No one wrote and told me how much they hated part one of the ‘getting more of your good stuff’ download - in fact, a few people did the opposite - so I’ll keep going. This one is all about - drumroll please…
How to make space for more good stuff in a life that’s already overflowing with other things
In Part 1, I suggested ways of finding what your own good stuff is, and I even gave you permission to turn it into a fun weekend away/research project… (You’re welcome.)
Now we’re going to continue on with the second question: how do you make room for this kind of fun, ‘frivolous’ (but essential) stuff in a life that’s already overflowing? My approach has been to ditch what’s not important to me and chews up my time without adding much to my life. Again, what makes this list depends on the person, but these are the areas I’ve consciously lowered my standards, expectations and effort:
House tidiness and cleanliness – I aim for hygienic and fine, not display-home standards.
Personal appearance – I just can’t be arsed with makeup, dying my hair, buying new clothes (for the fun of it), or keeping up with trends. (Plus, it’s more sustainable.) And yes, there are exceptions, and no, I don’t think anyone (except my mum!) really notices or cares.
Keeping up with others. There will always be others who do it better and worse. I aim to opt out of caring.
Gourmet food – in our house, meals are reliably there, healthy, tasty and varied enough. I’m not aiming for inventive or mind-blowing.
I also make sacrifices to free up time. I don’t watch much TV – a couple of hours a week – and try to keep social media to a minimum. And three mornings a week, I wake up early and go for an hour’s exercise, which means I drink less (generally not on weeknights) and go to bed earlier. Both wins.
And when I say sacrifices, they’re not really. They’re things I’ve given up to make time for what matters to me. A lot of the time these ‘sacrifices’ are actually things used as filler to prevent boredom, loneliness or having to address dissatisfaction with life.
In Four Thousand Weeks, Oliver Burkeman talks about how we distract ourselves to keep from thinking about mortality and the shortness of life, and the impossibility of doing all the things that we want. The problem is that by avoiding the issue, filling the time, we waste so much of it, and don’t live the precious present we actually have. He says: ‘You have to choose a few things, sacrifice everything else and deal with the inevitable sense of loss that results.’ (I know that quote makes it sound incredibly depressing, but it’s actually an amazing, optimistic book about finding freedom and meaning by addressing the finite nature of life. Read it!)
As well as all I’ve sacrificed (!), I’ve also identified the bits of my life that suck – time, joy or both – and outsourced, streamlined or eliminated them.
To minimise cleaning, I’ve got a robot vacuum cleaner, a fortnightly cleaner and have delegated at least some of the routine jobs – cooking, dishwasher, washing up, bins – to the kids.
There’s little I hate more than approaching dinner time without a plan: I’ve used up all decision-making powers by 5 pm. So every fortnight I do a meal roster and get a huge online grocery shop delivered, popping into the local shop for fresh stuff when needed. Not exciting, but efficient.
How to keep on track
I’ve had so many systems over the years: accountability buddies; scheduled time (monthly and quarterly) for review; and a whole hierarchy of lists. There were master lists and a ‘top four things I’m working on’ quarterly list, feeding into monthly lists, weekly lists and daily lists, all backed up by tick boxes and strict time management. All of these systems served their purpose: helping me learn to trust that I could fit in what I wanted to do, and that I even knew what that was. I’m much more free and easy these days, although I still love a good list. (The ‘things to do before we go overseas’ one I’m working through at the moment is a monster! One week to go!)
The main things are to focus on the big picture and not damn yourself for the little things, to keep taking small steps, and to form good habits and get rid of bad. (I found Atomic Habits really useful.)
And also to remember that your needs are as valid as anyone else’s, you only get one life. And have fun.
Sweet sadness
It’s that time of year when life is gearing up for change. School and university years are ending, and with it whole chapters of life. Leaving to go overseas next week has brought all the melancholy forward, to be unpacked as I pack our belongings away.
My second daughter’s off to high school next year and my youngest is changing schools, ending seven years of twice-daily trips to the same primary school and being part of that community. I’m nostalgic for my kids, but also for me: most of my Sydney friends have come through those school gates; my kids were so small when they started there, and are now so big. Suddenly, and oh so slowly.
I feel like that I should be better at navigating life’s chapters. I’ve had practice - eight or so schools, a few new countries, lots of places and situations and roles - I should be good at being grateful, celebrating and acknowledging the stage, and moving on to the next. But I’m not really: I find it hard to let go. I have to mourn a bit, wallow in sweet sadness.
But at least I let myself feel it now, instead of bottling it up, pushing it down. I treat my feelings as just that: how I feel. I don’t have to act on them, justify them, be embarrassed or shut them down. Instead, I try to let myself feel them honestly, and be compassionate with myself.
(I’ve written about this before. Here’s something I wrote for the ABC about navigating new life chapters - both yours and your kids.)
Can anyone tell that it’s raining outside, and that I’m listening to sad classical music?