#feelslikehome
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Feels Like Home
May 6th 2023 - May 31 2024
Art Gallery of Ontario
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I want to be this for my kiddo. Lotus is 12 years old, 7th grade, and those tween years hit hard, man. But I also want to be this for everyone I care about. Friends, family, relationships. I know this is what I need, so very much. If I have a partner in life, this is the vibe I want to receive. I'm a simple girl, but my life can be difficult: single motherhood + chronic illnesses/pain = some real struggles. So I try to be what it is I want to have: A shoulder to lean on when life is heavy//an ear to listen where secrets are safe//a place where you can take your armor off and breathe fully, and be loved. Easy breezy peace. ✌️🖤🌙 #loveyourselffirst #lovealways #livepassionately #lovelylove #loveismagic #loveagain #makelifebeautiful #bethegood #lovelikethis #danethomasquotes #quoteslover #wordsaremagic #feelslikehome https://www.instagram.com/p/CpmNbrzs4pN/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
#loveyourselffirst#lovealways#livepassionately#lovelylove#loveismagic#loveagain#makelifebeautiful#bethegood#lovelikethis#danethomasquotes#quoteslover#wordsaremagic#feelslikehome
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#shewrites #homesick #poetrycommunity #poem #odetoyou #poetsandwriters #writerscommunity #writersofengland #writersquotes #igwriters #home #feelings #magical #places #feelslikehome #grateful #makingmemories #alhamdulillah #joy #specialmoments #myheart https://www.instagram.com/p/CmemucwqsWA/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
#shewrites#homesick#poetrycommunity#poem#odetoyou#poetsandwriters#writerscommunity#writersofengland#writersquotes#igwriters#home#feelings#magical#places#feelslikehome#grateful#makingmemories#alhamdulillah#joy#specialmoments#myheart
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Where Will The Baby Go?
For something that weighs around three kilos and measures in the region of 50cm, newborn babies sure do take up a lot of space. A little shy of three weeks ago, we brought our second baby back home—the same home we had brought back our first, just over four years ago. Many things have changed since then, not least the number of grey hairs on my head, but the one thing that has remained resolutely unchanged is the footprint of our apartment.
The fact of this sat with me all through 2022 and 2023, as my husband and I journeyed down the path of growing our family and all the complexities (read: hope, loss, love) that kind of process often entails. But where will the baby go? I'd silently fret to myself before I was even sure I’d have a baby at all to hold in my arms again. Objectively speaking we live in a small apartment, with enough bedrooms for two-thirds of the current occupants, excusing our enormous house cat who cares not for doors or boundaries and considers any available surface her territory for a hard-earned nap. To be honest, I’d welcome that kind of laissez-faire approach to our sleeping arrangements, flopping from sofa to bed to rug, but social conditioning and my extremely Type A personality requires routines and structure. No, the baby would need a bed, just like the rest of us, and we would need to work out where that bed was going to go.
It’s a profoundly modern and Western phenomenon, this suggestion that each individual requires their own bedroom or even their own bed. In the majority of countries around the world, co-sleeping and room sharing between parents and children is the standard practice of care, to the extent that it would be considered completely unreasonable to expect a child (let alone a baby) to sleep alone. In Japan, where co-sleeping ranks the highest in the world, sleep is described as a river, with the parents occupying the banks and the child as the flowing water held safely between. We co-slept with our daughter for the first six months of her life, although it wasn’t in the formation of a river but more like a motorbike (our bed) with a sidecar (her crib). Given the grunts, hoots and whistles she regularly emitted as she dozed, this analogy feels more apt than the backdrop of a babbling brook. In any instance, she was never more than an arm’s reach away during those thick, dark nights when every insane sound she made was heightened in the silence of a slumbering home. After that, we moved her into The Baby’s Room which we had decorated and furnished with playful odds and sods that said more about our whimsy of being parents than they did of any perceived personality trait of our child. It’s a curious thing, to decorate a room that someone else will occupy, without knowing a single thing about their tastes or interests.
The Baby’s Room had also been our study until that point, and when the time came to move the desk into the front room to make way for a changing table and crib, I felt slightly undone. I was ready to acknowledge that parenthood would come with an exchange of gains and losses, but there was something so bluntly literal about the act of becoming a mother that it necessitated my giving up a private place to write. I guess it’s a variation of that oft-debated line from Cyril Connelly: “There is no more sombre enemy of good art than the pram in the hallway." The irony is that it was only once my daughter was born that I found the capacity within myself to put pen to paper in a more expansive way, and during my maternity leave I wrote the first draft of a book proposal. Perhaps it’s an even greater irony that four years later I am writing these words whilst my son is wailing in the room next door, as my husband tries to rock him to sleep. Perhaps, like nature, art will always find a way.
