Category: Big Thoughts

When life hurts, we all have big thoughts. Let’s explore them together.

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A love letter to books

It’s World Book Day. Where would we be without them? Here’s my love letter.

Dear Books,
What can I say? You’ve been by my side for as long as I can remember: from childhood fairytales to midlife learning; from university libraries to cosy Tuesday afternoons with a cup of tea and a cat on my lap. 

The world opened up thanks to you.

When life hurt you offered shelter under Ladybird wings, gifted Shakespeare to my confused teenage mind. I got out of hospital and you knew I needed cartoon comfort, leaving Calvin and Hobbes on my bed. Health fears and lockdowns had you rummaging around for something new to surprise me with – the poems of John O’Donohue.

When life was light you offered Thomas Hardy to share my university journey, dropping copies of anything by Neil Gaiman when I was ready to escape into other worlds. When laughter was required you reached out a hand to tickle my sides with Bill Bryson. 

Lately you seem to know that my mind needs to be expanded and I found a 500-page tome by Yuval Noah Harari on my desk.

Most of all, you’ve pushed The Great Gatsby into my hands at regular intervals to bring me home. Words heal, you taught me that. And I’ll always be grateful.

Happy World Book Day. 
Love, Susan
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Did You See That?

As the world unravels around us and the feelings of powerlessness start to bite, I’ve taken refuge in nature and (of course) books. Poetry really does hit the spot when all else fails. And there’s nothing like major international crises to switch our focus from big to small. I can’t fix pandemics or conflicts but I can pause in my day to look up at the sky. Other things I’ve noticed: a seagull woke me up this morning with a screeching laugh; the daffodils beside the shed are still trying to come up; Hugo the kitten’s eyebrows are gorgeous.

It’s a scary world, and it was ever thus. Megalomaniac despots will always make a grab for land. Viruses will always make a grab for hosts. But we are here. And in every day there are moments of beauty. Be open to them and they’ll find you.

Here’s my Thought for the Day about my encounter with a goshawk and everything she taught me.

Click to visit the BBC site and listen
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No Worries If Not!

Having spent some time in the company of Mary Oliver last week on the topic of ‘worry’ I couldn’t help but notice that the word is all around. I saw a Twitter post recently that said: “Women are now in charge. No worries if not!” 

Unsurprisingly it quickly went viral. It’s funny, of course, but it also manages to say something incredibly deep about what’s going on with that phrase. Women in particular are fond of it, as we seek to minimise requests and thereby take up less space in the world. It turns up at the bottom of emails, on social invitations, even in close relationships. It trips off the tongue (and page) so easily that I have to make a concerted effort to avoid it. And, whisper it, there’s internalised misogyny in there too: men who ask for something are confident; women are annoying. 

So. Are you inviting someone for coffee? Sending an email with a new work idea? There’s no need for those little words at the end. You’re worth spending time with and you’ve got good ideas that are worth sharing.

Oh and do you need someone to rescue you from a burning building? You got it. Just ask for help. After all, in this scenario, there are many worries if not.

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Multi-tasking: a Cautionary Tale

I poured boiling water on my hand the other day. Not on purpose, I hasten to add. I was filling a hot water bottle (those cosy winter nights) while at the same time trying to nudge a kitten out of the way with my foot. Things wobbled. Grip loosened. And it was sore.

As I stood for ages with my hand under cold water, I realised that I’ve been doing this a lot lately: multi-tasking. It feels like a clever thing to do but apparently our brains don’t like it at all. We can do some things at once, like walking along and talking to someone, but if we try to do anything more, we end up confused, slow and incompetent. 

If you’re watching a film and hear a beep from your phone, for instance, your brain will become distracted (even if you don’t reach for the phone) as it wonders what the notification could be. Email from your boss? eBay item update? New Twitter follower? And so it goes. Until we have to wind back a few minutes on the film to catch up. We just can’t do two different things at once, not well at any rate. 

The world is busy and the flood of information just keeps coming; most of it pretty negative these days. So I’ve turned off notifications on my phone and am trying to have just one day a week with no screens (this means no news or doom scrolling either). I’m also telling myself to concentrate on one task at a time before moving on to the next thing. Already I can feel myself becoming lighter. It probably won’t be long until I’m eschewing electricity altogether and using candles instead. 

I’ll add it to my list. One thing at a time remember.

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What Lies Beneath

We’ve been doing some DIY recently, trying to sort out issues with rising damp, and through the dust and grime there emerged one day row upon row of gorgeous old bricks. Amazing that something so lovely has been there all along, hidden behind layers of plaster and wood. 

It got me thinking about being visible – putting stuff out there for people to see and read. My travel memoir is a work in progress and I’ve noticed that as I tell life stories, I tell the truth about myself. Each layer of plaster comes away (not always painlessly) to reveal another brick – often discoloured, bruised or dented, but always beautiful in some way. Health, grief, love, travel, loss, fear – it’s all there, and it’s all universal, so I suppose it makes perfect sense to share it. 

Dust? What dust?

Imposter syndrome and counting numbers are all part of the journey – writing words that want to fly. They may find a home and land safely, or they may fly away. And that’s okay. There’s courage in vulnerability. Beneath the layers of shame and anxiety are lovely old stories that want to be told. Tales that have lain hidden too long.

I’ll continue to prise away the plaster to see what lies beneath. Treasures all, I reckon. Oh, and we’re keeping the open brick in the hallway.