Yoga Fever

So. Yoga.

It’s unexpectedly become an important part of my life.

I’d been thinking about trying it for years, I’d just never plucked up the courage to attend a class – but in June, along with a friend, I finally braved the gym and had a go. I’m so glad I did.

And – although I’m only still very much a beginner and am in no way qualified to tell people how to look after their bodies – there’s still a part of me that wants to shout from the rooftops about how good I’ve found yoga to be and why I would recommend it to anyone right from the bottom of my heart.

This here blog is my rooftop.

And this here post is my shout out from the bottom of my heart.

Heart drawn on steamed up car window, with raindrops in the background. Blog post about yoga.

So, in no particular order, these are some of the reasons why I’ve come to love yoga:

  • aaand relax. Yoga is ridiculously relaxing considering it’s a form of exercise. Relaxing doesn’t come naturally to me – and I’m sure that’s something that is true for a lot of other people too (why would you relax when you can obsessively worry about illogical things instead?). So for me to be on the verge of sleep in a room full of strangers at the end of every yoga session (in savasana) is a. big. deal. I don’t know what magic is at work, but it is magic.
  • feel the burn. Okay, so yoga is relaxing. But it’s also not relaxing. It’s hard work. It takes a lot of effort to hold poses that look effortless (ahem, poses that other people make look effortless). I wibble and wobble and wince and grimace and overbalance embarrassingly often, but I can feel my muscles getting stronger with every session. No healthy pain, no gain.
  • in sync with your body. I’m very self-conscious about my body but not very conscious of my body, if that makes any sense. Yoga helps me feel more aware and accepting of my movements/my posture/my muscles/my fat/my bones/myself and that awareness feels peaceful rather than critical and judgemental (like it used to be).
  • looking after yourself. This ties in a lot with the point above. In the past, I’ve had what can only be called a hate/hate relationship with my body. I wrote about it back in the summer (not very well *grimaces* but I tried my best) so I won’t bore you with the backstory of this subject again. Basically – and I know this probably sounds like the most obvious thing in the history of the universe to most people – looking after your body feels nicer than doing things that damage it and saying things to degrade it. I mean, who even knew? Who. Even. Knew. *laughs, but mostly cries* Punishing your body, hurting your body, and deriding your body is weirdly and dangerously addictive, but it’s a habit that – slowly and steadily – can be kicked. Every body deserves to be looked after. ❤
  • focus pocus. Yoga forces you to focus on every breath you take and every move you make *don’t sing, don’t sing, don’t sing* and I’ve found that sense of focus helps me to sideline the worries (and songs) that normally flood my brain, not only during classes but outside in the actual real day-to-day world too. That focus is incredibly freeing. And weird. But good weird.
  • for everyone. Don’t be fooled by instagram. You don’t have to be young, skinny, perfectly tanned, and positioned in front a setting/rising sun to practise yoga. You can be any age, any shape, and (pretty much) anywhere.
  • excuse for a lie down. Any form of exercise that includes a lie down at the end – savasana, a.k.a. corpse pose (lovely name) – gets the thumbs up from me.
  • agency. I think this is true of any exercise, but is particularly noticeable in yoga because of the slower pace and focus on precise movements. There’s something powerful about feeling in control and feeling able to affect positive change. I know the times when I’ve felt most stressed, anxious, and/or depressed are the times when I’ve felt incapable of changing anything happening around me, or felt like my voice didn’t matter/had been taken away from me, or felt like my body was worthless and useless. That’s not to say you should blunder about being a control freak and acting like you’re the most amazing human being that’s ever lived, but giving yourself a sense of agency and dignity is (in my opinion, anyway) important for mental wellbeing. Yoga has helped me with that.

And, if nothing else, yoga helps me feel like I’m counteracting the bad posture I’ve developed from spending so much time with my shoulders hunched up while I’m reading and writing.

♦ Have you tried yoga? ♦ If you have, what did you think of it? ♦ What’s your favourite exercise? ♦

colourful and moon lit

The last few weeks, I’ve been going stir, stir, stir crazy – stuck between going down with a cold that hijacked my entire body and being busy at work and being busy with random life stuff and the weather being unbelievably rubbish. But on Monday – finally *cries melodramatically* – I was able to get out and enjoy some autumn sunshine in the grounds of a local National Trust property.

