You never regret a swim.
The back story of this newsletter. But first we dive into sea creatures, mental first-aid and podcasts, before I compare moving house to running across Scotland...
You never regret a swim. It’s the best remedy for everything from stress to brain-aching tiredness to hangovers. As soon as my head sinks under the water, everything immediately feels better. (Not fixed, but better.) Pools don’t do it for me, but each to their own.
Luckily I live near what must be one of the world's best city ocean swims: from Manly to Shelly Beach. The surrounding area is a marine sanctuary, and hugging the coast from Manly’s long, wavy shores to the protected corner of Shelly Beach is like swimming through an aquarium. Bright green tendrils of weed wave like the world’s lushest lawn; huge blue gropers lurk in the rocks; lines of shiny silver yellowtails trail off into the distance. And there’s so much more: I’ve seen sea turtles languidly swim past, dusky whaler sharks that look a little too much like baby Jaws, giant cuttlefish blob around like alien invaders, and schools of tiny squid squirting little clouds of ink.
In the seven years since we moved to Sydney, I’ve gathered a pod of swimming friends. The Swummies aim to swim once a week (although often less frequently), the numbers fluctuating with the temperature. The group has been a sanity saver, especially during Covid lockdowns, serving as exercise, therapy and meditation in a 30-minute package.
One morning before we waded in, a friend was talking about anxiety, and her methods of shoring up emotional stability. She mentioned a parenting podcast (Parenting Without Power Struggles) that described how looking after emotional wellbeing should be treated in a similar way to any other aspect of health.*
My friend’s summary was this: if you’ve got a scratchy throat and runny nose, you know what to do – lots of rest and liquid, Vitamin C, medicine if you need. There should be a similar approach to mental wellbeing. At the first signs of a psychological sniffle, pull out your triaging skills and emotional first-aid kit, jammed with things that are proven to work for you: increased exercise, sleep, chats with supportive folk; whatever you find effective. (The list of potentials is endless – hot baths, long walks, breaking stuff – if you pay attention, you’ll find what works.)
This approach makes sense: over the decades I’ve learnt what makes me feel better, pulls me out of a slump, when combined with time, patience, and a bit of self-compassion. I’ve grown way better at catching the warning signs, too. In my younger years, I was so good at soldiering on, trying to jolly my way out of things, that it often took me months to realise that my mental wellbeing was getting a bit saggy.
In fact, this ‘journey’ to greater awareness is the genesis of this newsletter. The long, very common backstory is this: in early motherhood, I got a little lost. It took me years to realise how far I’d drifted from where I wanted to be, and even longer to rebuild my life into something I loved, that felt like it fit.
Now I'm writing a book about it, and in the process have thrown myself into what I think of as a self-designed and motivated Master's course in human psychology, happiness, and the art of living a good life.
‘Real life but better’ will pull out the best, most relevant and interesting bits from what I’m reading and thinking about, as well as from my other job as a freelance writer when I get to interview adventurers, creative types and other folk with interesting perspectives. So stay tuned, subscribe and share.
* This podcast episode is great. Lisa Damour also details how to tell the difference between a temporary worry that can be self-managed, and one that is bigger, requires more attention and possibly some outside help. She uses the analogy of having a cold: it’s something that is just part of life and usually doesn’t point to a bigger problem. However, if you don’t get better, and instead the illness drags on and turns into an ongoing problem that interferes with your life, you should seek help. Similarly, negative emotions and frames of mind are normal and natural and not grounds for concern, but if they start to take over life and/or lead to unhealthy coping mechanisms, it’s time for action.
Difficult things: where I compare moving house to running the length of Scotland…
After months of winter sunshine, on moving day we woke to rain; lots of rain. This was particularly unwelcome as the driveway at our old place was so steep and narrow that everything had to be loaded onto a ute in our carport before it was driven up to the street to be put on a truck. All in the pissing rain.
After a few hours and thousands of boxes, the rain evaporated into a double rainbow. The creek in the garden was flowing. As a reminder that living here was not all rainbows, views and waterfalls, the world’s fattest leech attached itself to my pinky to say farewell.
Twelve hours later and we were in our new place, eating Thai takeaway at a table we found in the backyard, while the movers chucked the last random crap into the carport. But we all had beds, the first supermarket delivery arrived the next day, and it already feels like home, with added boxes.
Our youngest child is eight and this will be his sixth home. Guy and I have been together for 21 years or so, and lived in 13 places. So I’m going to close the door on this moving game and plan not to do it again for another decade or so, and count it as more proof that I can do hard things.
Talking of doing hard things, this week I spoke to Sarah Pendergrass, who’s heading off shortly to trail run the length of Scotland - (700-ish kilometres!) She’s been thinking about this ‘Light to Light’ trip - a self-propelled, self-mapped mission to run from the lighthouse at Scotland’s most southerly point, to the lighthouse at the most northerly point of the remote Outer Hebrides – since 2018 when she wrote her intention on the side of a Lululemon van (!). There was a small pandemic hiccup, but on 17 August she’s off.
Sarah’s a freelance marketer (and writer, illustrator, kayaker, bike rider and more) and is taking a month off work for her adventure. The thing I liked most about her: she’s obviously confident and competent, but also flexible and realistic. She still hasn’t got it all sorted out – people may or may not come and join her along the way; she’s got ten campsites still to sort. And, despite dedicated training since January 2023, she’s not sure how she’s feeling fitness-wise as she’s never prepared for 24 consecutive days averaging 30 kilometres of running before!
Sarah’s fundraising for Free to Run, an incredible NGO changing gender norms through running programs in areas of conflict. She has also just been selected as the 2023 ‘Gutsy Girls Fundraiser’, with some of the merchandise sales from the upcoming film tour supporting her trip. (Last year it was the amazing Lucy Barnard, who’s a few years – and the entire continent of South America! – into her attempt to be the first women to walk the length of the world. I wrote an article about her here if you want to know more.)
(And yes, I just compared moving house to running 700 kilometres. But it made for such a nice segue, while also allowing me to vent about moving, that I couldn’t resist.)
Some awesome books I’ve read lately
This is Not a Book About Benedict Cumberbatch, by Tabitha Carven. Hilarious, profound and containing more info about the Cumberbatch than anyone can ever possibly need. (Erotic Holmes-and-Sherlock fan fiction, anyone?) The subtitle – ‘on finding your thing and loving it like your life depends on it’ – sums up the book perfectly.
4000 Weeks, by Oliver Burkeman. This is a game changer, starting with the title: 4000 weeks is 80 years, the length of the average Western human life. That’s it. Even the name of this book blew my mind. Burkeman’s book is about ‘time management for mortals’ – coming to terms with how short life is, the impossibility of doing more than a fraction of what you want to do, and then focusing your priorities, attention and time accordingly. As Burkeman puts it: ‘this book is an attempt to help redress to balance – to see if we can’t discover, or recover, some ways of thinking about time that do justice to our real situation: to the outrageous brevity and shimmering possibilities of our four thousand weeks.’
What About Men, by Caitlin Moran. This book led to all sorts of interesting conversations with Guy about penises, porn and other ‘man stuff’ – don’t worry, I’m not going into them here… I’m very envious of how Caitlin can be so hilarious, insightful and direct without worrying about other people’s opinions. I think I want to be her when I grow up.
Too true!