘there’s too much stuff to fit into one lifetime’ crew), the same things kept popping up. These are my things, and they’ve been there from as early as I can remember, whether I pay attention to them or not.
Adventures outdoors, in nature, the more beautiful the better. (Adrenaline optional, but welcome.)
Writing and reading, and turning things over with curiosity.
Friends and genuine connections.
Even when I ignore these things, they pop back up, knock quietly but insistently at the door to my subconscious, ignoring the ‘closed – too busy’ sign. They don’t go away, but keep beckoning. Ignoring them makes me sad – not immediately, but gradually, over time. And when I answer, let them in to play, I feel better, and everything is easier. Things start to open, more good stuff follows and flows. I feel the internal clench of trying to control everything relax, and light floods in, as does the relief of allowing myself to be me.
(I am aware that I’m massively mixing metaphors here, and talking about ‘internal clenches’ and light flooding in feels a bit weird for me, too. But I don’t know how else to explain it, and I don’t want to get all ‘new agey’ with explanations of karma and the universe supporting you and everything else. The simplest explanation I’ve got is that the more you listen to your own needs and answer them, the better you get at doing it, at trying new things and opening doors and taking action and recognising opportunities and directing your life the way you want to go.)
How to find your things
I’ve tried so many things over the years, most of which have helped. I’ve read so many books, from self-help to personal development to the philosophical and psychological, diligently doing the exercises to clarify what I need, what matters to me. I’ve done courses on creative life, on finding your path, on meditation and mindfulness. Regular sessions with the wonderful Belinda Morris keep me balanced and sane. I talk and think about this shit regularly, not just to help myself but because I find it fascinating.
What I’ve found is that all it takes to begin is time and thinking, backed up with action.
After all my reading, seeking and dabbling, I’ve developed my own secret, fun hack for simply and easily working out what you need more of in your life. As an added bonus, it requires you to go away for a while – a day or two will do it - so that you have enough space and distance to see your normal life clearly. You choose where you go and what you do, but it needs to be energising stuff you love that you don’t usually do: less shopping, watching Netflix or lying in the sun; more about creating and exploring than consuming. Then, before you return to the real world, spend an hour or so thinking about what it is you loved about your time away, and how you can get it into your everyday life. Write this down, then make it into an actionable list, with dates, calendar reminders, and whatever else you need to make it happen.
I stumbled upon this by accident, more than a decade ago, after a holiday to Byron with another family. It was a great, busy week of friends and beaches and pool time and wrangling four kids under four. Then the dads took the kids home, leaving my friend Lou and I with two glorious days to play. One morning we left for a quick walk at 7 am and arrived back at 11 that night, tipsy, salty and exhausted. We’d walked along the beach to the lighthouse, had multiple swims and eaten lunch in the sun, met up with old friends to surf and SUP all afternoon, eaten Mexican and downed margaritas. On the plane home the next afternoon I made a list of what was missing in my ‘normal life’: it included nature, exercise, creativity and connection.
When I got back, I worked out how to fit these in. Melbourne’s not the easiest place to fit in bite-size chunks of exercise in nature, so I joined an ocean-swimming group at Black Rock, and began running with friends along the bay. I justified the expense of a babysitter and gave myself two glorious, two-hour windows writing at my favourite café.
Every month or so I’d review how I was going, what was working, whether I wanted to add something or change it up, and see where it took me.
Next issue I’ll continue with the second question: how in the world can you fit this good stuff in? Unless you hated this newsletter, in which case I might not. Let me know!
Past Lives
I went to see Past Lives a few weeks ago. It’s a beautiful film about love and loss, the choices we make and that are made for us, and all the different lives that could result, and how we end up where we do – or at least that’s what I got out of it. The story begins in Korea, following the young Nora and her friendship/budding romance with Hae-sung before her family emigrates to Canada. Twelve years later, Nora has moved to New York for a writing course when the two reconnect and begin an intense online relationship: Nora eventually ends their chats, choosing to focus on the actual life she’s building. Another 12 years passes: Nora has met and married Arthur, an American novelist, and Hae-sung comes to visit, opening up a whole box of topics: how well you can ever really know someone; the truth of the romantic idea that there is a ‘perfect person’ rather than just choices – good, bad and different – leading to entirely different lives; and why some people just click, and what that means.
The acting is amazing, the whole movie wistful and thoughtful and true. An example of the movie’s beauty is one scene in which Arthur is looking for reassurance from Nora: that she loves him; that she’s happy they ended up together. He talks about how when she sleep talks, it’s in Korean. ‘You dream in a language that I can’t understand. It’s like there’s this whole place inside of you where I can’t go.’ There's enough of a pause to make it poignant, painful.
In the words of the Guardian’s Peter Bradshaw, ‘This is a story of lost love and childhood crush, the painful and dangerous access to the past given by digital media; the roads not taken, the lives not led, the futile luxury of regret.’ Go see it while it’s still on.
Imperfect manifesto
Sitting in a box, fresh from our move, I found the ‘Imperfect Manifesto’ I got for Christmas last year. It’s the work of Julie Paterson, an artist and the owner of the amazing Cloth fabric company. Last year I went to her gorgeous house, set in 27 acres of bush backing on to the Blue Mountains National Park, where I interviewed her for an upcoming profile in the wonderful Galah magazine. (She fed me delicious vegetarian chilli and ferried me to and from the train station, too.) Julie’s fabric is beautiful, her art is incredible, but the thing I found most inspiring was her attitude, which this captures so perfectly. Every time I look at it, it makes me happy – can’t wait to get it on the wall.