In one of the outbuildings of the property, there was a pretty display with the question: what does autumn mean to you? and little paper leaves for people to write their answers on.

I stood in front of the display for a good couple of minutes – tapping a mini pencil agaisnt my chin, rolling a paper leaf backwards and forwards between my fingers – and thought very seriously (seriously over thought) what does autumn mean to me?

A million and one clichés came to my mind, but, dammit, I wanted something original to write, so I waited a little longer.

And waited.

Tapping, rolling. Tapping, rolling.

Apple crumble soaked in cream and sitting in front of the woodburner and too much night and not enough day and Bailey’s hot chocolate and oh my goodness golly gosh Christmas is coming and oh my goodness golly gosh my car’s MOT and ah god holy crap will it actually pass its MOT and ah god holy crap how much will it end up costing and wait you’re supposed to be thinking about autumn. *takes a deep breath* Chestnuts roasted on an open fire (ahem, in a microwave) and gold, grey, sepia and I LOVE SCARVES and baking yummy food and eating too much food and I REALLY LOVE SCARVES and making plans for the New Year and fighting off the blues.

Footsteps approached.

I panicked about how embarrassingly uncool and serious I was being and then double panicked because there were about to be people to witness my uncool seriousness, so I gave up trying to be original and clever and smug and just scribbled something about walking and crunchy, golden leaves, and tied it up to the display. I took a quick look at some of the others as I did. They all made me smile, but one in particular caught my eye.

Colourful and moon lit.

(I’m guessing it was written by a child, so I’m more than happy to ignore the spelling/grammar issues.)

Colourful and moon lit, I mused all philosophically as I shuffled back out into the sunshine, trying to look cool and unserious and like I hadn’t just spent five whole minutes thinking about what autumn meant to me as I passed the other walkers, that is exactly what autumn is.

It is full of colour. Whether it’s the glittering golds and sulky silvers of nature, or the garish, flashing rainbows of mankind, there is colour everywhere at this time of year. Sometimes you have to look a little harder, sometimes it’s literally fifty shades of grey (clouds, clouds everywhere), but there’s always colour lurking somewhere. And although autumn is also full of darkness, that darkness is made a little lighter, a little more bearable, by the moon. Sometimes that moonlight is brighter than bright, sometimes it’s fainter than faint – but it is always there.

Four words turned three weeks of stir crazy on its head.

I hope all your autumns are full of colour and moonlight.

autumn leaves in Dorset, England, November 2019.
trees of gold
paper leaves
what does autumn mean to you? leaves (‘colourful and moon lit’ leaf is in the top left corner)
November full moon and tree silhouettes.
glow in the dark

tongue-tied

I’ve been feeling a bit deflated lately.

Batteries: flat. Steam: run out of. Brain: stuck in neutral (and making weird screechy noises when I try to coax it into an appropriate gear, eeek).

And tongue: tied.

*sighs*

It’s frustrating, but it’s just how life goes sometimes.

There’s lots I want to say, lots I want to do, lots I want to share with you. I hope you’ll like it when I do. I just needed to step back and fill my lungs for a little (ahem, a lottle) while.

In the meantime, I’m excited to catch up with what all of you have been saying, doing, and sharing.

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27 Things That Make Me Happy

I turned twenty-seven last Saturday.

Let’s not talk about it. *cries old lady tears*

Ok, so I’m not actually old. But I am actually confused.

What exactly keeps happening to time?

I don’t understand.

*cries again*

Anyway, I wanted to mark the occasion (late, as always) with some bullet points and some of the things that make me happy in life. Twenty-seven bullet points and happy things, to be precise. Plus four photos.

