This is Part Two of my piece Lessons from a Decade of Slow & Simple Living. Missed Part One? Read it here.

6) I deep-sixed the pursuit of “balance”

Ooooh sacrilege in the world of New Age Self-Help, I know, I know.

But man-oh-man, the relief! The freedom! The sheer freaking JOY!

My roots are in the arts, and my heart will always be that of a creative person in the world. And you know what I learned from my heroes in art, music, lit?

Balance is bullshit.

Yes, really. All the best parts of my life have come from chucking balance and all it’s BS out the window. Curious? Read Balance is Bullshit here. I’ll wait.

7) I cultivate habits that support Slowness.

Finding a rhythm of daily, weekly and seasonal habits – something I call creating Islands of Slow – is key to making Slow Living work in the real world.

Here’s some of my slow habits:

• Read every evening before bed. Sometimes for two minutes, sometimes for two hours.
• Structure my work day so I’m present for my kids when they get home from school and there is time for household chores on a daily basis.
• Walk each morning. A little exercise, time for reflection and invigorating fresh air.
• Prioritize my morning routine.
• Take daily moments of quiet – 20 minutes before the kids get off the bus I wrap up my work for the afternoon, make a cappuccino and sit in the sun or by the fire.
• Live with the seasons. Farming isn’t easy (or particularly “slow”) but it’s great for learning to celebrate what is special about each season and being present in the moment. Whether that’s looking forward to the first juicy heirloom tomato of the summer or the first lambs of spring, being present in the moment makes life just that much richer.

8) I cultivate simple living skills.

Key to our general sense of malaise and discontent is a feeling of a lack of purpose.

The giants of silicone valley would have us all living a life devoid of purposeful work while robots meet our needs.

This isn’t my idea of utopia. Far from it.

We have to ask ourselves – What are people for?

For me, the answer is to make meaning in our lives. We can’t do that on the couch as mindless consumers. Shifting our focus to learning to meet some of our basic needs for ourselves is key to a deeply fulfilling, purposeful life.

What does that look like?

In our household it means growing a lot of our own food, cooking simply from scratch – including preserving our harvests, making our own soap, hunting and fishing, knitting, mending our clothes, making art and music.

But you don’t need to pull up stakes and dive into the country living like us to benefit.

Meeting your own needs might be simply learning to entertain yourself. Bake a loaf of bread. Learn to sew. Put a pot of herbs on your windowsill. Contribute to your community by sharing your knowledge. Get to know your neighbours. Share.

9) I nourish a sense of community.

Gosh, if there was just one habit I’ve cultivated over the past decade that has been the defining keystone habit of my Slow Life, it would be this one.

Community, real, fleshy community full of the intimacy and vulnerability it represents . . . well, it’s everything.

The funny thing, tho? Of all the things I’ve learned over the past decade – this was the hardest.

Letting people in, allowing ourselves to be seen – even when we are raw or hurting or angry or ashamed or struggling – especially then . . . This shit is hard. AF.

But boy oh boy.

What a transformation. I couldn’t live this crazy, big, messy, juicy, deliciously imperfect life if it weren’t for my people.

My rural neighbourhood has become a surrogate family. When my Mom was dying, they fed us and looked after our kids and even came over and helped me clean my house.

Talk about feeling exposed.

But the thing is, without that vulnerability, as uncomfortable as it can be, my life would simply be – LESS.

Once we stop rushing from place to place, jamming our schedules with obligations, running to keep up with the Joneses . . . Life unfolds in front of you. Abundant. Effortless.

You will learn the joy of fencepost chats, the coffee pop-by and the nourishing generosity that forms the most beautiful virtuous circle in a thriving community.

You will learn how rebellious it feels to share with abandon, to experience the truth that there is plenty to go around, even when times are tough, if we work together, look out for one another and simply go out into the world outside our door with our heart full of love.

10) I give myself lots of grace

Slow Living shouldn’t be something you worry you’ll fail at, that you won’t do it right, that you aren’t good enough or it won’t work in your life.

When friends come over for drinks, I order in pizza. During lambing season, my whole house goes to hell in a hand-basket, and I let it.

At least once a year my garden completely runs away from me in an exuberant riot of joyfully abundant weeds.

Life happens.

And why shouldn’t it?

Life is hard. Sometimes really, really hard. Cut yourself some slack.

Remember that the point of choosing a slow, simple life isn’t to do it perfectly, it’s to find kernels of joy and meaning and purpose in what is often a frighteningly random, cruel and unkind world.

It’s not about putting on our happy face and pretending that if we just choose the right set of linen napkins and the perfect thrifted slow wardrobe that bad things won’t happen.

The truth of my slow life? This week one of our best sows aborted a huge litter of piglets at nearly term and neither we nor the vet can figure out what’s wrong. Animals die. Kids get sick. Things don’t always go the way we want them to. My mom lies under the shade of a tree where she’ll never grow old.

Sometimes death and heartbreak pile up at our door. Sometimes it’s just the grind of keeping the lights on and kids from killing each other during this stupid pandemic that feels like it will never, ever end.

So, in all that, I CHOOSE to give myself grace. Choose to find god in my garden. Choose to show up in my life, raw, open, vulnerable, present. Choose to be open to the joy that exists among all the darkness, not in spite of it, but because of it.

Ten years in, that’s what Slow Living is about for me.