One of the consequences of giving up our study in place of The Baby’s Room, was the associated shame (entirely on my part) that came with living in a home that appeared too small for all our needs and wants. I come from a country that places a great deal of emphasis on the Family Home, variations of which most of my peers now live in and are currently extending, remodelling or digging out extensive basements underneath. Family Homes have a garden, enough bedrooms for everyone, a guest room, more than one bathroom, and the kinds of open plan kitchen-cum-dining rooms that are increasingly of a single aesthetic that populates all our Instagram feeds. Family Homes tend to come with their own social media accounts, so we can follow our friends’ #HomeReno updates and post fire emojis under pictures of construction sites. I have spent a good many years reflecting on what makes us feel good, mad and sad about home, and I can tell you that the insidious rise of interior design content which is beyond the skills and budget of the overwhelming majority is making a lot of us fucking miserable about our living situations.
After a while, the question of where will the baby go stopped masquerading as a concern about where, practically, the baby will sleep, and revealed itself for what it was: a shameful desire to meet some kind of social norm as a Family of Four. This revelation came to me in the winter of 2022, after a shockingly awful year pockmarked by loss. During this time we had tried, and failed, to sell our apartment and buy a house. For nine long months our home sat on the market, and most weekends we spent our free time cleaning and decluttering so the estate agent could bring one or two people over for a viewing that never materialised into anything other than a pass. That weekend, in early December, when we pulled our home off the market and accepted our fate, I wept. It was another grief, of sorts—the ambiguous loss of a life I had imagined in our new house; one with enough potential to become a Family Home.
These days, when I’m feeling a bit out of sorts at home and in need of a reset, I roam around the apartment and find things to fix or do—packing toys away in their rightful boxes, folding laundry, changing lightbulbs, that kind of thing. Invariably, I’ll end up standing in my daughter’s room gazing at all the things that make this space sing with her personality that we could never have anticipated when we picked out paint colours—the paintings bluetacked at a wonky angle on the wall, the rock and gravel collection, the basket of teddies, the plastic box stuffed with countless beaded bracelets she’s made for us all. I can’t even remember what it looked like when it was a study, and I don’t care any more. I didn’t lose anything when I moved my desk out, because it was never a trade to begin with. The day we turned that room into our daughter’s bedroom, we simply dialled up the joy in our lives. I couldn’t see it for a long time, but now I know that I’ve been living in a Family Home all along.
So where will the baby go now that we are four and our home is still, resolutely, the same size as before? He’ll go right here, of course—with us.
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Mohican 100 miles 2023. Respira, vive y ama.
Dicen que la flor de pohutukawa con origen en Nueva Zelanda posee aquellas raíces entrelazadas en desorden que lo resisten todo, la insularidad , terremotos, las tormentas.
Sin duda el ultra es un juego mental. Hablando hoy, específicamente de las 100 millas, hay una constante pregunta en el camino: “Ahora a que me deberé de enfrentar?” Cada segundo las cosas cambian, pueden ser externas, pueden ser internas. El ambiente, el clima, los animales, la emociones, un desajuste hormonal 😄, una lesión… en fin. La lista es larga. Pero por ahí se dice que “Un mar en calma, nunca hizo experto al marinero”.
Mohican es una carrera de montaña que se lleva acabo en Loudonville, Ohio. A una hora y cuarto aproximadamente del aeropuerto de Cleveland. La ruta sin duda es hermosa, mayormente single track, por supuesto, muchas raíces. Nos deslizamos entre todos los tonos de verdes posibles, cruzamos ríos, escalamos parte de un árbol inmenso, bajamos las escaleras para llegar a Big Lyons Falls una especie de cueva labrada por la naturaleza de dónde cae una cascada. No cabe duda que Dios es el mejor arquitecto del mundo.
De día la ruta perfectamente marcada, sin necesidad de pintar flechas y poner cal. Letreros reutilizables con el logo de la carrera con flechas y las palabras “right”, “left”, “straight” , según fuera el caso. Y banderines con la cuadros naranjas en su punta marcando ruta, o cuando se acercaba algún cambio en ella. De noche en algunos momentos la ruta era confusa porque algunas marcas se desprendieron del piso, pero si estás haciendo 100 millas , es porque seguramente eso no representará mayor problema que tal vez algunos segundos de duda.