So here they all are, in no particular order:

  • one: family. Dammit those weirdos mean the absolute world to me.
  • two: friends. See above explanation.
  • three: chocolate. Although it also makes me feel sad because it has a scary number of calories in it #emotionalminefield. Mostly, though, the yumminess is worth the calories.
  • four: colourful hair. My hair was untouched by bleach/hair dye up until two years ago so I’m making up for lost hair dyeing time now. And I absolutely love seeing other people’s colourful hair – I don’t want to think about how much time I’ve wasted on Pinterest and Instagram looking at prettily coloured hair.Pastel pink balayage on long hair
  • five: reading (surprise, surprise). I can’t overstate how important reading is to me. Whether it’s books (obvs my fave), newspaper articles, blogs, or even just the back of a shampoo bottle, I am OBSESSED with it.
  • six: running in the rain. I can’t quite believe I’m putting actual physical exercise on a list of things that make me happy, but running – somehow (I think it has something to do with magical endorphin science things?) – does make me happy. And rain is my favourite going-for-a-run weather for a couple of reasons. Firstly, not only is the sound of rain therapeutic and calming, it also conveniently helps to drown out my desperate gasps for air. And secondly, all that sky water makes me look a bit less sweaty and disgusting.
  • seven: high-waisted jeans. The day I discovered high-waisted jeans was a revolutionary day in my life (I don’t even care how sad that makes me sound). Low-rise and mid-rise can burn in fiery jean hell. I have actual hips with actual flesh on them. Over time, I’ve learnt to hate me and my fleshy hips less and – you know what? – I really don’t appreciate my hips being cut in half by badly tailored denim.
  • eight: cats. Cats are just fabulous and they do the funniest things. IMG_20190410_144958_011
  • nine: sassiness and sarcasm. Being sassy and sarcastic is fun. But sassy sarcasticness is all about the goldilocks balance. Too much and in the wrong context, it’s rude – and rude isn’t fun, rude is just rude. You don’t want to overdo the sass. You need to know when sassy one-liners are inappropriate and you need to know when you’re speaking to a gentle soul who needs to be eased into your sassy ways. But don’t be afraid to get sassy every now and again. Sometimes, sassiness and sarcasm are the only answers to life’s problems.
  • ten: lists (see entire post). They make me feel organised which makes me feel happy. In reality, lists just make me a disorganised person hopelessly brandishing a piece of paper decorated with words that somehow made sense when I initially wrote them down (again, see entire post).
  • eleven: stationery. Stationery is life. Life I tell you. *waves hands in reverie towards the heavens*
  • twelve: pudding/dessert (whichever word’s your preference). To be honest, I could quite easily go for a three course meal made up entirely of pudding courses. Which probably means I have a sugar-related pudding problem, but, after twenty-seven years on this here earth, I’m finally at peace with who I am as a pudding loving person.
  • thirteen: looking triumphantly around a room I’ve just tidied. Obviously the process of tidying can be horrific, infuriating, and distressing, but the smug feeling afterwards is priceless.
  • fourteen: fresh bedding. It’s just so snuggly and cosy and perfect.
  • fifteen: the phrase “fuck it”. They’re the two most liberating words in the English language. You always know something good, or at least something interesting with mixed results, is about to happen when you hear/say those words.
  • sixteen: (and on that note) swearing in general. I just really bloody love it, right from the bottom of my feckin heart. Sorry mum.
  • seventeen: flowers. They make the world a better, prettier, more colourful, more bumblebee-full, and more butterfly-full place. What’s not to like? Mayor of Casterbridge rose on vintage black lace.
  • eighteen: writing. Although, like chocolate, it also makes me sad. It makes me sad because I get frustrated that I’m not better at it. It makes me happy because it’s the ultimate outlet for my weird little brain and all its weird little ideas.
  • nineteen: the seaside. There’s no place I’d rather be; whatever the time of year, whatever the weather. Man O' War bay, Durdle Door, Dorset.
  • twenty: unexpected book conversations. Obviously all book conversations make me happy, but there’s something extra special about an out of the blue book chat. It’s a magical, warm the cockles of your heart moment.
  • twenty-one: Christmas (when I’m not at work). It’s just a wonderful time of year (when I’m not at work). Eating, drinking, and being merry (when I’m not at work) are all things that I’m good at doing anyway, so the fact that it becomes socially acceptable to do all these things in excess at Christmas time works out really well for me.
  • twenty-two: cognitive behavioural therapy. I was referred for CBT in July last year, started it in September, and in February this year was released back into the therapy-free wilds. This is a whole other blog post and that post will be super long and emotionally messy when I get round to it (not pitching it well, am I?). Basically, although CBT is hard work (why oh why oh why can’t therapists just flick a brain switch and magically fix minds?) the results are worth it and make for a much happier life in the long run.
  • twenty-three: baking. In general, I’m not a confident person and spend a lot of time thinking I’m doing things wrong. But baking is one thing that I am confident at. And I can eat the end result (mostly). Perfect.
  • twenty-four: cups of tea. I ❤ tea always.
  • twenty-five: charity shopping. I know some people get a bit grossed out about secondhand clothes – an attitude to which I have two words: washing machine – but I unashamedly love thrifting. You never know what you’re going to find, it’s much more environmentally friendly, and it costs a lot less than buying new.
  • twenty-six: baths so hot they make my skin a radioactive lobster shade of red. I’m old now and my body hurts – baths the temperature of lava make my body hurt less. That makes me happy.
  • twenty-seven: finishing things I’ve started. Sometimes (ahem, a lot of the time) I get distracted halfway through projects/housework/books/talking/writing blog posts, so actually finishing things makes me all happy-smug inside.

