I find huge comfort in people not getting stuff done. Show me all the motivational gurus and go-getters in the world and all it does is make me screw up my nose and think, these are not my people. Having lived my 20s in the age of the #Girlboss - a notion we now know to be (mostly) super toxic and white-washed - I was often left feeling guilty, useless and downright shitty for not being on the same level as these perfectly polished career women whose hobbies in life were juicing celery and going to spin classes. I often felt like I was living on a different planet to the women who proudly displayed their latest business venture or digitally-nomadic lifestyle (complete with perfectly even tan) on my IG feed: at the time, I was working (for cash) as a nanny in London; my diet consisted of poached eggs on toast every night (and takeaway pizza every weekend); I was partying pretty bloody hard between Thursday and Monday most weeks; and I had zero (and I truly do mean zero) goals or aspirations. According to this cohort of women, I was a complete failure. So why did it feel so good? Why was I so happy?
Now that I’m in my *late* thirties, I have fully embraced the beauty of not achieving to a high level, not doing - and certainly NOT feeling guilty about it. And I know I am not alone. I recently received a newsletter from another writer on this here platform, explaining - but not apologising for - her absence from writing/sending newsletters and why she would no longer be stressing out about it. I had a conversation just last week with some friends who agreed that we may have thousands of brilliant ideas, but we’ll never execute a single one - and that’s OK. Then I read a fantastic article by one of my favourite writers, Ann Friedman, about the death of ‘hustle culture’ and why women are quitting their corporate jobs in droves to partake in a quieter, more community-focused life. Following that, I met with another friend who told me they have spent the past three months doing as little as possible when it comes to work and projects, and they’ve never felt happier. All of this is music to my lazy little ears.
So, I’m not going to make up some excuse for not sending this newsletter out regularly, or promise that it will become more frequent. I’ll get to it when I get to it, and I’ve realised that makes me no less of a writer or decent human being.
Oh we do love to be beside the seaside! (Or do we?)
This is a blasphemous thing to say in this country but….. I find the beach a little overrated. Sand, salt water, sea creatures and relentless sun means that it’s just not a place I feel 100% comfortable. Don’t get me wrong - I’ll spend entire wonderful days there in summer with friends and family, and absolutely love it. Not to mention, some of my best and favourite memories involve beaches: my ‘surfer girl’ teen years, pretending I was in the Blue Crush movie; my early 20s when we drank cheap sparkling wine and sunbathed topless at Te Arai beach every weekend; my late 20s when cheap flights from London resulted in European summers spent on paradise beaches in the Greek Islands, Ibiza and Portugal, lounging on sun beds all day long, drinking Malibu and Coke from a goblet as big as my head and listening to hazy house music in the sun. I even got engaged on a beach! But not before complaining about how the sand was chaffing me and I was desperate for a hot shower.
Going to the beach on a visit to the UK recently was a whole new experience in itself. Visiting a British beach involves being up and at ‘em early, in order to get a car park close to the sand. Parking costs, but if you’re tricky you can find free spots a short walk away (but hardly anyone wants to actually walk). Shade tents are an absolute must - not so much for the sun, but the near-constant wind and the chill that comes with it. While you’re at it, throw in some inflatables, blankets, more shade (including an umbrella that will definitely blow away), a picnic complete with proper knives, forks and plates, the dog, and your snorkeling kit (despite their being nothing to see in the water). Beach goers load up their cars and make the often-long drive to the seaside, which - if it’s the weekend - involves waiting in long queues of traffic just to catch a glimpse of the ocean. I witnessed some people only just arriving at the beach at 3pm, thanks to traffic jams, lack of parking and road rage en route.
On a New Zealand beach, it would be considered unlucky to have someone sitting within ear shot of your conversation. In Britain? Not so. With 67 million bodies rammed onto a land mass approximately 10% SMALLER than New Zealand, it’s likely you’ll have a complete stranger all but perched on the edge of your beach towel.