Del equipo fuimos varios a diferentes distancias 50 millas (que son un poco más de 80km) y 100 millas que serían aprox. 160km. La organización me pareció bastante buena, desde el contacto previo, hasta el cierre de ella. Las 100 millas con un desnivel de poco más de 4,500m positivos.
Contamos con 2 dropbags en ruta. De inicio sabíamos que haría mucho calor 🥵, me gusta porque me adapto al él, pero nunca me había tocado que al ser mayormente single track los árboles hacen una especie de sombra, donde si bien el sol no te pega en la cabeza, hace un efecto de sauna como si el calor saliera del piso, y es una sensación tan extraña que deshidrata los músculos un poco más rápido, y por supuesto lleva tu cabeza a un sitio un poco incómodo.
Los primeros 50 km se me pasaron muy rápido. Me fascino estar ahí, permanecer en ese espacio, aún cuando el clima hizo lo suyo y me empezó a pegar en las piernas, pude empujar bastante y colocarme dentro de las 5 primeras. Nos rebasábamos constantemente y sonreíamos jugando a los carritos. Me gusta ir ahí, me gusta empujar y llevarme a ese lugar incómodo, pero a la vez, donde me permito ser yo y escoger el dolor como escuela que me ayuda a crecer. Me gusta no ponerme excusas, me gusta ser congruente y saber que cualquier resultado sólo depende de mi.
Estados Unidos es muy avanzado en este tipo de carreras. La mayoría de los corredores reciben apoyo de crew y Pacers la mayor parte de la ruta. Nosotros vamos con nuestro entrenamiento, y la bendición de Dios padre. Pero lejos de verlo como desventaja, lo veo como aprendizaje de vida. Depende de mi, y de mis decisiones. No es fácil pasar la noche allá fuera en un país distinto al tuyo, no es fácil saber qué hay animales que no son parte de tu día a día, que estarás mucho tiempo sola con un cuerpo endeble que te requiere 100 por ciento estar presente. Pero a eso vamos, a explorarnos, a explotarnos por dentro y fuera. Observó absolutamente todo. Mi entorno, a los demás corredores, sus gestos. Respiro profundo los olores del bosque una y otra vez porque me sé afortunada. Porque sé que no todos se atreven, o pueden vivirlo.
Por ahí del km 50 y algo, un espasmo y se me adelantó la regla 🙄 nada más por 15 días, en fin. He vivido con un desajuste hormonal últimamente que ahora me hizo una pésima broma. Al regresar al punto de control que estaba cercano al hotel (aprox. 1 milla) pedí permiso para ir corriendo a cambiarme y regresar a la carrera. Muchos verían esto como una buena excusa para detenerse y salirse. Para mi era otra cosa más que resolver en chinga y ajustarme al cambio. Sabía que perdería lugares pero vamos… jamás ha sido mi enfoque. Mi mente dicto “solo vamos a tener que empujar un tantito más”.
Regrese enojada, y ese enojo se convirtió en cuna de coraje para salir a paso de señora con prisa a terminar la segunda parte de la carrera. Un paréntesis aquí… Mucha gente cree que los que tenemos la capacidad, o fuerza de continuar en ruta es algo dado, que somos personas que simplemente creemos mucho en nosotros. Creo que es ignorancia, o falta de curiosidad de lo qué hay detrás de esas personas que encaramos las circunstancias. Veo a las mujeres y hombres que transitan a mi lado o delante de mi, y sé que para pelear así antes hubo mucho dolor, mucha inseguridad, muchas circunstancias y mucho valor para salir de ahí. Sé que para construir el carácter que te hace convivir con tus demonios hay silencios, muchos silencios de historias que se tuvieron que vivir para hacernos más fuertes. No necesitamos hablarlo, cruzamos miradas y sabemos, y sonreímos al saberlo. He visto a lo largo de mi vida como coach gente que se pone metas altas pero que culpa a todo menos a ellos mismos cuando las cosas no salen. Personas que tienen una meta y al no cumplirla, sea cual sea, se convencen a ellos mismos que en realidad no esperaban logros tan altos. En mi opinión eso no te lleva a ningún lado. Pero si, el tener un juicio claro y decirnos abiertamente en qué fallamos, y como podemos modificarlo, es la única forma de transformarnos en lo que anhelamos. Analizar y no tener miedo de volver a intentarlo.