*basks in happy-smug glow*

So there you have it. Twenty-seven happy things. I’m looking forward to another year full of them.

Here’s to being a little bit older and a little bit wiser.

Adventures of a Story Turtle

I recently wrote about a blog post about a few books in my TBR list that intimidate me.

The common theme with them?

Bigness.

The common theme with me?

Fear of commitment and laziness. *pulls guilty face*

I’m not a quick reader. I used to wish that I was, but I’ve grown to accept my tendency to meander through the pages of a book – and I’ve grown to be happy with my meanderings too. It takes me time to process a story. It takes me time to switch off from the outside world/the worry-filled world of my head.* It takes me time to decide how I feel about characters and it takes me time to settle into an author’s voice.

In other words: I’m a story turtle. Slow and steady.

Unlikely to win any races, though.

No matter how much I like the blurb, no matter how many rave reviews I read, my slowness means a big book always makes me nervous. A big book is a big commitment for me. Weeks – possibly even months – worth of a commitment.

And turtles are renowned by scientists for their fickle nature and total lack of commitment.

Okay, that’s not true.

It could be true.

I don’t know.

Anyway.

This story turtle is throwing caution to the wind.

This story turtle won’t let commitment nerves get the better of her any more.

I’m diving into the deep, Mariana Trench-esque waters of Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke. It sounds too good and too wonderfully magicky to keep on avoiding. Who cares if it’s one thousand and six pages? *hyperventilates*

One thousand. And six. Pages. *hyperventilates more*

Wish me luck.

Send tea and chocolate.

You’ll probably hear what I think about it in October. Maybe November. Perhaps December. What even is time anyway? *tries to look philosophical and clever*

This turtle is making no promises.

Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell by Susanna Clarke

*this has historically been the single biggest problem for me with reading (and pretty much everything else in my life). The chatter of worries flying around my brain was relentless, exhausting, infuriating, and maddeningly distracting. Literally maddening. Thankfully, it’s got a lot better in the last year. One day, I’ll write about it. Even if no-one wants to read about it. *sticks out tongue*

Roses After Rain

Lately, it’s been raining a lotta lot. It’s been cold and grey and cloudy a lotta lot.

On the one hand: it’s great weather for cosy, snug-as-a-bug-in-a-rug reading. It’s great weather for big, baggy, woolly jumpers – my favourite things to wear. It’s great weather for cuddles with cats. It’s great for cheeky hot chocolates and holier than thou herbal teas. It’s great for baths so hot they turn my ghost-white skin a radioactive-pink. It’s great for morning runs that leave my lungs fresh and clean, but my legs unable to cope with stairs. It’s great for irridescent road rainbows shining, bleeding, and swirling across tarmac. It’s great for lazy lie ins spent listening to the drum of raindrops against lush leaves and blooming petals.

