Comparisons

As the first kettle of the day started to boil, sunshine poured into our kitchen, and I decided to hang some laundry outside. There is something so comforting about seeing clothing hanging on the line, moving in a gentle breeze, and it smells lovely when you bring it in at the end of the day. It is part of a loving routine when we are fortunate to have warm weather, and everything looks and feels better in the sunshine.

We are practical souls and, over time, have come to understand that the life we had changed in an instant when Tim was given his diagnosis. It takes time to absorb the impact (if you ever really do), yet life carries on. We are navigating a new landscape where a different language is spoken, and our days are unfamiliar and beyond our control. We attend appointments and do as instructed with medication and treatments, as we grapple with the many side effects. Yet we are together, living in our home, the same house we chose three years ago. Surrounded by all our furniture and bits and bobs. It is our foundation of grace.

We live day to day, taking each moment as it unfolds, and building a routine that nurtures and supports. Long-term decisions are beyond our grasp, and we accept that. Day-to-day choices are simpler to make if we loosen our grip on what was.

We have discovered that it is jarring to compare our lives now to how they were. It is buying into the violence of our times. So many angles of life set us up to compare ourselves to others and how their lives are unfolding. Pictures on social media spring to mind! It is equally damaging to compare our lives now to what they were like.

We are discovering that we are creating a new way of living. A different routine. Not measuring ourselves by how productive we are. Relinquishing the luxury of getting totally absorbed in a creative project, but learning to create in small bursts. Holding the ability to remember what we were doing, despite many interruptions, and being able to pick up where we left off, sometimes hours or even days later. Anyone who has spent time with babies and toddlers develops this ability, and like a learned muscle memory, it stays. Getting the housework done in small sections. We may not get the satisfaction of knowing that the whole house has been cleaned in one day, but we have realised that when is housework ever truly done?

It is a gift to discover that not everything has to be done in a day.

The art of slowing down gifts us time to natter about nothing in particular. To sit together and listen to the birds singing or watch them feeding. To see the bulbs and flowers springing forth in the welcome sunshine. To read aloud. To share plans but not dash to immediately put them into action. To leave our phones for hours without touching them. To allow life to unfold without the need to be all over everything.

To let the old lives rest, as we learn to rest in the new. 💕