Tell me about your soft life

and I'll tell you about mine

The winter carpets in my building’s common areas have been removed and that can only mean one thing: spring is here. For real! Even though I still wear a toque when I leave my house in the morning.

There isn’t much grass where I live. On my way to school pick-up yesterday, I saw early snow glories on a neighbour’s front lawn (i.e. 6 feet of grass). Little violet flowers that will disappear soon. I will enjoy them while they’re here.

So. The concept of a “soft life.” Let’s talk about it. In this late-stage capitalist and increasingly chaotic world, I’ve noticed a lot of people yearning for more softness in their lives. Perhaps a way to counter-balance the hardness and the horrors.

But what is a soft life? On Instagram it looks like an influencer lighting beeswax candles in her very old and perfectly decorated seaside house in Scotland (jealous). Or a dreamy illustration of a fairy frolicking in the forest with the caption: “I wasn’t meant for a career I was meant for whatever this is.”

We’re not all fairies with easy access to a forest and we’re definitely not a thirty-something design influencer with prime real estate in the UK. Sometimes I wish I were magical. Or rich.

I can’t answer what softness means for you, but for me, softness is small. It’s at the intersection of slowness, beauty and contentment. It’s recognizing the tiny, mundane things that are right in front of you. The things you don’t see when you’re too busy with life. When I slow down, even for a second, I notice the violet flowers on my neighbour’s lawn. I notice my son’s long lashes. The colourful stack of books on my bedside table. How lucky am I to be surrounded by such beauty. How soothing it is to know there is beauty in the world.

Softness can be a feeling too. I tend to be hard on myself. What if I were a little softer? Kinder? Gave myself the same grace I give those violet flowers? Hello beautiful. Aren’t you lovely. Aren’t you loved. And most of all, you are and always will be more than enough.

What if, instead of running about like a rat in a race, I spent an afternoon in bed and did nothing?

That wasn’t a real question because I hate rats. I hate races. And I love my bed! One thing I’ve become better at as is resting. And as I’ve been adapting to life working full time after several years as a stay-at-home mom, I’ve made it my mission to not run myself down (except last weekend: I ran myself down to the ground and paid for it). I know myself well and I know what I need. I don’t always get it right but for the most part, I’ve made a significant effort to take care of my needs. That sounds like softness to me.

And of course I wrote a poem about it:

I would love to know in the comments what a soft life means to you.

Take care and talk soon.

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Obsession of the week

I’ve done this Obsession of the week snippet before and I’m not sure why I stopped. This is a newsletter about obsessions after all…

This week my obsession has been watching the remaining episodes of The Pitt, an extremely realistic medical drama by ER alum Noah Wyle. I started watching it in February when I was sick with influenza, but stopped because I was on a mission to finish all seven seasons of Gilmore Girls. It’s a great show, very well written, and as the daughter of two retired ER nurses, it hits very close to home.

The show is set in the USA, but it rings true for any ER in Canada: underfunded, understaffed, never enough beds. I’ve always deeply respected my parents’ profession and have always liked listening to their “pitt” stories, but watching the show makes me appreciate their service even more. It takes grit, dedication, and an overwhelming amount of compassion to spend one’s career in an ER. It’s a calling, and it’s not without sacrifice.

I love my parents!