On the other hand: it’s Juuuuune.

*folds away summer dresses and cries tears that turn to ice in the air*

Oh well.

*wipes away icicle tears*

At least roses still look beautiful after rain.

Mayor of Casterbridge rose
Mayor of Casterbridge roses after a June rainstorm…

Three Books I’m Scared To Read

Ok, so maybe scared isn’t exactly the right word – intimidated by is probably a more accurate description for how I feel about these books.

Maybe I shouldn’t admit to being scared by the thought of reading certain books on a bookish blog – words are just words, stories are just stories, a book is a book is a book – but here I am, book-heart on sleeve, confessing that I do actually get nervous of reading sometimes.

Don’t judge me.

These are my top three intimidated-by reads:

It by Stephen King – one word: clowns. I am petrified of clowns – to the point where it actually makes me uncomfortable simply having a copy of the book in my house. Just those eyes peeping through the drain on the front cover scare me. *shudders* And I also worry, in the middle of the night when my brain has nothing better to do but try and freak me out, that the clowns might get out of the pages and cause evil clown mayhem (although I do accept that this is very unlikely to happen). There’s part of me that thinks reading It could be like exposure therapy and cure me of the fear, but there’s a bigger part of me that thinks it might scar me for life. Why oh why oh why did I buy a copy?

A Clash of Kings by George R.R. Martin – I read A Game of Thrones a few years ago and really enjoyed it. But there’s something about A Clash of Kings that means no matter how many times I take it off the shelf I always end up putting it back again. I just don’t think my attention span is long enough at the moment to keep track of all the deaths, all the scheming, all the characters (new and old), figuring out who’s on whose side and whether that’s even the side they’re really on, and figuring out whose side I’m even on. Basically, whenever it comes to picking what book to read next, there’s always something shorter and less complicated waiting in the wings.

Jonathon Strange and Mr. Norrell. To be read book list.

Jonathon Strange & Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarkeone thousand and six pages. One. Thousand. And six. Pages. It’s abso-bloody-lutely humongous and the font is the teeniest tiniest font ever used in the history of the whole entire universe. I don’t really think I need to say any more as to why I’m scared to read this. I’m not a quick reader at the best of times, so this is going to take me ages when I’m finally brave enough to delve in.

I haven’t given up on my hopes of reading these three one day – it’s just that, so far, they’ve failed to win me over when the “what to read next?” monster comes to town.

One day, though, I’m sure they’ll conquer my scared book heart.

Do you have any books that sit on your TBR shelf like this? Or have you read any of these three? What were they like if you have? Will I die of a clown related panic attack if I read It?

Four Quotes For March

So that was the March that was.

The last few weeks have rushed passed in a blur and they’ve involved a lot less reading than I would have liked, but I’ve been making my way through a few slowly, slowly.

I’ve been trying to keep track of little snippets from each one – too often I read books without stopping to make a note of the pearls of wisdom in them, pearls that I know I’ll want to refer back to but always, inexplicably, think I’ll be able to remember. (The only reason I think I’ll be able to remember them is because I forget that I have a terrible, terrible memory.)

But I actually managed to take notes this month. And I didn’t even lose the notes.

Miracles can happen.

I narrowed the quotes down to these fabulous, and kind of random, four. They just spoke to my messy old soul for some reason. I hope you like them too.

‘I remain a curious cosmonaut through my own tiny mind.’ – page 229, Pure by Rose Cartwright. I loved this book and can’t recommend it highly enough. It made me cry, made me laugh proper belly laughs, and made me marvel at just how much unnecessary pain our brains are able to put us through. We should all stay curious cosmonauts – through our minds and through every day of our lives.

Celestial night sky paper collage, made from recycled magazine pages.
Can you tell the crazy glitter-glue lady piece of my soul took over while I made this?

‘Never leave a void where something may be written.’ – page 289, The Maker of Swans by Paraic O’Donnell. This sentence stopped me in my tracks. It sparked something in my brain and felt like a call to arms. A call to create.