Conviví con mis dolores de los cólicos, conviví con mis miedos, con la soledad, con mis cientos de voces internas. Compartí con corredores palabras lindas. Pude ver un venado muy cerca de mí y sonreír. Pude ver un osezno disfrutando del pasto y sentir mi corazón acelerado del miedo, 😂 un sprint a tope por terror de encontrarme a su mamá 🫠 pero afortunadamente solo vi al 🐻 pequeño. Dios mío que susto.
Los últimos 17 km en la madrugada del domingo fueron de altas y bajas emocionales. De doblar mi abdomen sobre las rodillas para soportar espasmos y acelerar para recuperar el tiempo perdido en cólicos. Esos últimos millones de pasos se acompañaron de lágrimas discretas y emociones indescriptibles, de liberar tantas cosas que a veces no pueden decirse. Aqui no está mal reír a solas, sentir ansiedad, porque en ese espacio quién no es bipolar.
Cuando se asomaba la luna era como una caricia para el alma. “Estaremos bien” como decreto, como susurro en ese, mi pequeño universo. 2km para la meta y mi cuerpo toma la decisión de acelerar a tope como respuesta de una sensación de triunfo, como regalo de mí para mi, como promesa de que seguiremos viviendo a tope y absorbiendo cada oportunidad cómo está.
Cerramos en 1er lugar de categoría y un sexto en la general. Nada mal para las circunstancias. Cerramos viendo y esperando al equipo en la meta 3 hebillas de 100 millas, 6 medallas de 50 millas. Abrazo su triunfo, pero sobre todo al ver a cada uno, agradezco que estén bien, que todo y nada paso, y poder ahora tener historias en común. Al fin y al cabo esta carrera la busque y la elegí para ellos.
Tal vez el momento que tengo más presente es la noche, verme subiendo y bajando columpios y pensar que el universo está fuera de ti, pero también está dentro de ti. Nos preocupa tanto lo externo, pero tenemos primero que preocuparnos por controlar lo interno, atrevernos a estar solos, disfrutarnos y enfrentarnos a todo eso que no nos gusta tanto de nosotros.
Estoy feliz porque fue un viaje lleno de amor, unidad, lleno de palabras bonitas. Observaba al equipo convivir y convertirse en familia. Observaba cómo crean cimientos y se impulsan. Hay muchos logros detrás de esa hebilla. Cada viaje no es solo el resultado de una carrera. Son esos planetas y satélites que se mezclan aún siendo tan diferentes, tan complejos, y que de pronto se enlazan, se abrazan y se acompañan. Mi Guts necios #esosguts.
Hoy ya en Mexico de vuelta. Con mi hebilla número 16 😬, inicio mi práctica de yoga como siempre con una intención. Agradecí absolutamente todo. La compañía, la soledad, los animales, las dudas, las altas y bajas, agradecí los miles suspiros en ruta que me regresaban a la calma, y pude cerrar mi practica una absoluta verdad “Hoy estoy tranquila. Hoy estoy en paz.”
Hoy, soy esa flor pohutukawa que vive inmersa y feliz en su pequeño desorden. Que no tiene miedo de las circunstancias y que respira, vive y ama.
Gracias a mi familia por todo su apoyo para esta carrera. A mi mamá, mi papá, por supuesto a ese keniano intenso, Ruben. Dedicada a mi chavito cada paso, cada segundo, cada empuje estuviste ahí conmigo.