Our seaside neighbours on one occasion were a set of grandparents with their three very well behaved, quiet young grandchildren. They had all of the above kit with them (and then some) and proceeded to set it up next to us upon arrival - which we had absolutely zero issue with. Once settled, the three kids starting digging holes not far from where we were lying - again, I had no issue with this because a) that’s what young kids do at the beach b) it kept Teddy entertained and c) as a bonus - it prevented anyone else from moving onto our little patch, because by now the beach was getting super crowded. The grandmother started complaining as soon as she sat down: this spot wasn’t right; the crowds were her idea of hell; the far end of the beach would be better (I don’t think she realised that’s actually the nudist zone); could they pack everything up and move? All of this was said in the same accent as Patsy from Absolutely Fabulous. The grandfather and kids paid little attention - they were happy and clearly not keen to walk down the hot beach looking for a “better” spot. So they stayed, but the complaints didn’t let up. At one point I looked over at the grandmother: “Sorry!” she mouthed at me. I looked away without responding, unsure what she was apologising for but hoping it was her never ending complaints and not anything the kids were doing because, as mentioned, they weren’t a problem - far from it! She soon tried to catch our attention again. “Sorry!” she called out. “They’re such a nuisance, digging holes right there. Sorry about them.” I waved her off and told her it wasn’t a problem at all. Besides, there was no way I was going to apologise for my own child, who was contorting his naked body into a series of abstract yoga poses in between throwing tantrums (for the record, he’s two and a half).
I laid down and closed my eyes, hoping to briefly block out the posh, whingy voice next-door. I was soon interrupted by another voice.
“Hello, mummy!” an exuberantly cheerful person exclaimed nearby.
I hoped it was just an overly-enthusiastic theatre kid calling out to his mum, but as I opened my eyes I heard a reply: “Hello, daddy!”
My fears were confirmed: it was a middle-aged man (dressed in a full-length wetsuit despite the 28-degree heat and lack of any sort of water sports-related equipment) calling out to his wife - and she was happily returning the greeting.
‘Yep,’ I thought. ‘I’m not in Kansas anymore.”
I’ve been reading…
Ann Friedman’s newsletter and her article in Elle (as mentioned above). This FANTASTIC article/review/interview regarding a book called What to Actually Do About an Unequal Partnership** by Kate Mangino (the article itself is from Anne Helen Peterson’s newsletter Culture Study which looks like an all-round good read). Tales of the City by Armistead Maupin - my husband bought me this in a secondhand bookshop in London when we visited recently. Because my taste and interests change so frequently, he is still trying to work out exactly what my flavour of fiction is and I have to say, he is bang on the money with this one. San Francisco in the 1970s - need I say more? Boys Will Be Boys by Clementine Ford - I originally read half of this on Kindle, on my phone. But, after seeing Clem live at Auckland Writer’s Festival, I knew it deserved a permanent home on my shelf - I even lined up for 45 minutes to have it signed. If you’re raising a boy/s - this is an absolute MUST READ.
**I just wanna pop a *disclaimer* of sorts right here: when I post links or recommendations to pieces like this, with titles like that, it’s not me cryptically crying out for help because I’m in an unequal partnership myself, or I’m “hating on” my husband. It’s because, although I am confident that I have my feminist ducks in a row - at home or otherwise - there is always more work to be done when it comes to creating anywhere close to what we might consider equal rights for women. Particularly women at the intersection of myriad marginalised groups. I recognise my many privileges, but - in my mind - that means I actually have more of a responsibility to unlearn the things our patriarchal society taught me from a young age, and learn about what true equality could look like…. even if I don’t think it’ll happen in my lifetime (or even my children’s). These types of articles aren’t reserved for ‘hardcore feminists’, those considered ‘woke’ (or worse: “man haters”) by other generations - they’re for everyone.
I’ve been listening to…
ADHD As Females on Spotify - a podcast hosted by two women with ADHD, who were only diagnosed in their late 30s. They interview brilliant subjects and manage to cram a lot of valuable information and stories in, whilst keeping up a light, humorous tone throughout. Extremes on Spotify - a podcast about people who have experienced life at the extreme end of the scale. So far I have listened to an episode with the sole survivor of a commercial airliner crash; the daughter of a serial killer; and a man who escaped Jim Jones’ cult in Jonestown (but only just) - but there are SO many more I want to listen to.
I’ve been watching…
Not a whole lot. Between travelling, getting home, starting school [more on that later], reading a great book, and life in general, I haven’t spent a lot of time in front of the telly lately. I did down tools for House of the Dragon last Monday though, because - no matter what - I will always, *ALWAYS* find time for anything Game of Thrones related. I also went and saw Clementine Ford and Madeleine Chapman in conversation last Wednesday, which was an absolute treat and left me on such a high. I’ll write more about that in an upcoming newsletter.
Until next time (whenever that may be) go well! And do nothing.
I can’t believe I missed this! I love your take on goalless-ness, it’s so refreshing.
I often wonder, how much of our lives do we live chasing things (important jobs, thin bodies, shiny lives) in order to appear a certain way to people who almost certainly couldn’t care less about us...
Oh humanity!