‘More than half the skill of writing lies in tricking the book out of your own head.’ – page 42, A Slip of the Keyboard by Terry Pratchett. Ah, Sir Terry. He just knew how to sum things up perfectly, because that is exactly what writing feels like – whether it’s writing a book or, although maybe this is just me, a blog post. There is some super weird magic/curse stuff going on and I’m not sure I will ever understand it. I just wish I could trick words out of my head more often.

And randomly, on the subject of stretch marks, from How to Be a Woman by Caitlin Moran‘Puberty is like a lion that has raked me with its claws as I try to outrun it.’ I’m pretty sure most women will remember the moment they noticed their first stretch marks as a teenager. Personally, I was horrified. It absolutely felt like being attacked by the claws of a horrible life/time lion, and I was totally, 100%, definitely not okay with it. Random jaggedy red lines appearing all of a sudden across my hips and the tops of my thighs? No thank you, life. But apparently – and annoyingly – the lion of life doesn’t take into consideration what you want or don’t want. Which I still don’t really think is fair, but oh well. *sighs*

Hopefully I’ll keep on keeping track of quotes and keep on keeping track of where the notebook for them is, so I have some wisdom-pearls to share for April too.

*says a little prayer asking for another miracle*

Walking Off Winter

It’s only a few more days until winter is officially over here, and I am so, so ready to say goodbye to it. Readier than I have ever been. I’ve tried to embrace the last few months, tried to get on board with the constant tingle of cold gnawing at my bones. I’ve tried to appreciate sludgy snow, biting winds, silver grey skies, short sharp days, and spattering rain; tried to embrace my inner ice queen. I have so, so tried. Really and truly.

But my heart wants spring now, right this very minute, more than it has ever wanted spring before.

I want blooming flowers and zesty bright greens. I want long, long days and I want evenings spent laughing in slowly, gently, softly dying light. I want to lounge in warm, golden sunshine with a book, blossom tumbling from the trees, bees humming through the air. I want strawberries that are fresh and juicy and sweet. I want floaty dresses and flip flops. I even want SPF 50 sunscreen.

*sighs forlornly*

There’s just the matter of those tricksy few more days to get through.

I’ll be spending them how I’ve tried to spend the rest of winter: walking off the cold, walking off the grey, walking off the cabin fever.

And, of course, there’ll be the odd bit of reading thrown in too.

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Mark My Words

It all started with a piece of golden glitter card and the magpie in my soul.

I was supposed to be tidying. I was supposed to be bringing order to the chaos inside the boxes under my bed. I was supposed to be letting go of things I hadn’t used in years. But then a twinkle caught my eye and all hope of tidiness and orderliness was lost.

I knew exactly what I was going to do.

I was going to make a moon. (I have to admit this is one of my more avant-garde reasons for not tidying, but any excuse will do.)

Leaving the boxes to their messy fate, I left my bedroom clutching the glitter card reverantly in one hand and pva glue, a pencil, and a pair of scissors in the other.

Some serious, serious crafting was about to happen.

What actually happened was this: I drew a moon, I cut out a moon, I glued the back of the moon to the back of some more glitter card, and then I left it to dry on a radiator for two. whole. weeks. Woops.

I did finally get back round to it – and the boxes, which is a minor miracle – and by the time I was eventually finished I had myself a not-too-shabby (even if I do say so myself) glitter moon bookmark.

Handmade glitter moon bookmark. Paper craft bookmark.

Handmade moon bookmark with stars, vintage lace, and upcycled beads.

Then, a few weeks after finishing my bookmark moon and completely by chance, I came across the eye-wateringly beautiful book Paper to Petal by Rebecca Thuss and Patrick Farrell. I love flowers and – surprise, surprise – I love bookmarks, so their tutorial for a paper flower bookmark made me super happy.

And I managed to finish it in well under two weeks, so that’s some crafty-progress for you right there.

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It was so nice to get back into making things after a long, long break from the world of crafting, and it’s been so nice using them – especially as I’ve got five books on the go at the moment (which is very unusual for me). I’ve certainly needed them to keep me sane.

It’s amazing where (half-hearted) tidying can lead.