1er lugar categoría
6to en la general
25 horas 54 min
Nos seguimos leyendo
@gutsmxstore
Tenis: Hoka Speed Goat
Calcetas: Drymax
Mochila: Weis
Nutrición: Hammer
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#my uploads#covet fashion#fashion#makeup#casual#ootdgoals#crowning glory#bohostyle#soft glam#beauty#girlythings#fashion addict#goddess glam#bohodecor#boho girl#boho chic#siamese cat#better than ever#feelslikehome
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“Beauty and folly are old companions.” -Benjamin Franklin . . . #beauty #beach #folly #nostalgia #nature #feelslikehome #clouds #backintheday #everyday #homesweethome . #gardencitybeach #southcarolina #southcarolinabeaches #carolinacoast #sc (at Garden City Beach, South Carolina) https://www.instagram.com/p/CnizAiguXhw/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
#beauty#beach#folly#nostalgia#nature#feelslikehome#clouds#backintheday#everyday#homesweethome#gardencitybeach#southcarolina#southcarolinabeaches#carolinacoast#sc
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Our pool is ready for you! 💦🫧 . #splishsplash #pool #heatedpool #stadel #relax #auszeit #entspannen☀️ #vacation #paradise #naturerleben #romantic #ankommenundwohlfühlen #vacanzeitaliane🇮🇹 #feelslikehome #enjoylife💯 #winterparadise #urlaubsziel #berghoteljochgrimm #mountainhotel #südtirol #altoadige #montagne_my_life #picoftheday #paradiso #italianvacation #mountainvacation #travelphotography #hotellifestyle #zeitfüruns #relax #wellness https://www.instagram.com/p/CllTkU0NLt0/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
#splishsplash#pool#heatedpool#stadel#relax#auszeit#entspannen☀️#vacation#paradise#naturerleben#romantic#ankommenundwohlfühlen#vacanzeitaliane🇮🇹#feelslikehome#enjoylife💯#winterparadise#urlaubsziel#berghoteljochgrimm#mountainhotel#südtirol#altoadige#montagne_my_life#picoftheday#paradiso#italianvacation#mountainvacation#travelphotography#hotellifestyle#zeitfüruns#wellness
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Crazy it’s 70° and sunny in November! #feelslikehome #keepsmiling #sullivancatskills #whereisautumn (at Livingston Manor, New York) https://www.instagram.com/p/Ckq6EkMJoYG/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
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"Seyi Life" (舒适生活)
In the beginning there was fire...A source of warmth, lighting, and protection. In fact, there are records indicating the discovery of fire dating back to 1.5 million years ago in South Africa’s Wonderwerk Cave. Glowing red and orange kindling flames changed the course of human evolution. According to the Taoist theory of the five elements (五行), fire is the component of heat, summer, and enthusiasm. It represents nature at its peak of growth. Golden flames flickering in the heat of the night. A bright symbol for warmth in human relationships. Fire also becomes disorderly like a dissolute Jan Steen household (1663). Either way you see, it flourishes with life and passion. A scorching blaze of colors dancing before our very eyes! Quite enchanting, isn’t it? A hypnotizing reminder of our earliest technology. Dare to stare into the roaring red and listen to the stories it must tell. Fire has always been sensuous and relaxed. Very gezellig. It’s Chinese counterpart, Shūfu (舒服) meaning comfortable. Or “Seyi” in Shanghainese. Picture yourself overlooking the Jura mountains, sipping on a glass of Valais wine, enjoying warm fondue. That’s the sweet Seyi life.
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#artandtechnology#chineseculture#chinesephilosophy#ledart#fireplace#warmth#feelslikehome#interiordecor#hoteldecor#artanddesign#innvation#liudao#island6#china#winter#artcollective#m50#digitalart
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Something in your eyes Makes me wanna lose myself Makes me wanna lose myself In your arms There's something in your voice Makes my heart beat fast Hope this feeling lasts The rest of my life If you knew how lonely my life has been And how long I've been so alone If you knew how I wanted someone to come along And change my life the way you've done Feels like home to me Feels like home to me Feels like I'm all the way back where Chantal Kreviazuk #Chantalkreviazuk #feelslikehome #fotografi #forfotografer #øyeblikk #bryllup #wedding #duogjeg #smile #nærhet #foralltid #kjærlighet #høretill #tilstedeværelse (ved Lindesnes Havhotellet) https://www.instagram.com/p/CgWHEPzoDUE/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
#chantalkreviazuk#feelslikehome#fotografi#forfotografer#øyeblikk#bryllup#wedding#duogjeg#smile#nærhet#foralltid#kjærlighet#høretill#tilstedeværelse
