A necessary pause

January and February were… a lot.

You know those months where you suddenly look up and think:
Wait, how are they already over?

Honestly, I really hate when that happens. When time seems to slip through your fingers because your attention was pulled in too many directions — other people’s priorities, deadlines you can’t really escape and obligations that slowly grow larger than you intended.
Somehow it feels like life takes over and you’re not in the drivers seat.

Add to that, the weight of the world — the news, the constant noise, the feeling that everything everywhere is a little too much — and the balance you try to keep doesn’t just tilt… it seems non-existing. And so your autopilot kicks in.

You realise afterwards that your own to-do/wishlist quietly moved to the bottom while everyone else’s rose to the top, leaving your cup a little too empty for your own good. And every time again, you promise yourself: Next time we’ll do it differently.
But then life happens again, and suddenly you're back on the rollercoaster — the kind with the three-times-over-the-top, twisting, free-fall drops.

Being human is beautiful because we get to experience so many facets of life. I really love even the messy, sad and confusing parts. The things that make us feel deeply. But sometimes you also need to step out of it for a moment. To quiet the outside noise and to come back to yourself.

I recently listened to a podcast where a woman said something that stayed with me:
People need more time to simply be themselves. Because the moment someone else enters the room, something shifts. You automatically tune into them, wether you want to or not. You feel their mood, their vibe, your overhear them talking, … And you adjust yourself without even realising it.
Which means you need moments completely alone to just… be you. Without performing a role.

That idea stuck with me and kind of pointed out what I needed (like an auwch-moment of realisation).

So, I decided to do a little solo retreat on the land.

I kissed my husband and kids goodbye (with a portion of guilt) and packed for two nights away.

In my mind it was going to be this beautiful, creative reset: journaling, life-changing insights (of course), new goals, some writing, maybe some planting and even some yoga. You know, everything you don’t have time for (or make time for).

Hah, reality had other plans.

The moment I arrived, my body shut everything down.
I got a painful blockage in my neck that made it hard to move. And my laptop decided it was the perfect time for a technical meltdown.

So suddenly there was only one thing left to do: nothing.

At first I was frustrated about the missed opportunity. But slowly I started wondering if that was actually the whole point.
Maybe my body was telling me I needed something entirely different.

The land has a way of stripping things away

The funny thing about this place is that there is… nothing here.
And because of that, everything else naturally falls away.

You don’t need to wear a nice outfit. The trees don’t care how you look.
You don’t need to be productive. Animals only show themselves when you’re relaxed anyway.
It’s a place where outer rules don’t really apply and to-do lists simply can’t reach you.

The noise of the world is replaced by birdsong.
Your phone loses its importance because you realise you don’t actually need it (which is quite impressive seeing we’re practically glued to the damned thing).

And when you remove all those expectations, when you no longer have to do things or be anyone in particular…

The silence creates space. You feel your body & mind simply getting in tune.
And I realised something while lying there, listening to the rain tapping softly on the roof of our caravan:

This kind of pause is becoming a real necessity in this world.
To be able to reclaim your time, with the land as your sidekick, is such a gift.

Take a moment

I tend to randomly pick books on my e-reader and see where they take me. This time I stumbled upon one I just felt connected too (& highlighted practically half the book):

The Spirit of the Earth: A Creative Journey into the Soul of Mother Nature by Vernon Hutter.

The book describes the restorative journey to connect with nature and therefore ourselves, but in a grounded kind of way.

I want to share some paragraphs that stayed with me. I love how these words have the capability to soothe the soul by something as ‘simple’ as observing and describing nature. Which we all to often just seem to forget. I hope you like them too.

The Rhythms of Nature
The sun still sets in the evening and rises in the morning.
It’s not aware of the establishment and man-made rules.
It’s not aware of pandemics and rising mental health issues in mankind.
It’s not aware of the massive divisions and prejudice that separates societies on the Earth.
The sun simply rises and sets, the moon simply waxes and wanes, birds carry on singing and the seasons don’t change.
So when society is in turmoil and our man-made systems is in chaos, I find solace in Mother Nature, where everything just is as it is, and the rhythms just are as they are.

The Kindship of the Earth
There is one thing that connects us all, in these disconnected times, that one thing is Mother Nature.
The Earth we stand upon is the same Earth that supports the trees and creatures of the world.
The sky we marvel under is the same sky that the birds sing and glide in. The trees and creatures of the plant exchance oxygen and carbon dioxide.
The moon that shines in the midnight sky, is the same moon that pulls the tides, and can even affect the behaviour of plants and creatures.
The plants and animals feed the plants and animals.
The rivers flow into the sea, and the seas connect the land.
The sea support the fish, the fish and creatures support each other.
The forests create the rain and the rain sustain the forest and land.
The Sun that warms the Earth is the same Sun that gives life to all living creatures on the Earth.
We are all part of, and not separate to, something much bigger than ourselves - Mother Nature.

It was comforting and beautiful, and just full of sweet reminders that made me feel good.
Nature has a way to fix us, to humble us and reminds us we are only a teeny tiny part of this big world.