#102: Blowing hot and cold
Savouring the last days of summer
Hey friends,
I always seem to find February one of those strange months. It’s the shortest of the year, but it also feels like it lingers on and flies by at the same time.
Here, in Perth, it’s the hottest month of the year. Where I live, far from the cooling touch of the sea breeze, my little home under the gum trees feels more like a sauna than a sanctuary. I love it, most of the time, but by late February, often find myself wishing the days away, yearning for the cooler days of autumn.
Unlike August - February’s northern hemisphere equivalent - which can feel like an intentionally slow, soft, summery month, especially in the UK and Europe, February seems to be a hit-the-ground-running month, no matter where you are. January can be a little slower-going, a way to ease back in after Christmas and New Year, but then February has this kind of springboard energy - especially in the business world, where it’s straight into Q1 and big goals and “start the year strong” speak.
Which, if I’m totally honest, isn’t quite how I’m feeling right now.
In fact, I feel like I’ve been chasing my tail all month, ever since my week-long narrative therapy level one intensive, which was amazing, challenging, rewarding, and exhausting, all at the same time. Even as someone who spends a lot of time at their computer, I was surprised how tough I found it to spend almost 40 hours on Zoom (minus lunch breaks), as well as reading papers on the screen, too.
By the end of the week, I think I’d have been happy never looking at a screen again. But then we had feedback forms, and then it was into the year-long program, and then I had work to do and articles to write and more papers to read and more calls to join and my own calls to run, and well, here we are. A month later, and I’m still struggling to find words for it all.
And, if I’m even more honest, still craving a whole week away from screens - while also dreaming of (and longing for) the slow, lazy Augusts of my youth.
It may be 13 years since I left the UK, but somehow, I still find myself defaulting back to the internal calendars of my motherland. In my head, February is winter. It should be cold, with cloudy days and rain, and the first signs of spring, like snowdrops, crocuses, and daffodils, arriving like beacons of hope after the long winter.
In my head, August, on the other hand, is filled with halcyon memories; slow, lunch-into-evening picnics in the park or happy hours in beer gardens, surrounded by people who bloom like flowers when the sun comes out. Golden meadows full of hay, hedgerows full of wildflowers that are slightly past their peak and budding blackberries. Meandering walks. Long days, dramatic sunsets, and lingering twilights, like the world doesn’t quite want to go to bed, yet. Like it, too, knows that soon these days will be over, and then it will be autumn and winter again.
Right now, I feel torn between the two, craving cool, cloudy skies, while also wanting to appreciate the last days of summer.
And so, amidst the beating-down sun, the endless hours in front of the computer, and the thankless task of watering my garden every day, I’ve been trying to make time to slow down enough to actually appreciate these final days of summer.
I’ve been to visit the nearby waterfalls - which have been dry since November - trying to remind myself that they, like life, are beautiful in all their seasons. I’ve been going for night walks and sunset swims in the lake, and reminding myself to go and sit outside and read my book. That soon, once the rain comes, I’ll be sad I can’t string up the hammock between the trees and sit out there until the stars come out.
I’ve been trying to remind myself that, no matter how busy I feel like I am, life still finds a way, and I get to, too.
Sure, I may still be struggling to find the words for the narrative therapy course, and how it feels to be learning it all and putting it into practice, but I also feel like that’s okay.
And, as much as I’d love to be able to show up here and write a post every week, it’s also okay not to. I spent years writing weekly posts, and showing up through all the seasons, and through all the grief and the growth, and it’s okay to take things at a slower pace, now, too.
Plus, it isn’t just the words that don’t feel like they fit anymore. I feel like everything else is changing, and that’s kind of the way it’s meant to be.
The way I run my business is changing. The people I work with are changing. The way I show up for it all feels like it’s changing - moving further away from “doing” and towards a deeper kind of transitional coaching in my 1:1 calls, while now offering monthly group mentoring calls in my creative community as a way of calling upon the wisdom and the insights of everyone in the group, rather than just sharing my own thoughts.
I’ve also been trying to remind myself that those long summer days of my youth weren’t a time of laidback laziness, either. Instead, they were an essential part of the year. A time to recalibrate, to play, experiment, explore, and think of new ways of doing and being.
Rather than “push through” or a “let’s just get through this” energy, there was a “wait and see” feeling to them, which is something I think I’ve been missing.
Earlier this week, I was fortunate enough to join a free Dulwich Centre Meet the Author call with Chaste Uwihoreye, a clinical psychologist in Rwanda. The call, a Q+A based on his experience of broadcasting hope and local knowledge during the pandemic, was utterly fascinating.
He talked about the challenges of shifting from in-person ways of supporting people during a period of national mourning, held to commemorate the genocide in Rwanda every April, to broader practices like writing letters and using WhatsApp groups. He also talked about the values of stories, metaphors, and songs, and he and another practitioner, a friend of his, ended the call with a song.
If I had any doubts that I was in the right place at the right time, that call pushed them all to the side. It, along with a previous Meet the Author call, where NZ social worker, Tanya Newman, talked about supporting mothers with terminal cancer write letters to their young children, really showed me the value of this work - and all the endless pathways of possibility for it, too.
Now my task feels like it’s not just to get through the next year and show up for all my studies and write all these reflections and do all this reading, but also to find my own way to put my stamp on it, too.
And, at the same time, to enjoy my life as much as I can, because, as I’ve learned through these last few years of supporting my mum and my family through her descent into late-stage Alzheimer’s, it really is an essential part of the process.
Which I guess, is the point and the reminder of this post, life is always going to be here, lifeing. But, at the same time, it’s also here to be lived, no matter what season we may find ourselves in.
Catch you soon.
All my love,
Cx
PS: If you feel like you want to put your pen to your own story, I’m running a writing circle for my creative community tomorrow (Friday 27th February). These circles, which some folks say are the highlight of the community, aren’t just for writers - they’re for a come-as-you-are space for anyone curious about exploring their own stories and playing with their creativity.
To join, you just need to sign up for a paid subscription. If you sign up for a month, you’ll be able to access all the calls, or you can join for a year and get six months free.