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Tomorrow is the BIG DAY! —-> WELCOME to Smith Lake @bankofwalkerco !!! They’ve been serving the area for a long long time, but now they’re even closer in Curry AL. Stop in, welcome the local staff and get a full tour of their services and products. Very exciting to have you closer at hand @bankofwalkerco ! Member FDIC Equal Housing Lender 〰️〰️🏦💕〰️〰️ @smithlakebiz #smithlakebusiness #shopsmithlake #smithlakebiz #bank #banking #bowc #smithlakebank #feelslikehome #banklocal #makingdreamsareality #alabama #alabamalakes #alabamalife #smithlakecommunity #smithlakesocial #lakeliving #lakeside #lewissmithlake #lifeonthelake #lifeonsmithlake #livinglakelife #livelifelakeside #visitsmithlake #smithlake #smithlakeal #smithlakepix #smithlakelife #smithlakemagazine #thelakesidelifemagazine #thelakesidelife (at Lewis Smith Lake) https://www.instagram.com/p/CfcGtX_rlwW/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
#smithlakebusiness#shopsmithlake#smithlakebiz#bank#banking#bowc#smithlakebank#feelslikehome#banklocal#makingdreamsareality#alabama#alabamalakes#alabamalife#smithlakecommunity#smithlakesocial#lakeliving#lakeside#lewissmithlake#lifeonthelake#lifeonsmithlake#livinglakelife#livelifelakeside#visitsmithlake#smithlake#smithlakeal#smithlakepix#smithlakelife#smithlakemagazine#thelakesidelifemagazine#thelakesidelife
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What a treat! It’s actually raining! #feelslikehome 🇵🇭 (at United States) https://www.instagram.com/p/CfIgaMPLVvO/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
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#home #poem #poetry #shefeels #writerscommunity #toyou #poetsofinstagram #poetryisnotdead #musings #writersofengland #poetsandwriters #writing #aestheticquotes #aestheticpoetry #thislife #buildahome #heartsandminds #somethingbeautiful #travellers #feelslikehome #grateful #alhamdulillah https://www.instagram.com/p/CmcQzViqbFA/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
#home#poem#poetry#shefeels#writerscommunity#toyou#poetsofinstagram#poetryisnotdead#musings#writersofengland#poetsandwriters#writing#aestheticquotes#aestheticpoetry#thislife#buildahome#heartsandminds#somethingbeautiful#travellers#feelslikehome#grateful#alhamdulillah
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Sounds like home
The noise outside our apartment is incessant. Drilling, digging, banging, beeping. “BIG DIGGER!” our toddler exclaims, every time we leave the building, as the only one who finds any joy in the construction works which have been taking place for over three months.
Needs must. The council is improving the drainage on our road to account for increasing numbers of cloudbursts in our climate-challenged future. And they’re reducing the number of lanes for cars, whilst maintaining the glorious raised and paved cycle path that means I can bike with my daughter to daycare and not panic about being blindsided by a bendy bus. We’ve even heard a rumour they’ll plant some trees in the midway, giving a more cosmopolitan feel to what has already been euphemistically called a ‘boulevard’. So I guess I can put up with the noise.
But it does set the mind wondering about what it might be like to live outside of the city. My daily life is soundscaped by what amounts to the continuous noises emitted by other people living and doing. We are one of 32 homes in a block of flats totaling over 100 homes arranged around a shared courtyard. I can never not hear the lives of others ricocheting off the walls; the squeals, groans, shouts, coughs and cries of existence bouncing off the brickwork and into my ears. A few weeks ago, my husband and I lay in bed at midnight, staring at the ceiling in the blue moonlight and cursing the asshole who decided to throw a party and leave their windows open. “We have to MOOOOOOVE”, I stage-whispered, frenzied by the need to sleep. When the music finally fell silent, our cat shuffled into life and started yowling for breakfast around 3am, followed by the dawn chorus of our daughter who believes it’s acceptable to wake her parents at 4:30am to ask for raisins. Soon the water pipes that rise up through every apartment were groaning and hissing into life, as people traipsed to the shower and put the kettle on. And before we knew it, the drilling, digging, banging and beeping began. And on it goes.
In 2006, I lived in New York for a stint. My first night in Hell’s Kitchen, propped up on an inflatable mattress in my friend’s studio apartment, was like trying to sleep during a Fast & Furious screening. Constant police sirens, every neighbourhood bar with its doors flung open, more than two people having a conversation… New York streetlife is expansive and vibrating with noise, every single minute of the day. It truly is the city that never sleeps, because who the hell can with all that racket going on? During that winter, there was a major snowfall that ground everything to a halt. Trains were canceled, roads were closed, people lost power and water for days - it was hard and sad, sure, but I just remember the silence. I padded out in my most sensible shoes and walked 25 blocks to the MoMA (defiantly open, despite the weather), listening to my breathing in a city that had finally been muffled by a thick, white blanket of snow.
