My beloved journal has been so well-thumbed, tussled with, and scrawled upon of late. In it, I obsess about my creative life; my shiny projects, gaudy dreams, eloquent wishes. I blow them, bewitched, to the wind and moon, in the hope they fall back to earth, a gift to be sprinkled over me, to tiptoe to my loved ones, like a creature of stardust, glittering with promise, bright with success.
Perhaps, I’ve mused lately, I’m so deliriously infatuated with journalling about my creative endeavours so as to avoid excavating painful memories. Perhaps.
Life within my four small walls is currently bursting with colour, mirroring the apple blossom, lilac and pear in the garden of our driftwood cabin and gingerbread house, negating the shadowy depths of horror that beam from our televisions as lying barely beyond. With endless gratitude, my life feels plentiful with:
laughter (with my loves, with old friends and new)
movement (running, coast path hiking, yoga)
design (playing with notebooks, joyful new sticker subscriptions, pastel coloured pens, always tarot)
music (making playlists, ambient sounds while I work, birdsong)
the natural world (in our garden, beyond our garden, nature defying the cold and wind and rain that persists)
reading (on audio, mostly, my eyes dry from the working week but ears still eager, plus soft preparations for my gentle book club)
touch (massage, oils, soothing warm baths with salts, reiki healing, tiny fingertips still reaching for mine)
Bittersweet are these comforts, as this winter has been arms-length heavy, a looming cloud, a vicious spectre of loss and grief, not within, but just outside, our front door. A godmother, a neighbour, a colleague, a friend, a client. Patchworking the gaps as they have one-by-one fallen, their now empty places scream for colour to blur the edges of their missing pieces. The inevitably human swirling thoughts of “who is next” - once we passed the unwritten ‘rule of three’ and yet they still fell - has hovered unwaveringly at the fringes of my thoughts for months.
Breathing deep, lightening any unnecessary mental responsibility, and linking arms firmly with loved ones, with extended family, with forgotten and forgiven friends, and with my wider local community, continues to bring solace. Deep connection now, freed from the exhausting breadth of my twenties and thirties.
Scar tissue, softened by age, and by love.
Life then, in light of loss and in honour of persisting in bravely turning our faces towards the sun, is vibrant right now. Life to me feels emerald green, flushed with promise, sumptuous with hope. The tinkling giggles of my children are mouthwatering. My schedule is as comfortable with simplicity as ever possible, stripped back to the bones but all the richer for it. Movement and words and nature and love are abound. What luck. What earthly pleasure. What life, in flow.
Over to you.
What colour does your life feel, right now?
moments of stardust lately
synchronicities I couldn't ignore
I asked the universe for a sign and, wow, did it deliver. Everything fell into place this week with a competition win and moment of unimaginable harmony. Have a read of my Substack Note, above. Throughout May and June I now have the gift of manipulating even more space and immersing myself in a river of words with
and if you would like to be there too, there’s still time.a song I can't stop playing
gentle book club news
current read: ‘Weathering’ by
(narrative nonfiction). Reading dates 28th March to 30th April 2024.next up: ‘Sorry I’m Late, I Didn’t Want To Come’ by
(memoir). Reading dates 1st May to 19th June 2024.A reminder that next Monday 22nd April 7pm (UK time) you are invited to join @Ruth Allen for a Q+A on all things ‘Weathering’. This is an open invitation and informal get-together, celebrating the launch of Ruth's fabulous book, and cheering it on as the first choice for the gentle book club. Do get your questions for Ruth ready.
Zoom link:
Meeting ID: 824 9544 6461
Passcode: 757930
I hope to see you there. Stroll gently, my loves,
x Luisa
I am surrounded by green in my tropical home, there are moments when it is so vivid my whole body sings with it. But so too often right now then green is dull as my exhaustion and anxiety of life gets the better of me.
I love the poetry of this post - and your question about a life in colour. Personally, I think I'm aspiring to the burnt orange stripe I've painted through my living room - I want my life and my work to be bursting with energy and warmth, a splash of sunshine. The reality I suspect is quieter - perhaps the grey-blue of my favourite jumper or the sea beneath a shifting April sky. It's not bleak - just softer and more containing, matching the rockiness of my 2024 so far and the way I've tried to keep an even keel, to navigate a tricky season with more gentleness. There are flashes of brighter blues, clearer skies, but we're not fully there yet. And I still look at the flash of orange and know where I'm going, but I'm trying embrace where I am as well. Thank you again for your wonderful words - I felt myself just drinking them in and wanting to absorb it all. xx