I’ve lived in all kinds of homes, in all kinds of places, but I’ve never lived in the countryside. The closest I’ve come is the house my parents rented when we moved to the East Midlands, which sat on the very edge of a suburban housing estate and was flanked on the back by fields. It wasn’t unusual to find a cow trapped in our hedge, eating her way into our garden, but I never thought of it as ‘the country’. The lights of the nearby city were too bright, and the buses and cars that trundled down the main road were confirmation that the urban sprawl had us in its clutches. Even in the suburbs, other people living and doing is always in earshot; or, as my husband says, suburbia is defined by whether you can hear a lawn mower running on a summer’s day.
But this summer, we decamped to a house in the Danish countryside for a two week holiday - something we had talked about for years, but never pulled the trigger on until now. There was an unspoken agreement that we were tired of the city - tired of the soundscape - and needed a break so we could hear ourselves think. So we found a house in the middle of nowhere, about two hours and many, many country lanes away from Copenhagen, and ventured forth. It was the most middle-aged decision we have probably ever made.
The thing I quickly realised about the countryside is that it’s not actually quiet – it’s filled with noise. Most of these noises are things I’ve not heard before, like birdsong, and some are without evident source and chill your blood in the middle of the night. Digging, drilling, banging, beeping - you know where you stand with a big digger and an overweight construction worker. But scratching, shuffling, pecking, howling…? No thanks. Some might claim this is Mother Nature’s embrace, but I got the distinct impression that she wanted me gone and was releasing an army of creatures that don’t see the light of day in the city.
I couldn’t move for spiders, for a start, and as a lifelong arachnophobic I was faced with the daily gauntlet of undertaking basic tasks whilst being watched through multiple sets of eight eyes. There was one bird which had taken residence in the garden that let out a cry resembling a squeaky toy, and another that informed everyone the sun had risen by doing a perfect impression of Janice from Friends: “Ahhhhh-uh-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ahh”. The wasps and bees I could just about handle, but it took a Herculean effort to casually brush away the potato-sized hornet that landed on my husband’s back without alarming my daughter. If fear is contagious, then I felt toxic by that point.
Even when we sat indoors, with the windows closed against the advancing hoards of wildlife, it was never truly still. The ever-present flies smashed themselves against walls and doors as they endlessly worked their way throughout the house, sending my husband into a murderous rage with a fly swatter each evening. And one night we witnessed a biblical thunderstorm that suddenly bathed the bedroom in silky white light as the rain smashed down through the trees.
We spent most of our days driving away from the house to other places in the countryside or on the coast, craving a little civilisation other than the nearest supermarket. Whatever flirtation I had with being a country bumpkin was gone within days, as I realised that the sounds of living and doing in cities were the very reason I live and do in the city in the first place. Even when I went for a run, and witnessed two enormous nutbrown hares and a deer bound right past me, I had Lizzo blaring away in my ears. You can take the girl outta the city, etc etc.
We returned to Copenhagen with a camera roll full of memories and an urgent need to hit up our favourite cafe for coffee and baked goods. I walked with my daughter down the highstreet, smiling inanely at the various window displays and signage like I was on day release from residential care. The barista at the cafe met me with a big grin, and remarked that she hadn’t seen us in a while. “We’ve been away for two weeks but it feels like two years”, I replied with a sigh, unaware of the truth until it left my lips. It was the longest I had been away from Copenhagen in over seven years.
The profound irony is that summer is the best time to be in Copenhagen if you’re looking for a little peace and quiet, because the city empties out when every Danish family makes their annual pilgrimage to their summer house. More often than not, construction works are put on pause and plenty of local shops and restaurants shutter up for a wee break. In these passing silences, you become more aware of the absence of presence, or the presence of absence perhaps. And for almost four decades, I’ve lived a life in earshot of the presence of so many other lives that their absence feels like part of my home is missing.
The next morning, we awoke to the creak of the floorboards as our daughter made her way to our bedroom to put in some insane pre-dawn request, which our cat took as her cue to start smashing the blind against the window in disgust at our failure to put her food out. Before long, the water pipes started up their music, and I listened to our neighbour chatting with his kids over the bathroom sink. Soon the diggers would arrive, much to the delight of my daughter, and breakfast would be accompanied by the dulcet tones of a pneumatic drill.
It’s so good to be back home.
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I'm finally home...🥰 🌳⛰🏞 #cominghome #movingin #lotr #feelingathome #middleearth #hobbiton #hobbitonismyhome #feelslikehome (at Middle-Earth) https://www.instagram.com/p/CeHVsTaLOfc/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
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