I am so happy to hear this , Katherine . Your experience will help others just through the being of it and being in it . Most of all, it is helping you. I hope your winter goes on being so bright
Thank you for asking. I am good, actually, I am whole. The most I have ever been in my life. Living alone these last 2+ years has afforded me the space for Being more me than I knew possible. Truly transformative to not be a carer for anyone, not even an animal. To allow all that time, energy, attention to find other movement, other meaning. To cook what I feel like eating. To feed myself, deeply feed the soil of my being. Rare and precious and a deliciously grand way to menopause. Highly recommend this kind of space for the transition that is the ‘pause. The gold you find in being still, silent, for as long as you need to. Or the frenzied creative states that make as much mess at they need to. The whole of me arriving, becoming the woman I always knew I was, given the time to collect all my edges. It is wonderful knowing that you, Jeanette Winterson, also stop and pause and note the Solstice. Blessed Be Your Solstice, from down here in the depths of Winter.
Hi I loved your piece. Most blogs I just skim over, but this one, I read carefully, word for word, from start to finish. So thank you! And how I am is always anxious, and obsessing - as the big things feel too big - over small things that shouldn't really matter when people are starving, imprisoned, driven from their homes - no, I find myself obsessing over the blackfly on my one climbing rose, the tiny insects that seem to get through even tightly closed windows, little black specks that make me itch, flies coming in whenever a door is left oen. Whenever I kill one, because their buzzing stresses me out, and I fear the disease they help spread, then I feel terrible because I've just taken a life, and so will I be punished next life, add to my karma, come back as a cockroach......? Obsession - it takes many forms, I'm sure. So thank you for asking!
Thank you, Jeanette, for a lovely essay. I live in the city, but I've built a fire pit in my backyard. Tonight I will build a fire, sit under the stars and just be.
We are human beings, not human doings. Thank-you for asking. I’m 53 and love being me. I eat chocolate whenever I want to. I’m convinced that chocolate is filled with vitamin H for happy.
Longest night, shortest day here in the Blue Mountains, Australia. Quiet. Solitary. The vague dread is lingering. Covid creeps, relentlessly unrecorded. Thanks for reaching out.
The fireflies have been my impetus to keep going. One magical morning right before dawn they were high in the treetops, first time I have seen that. On other nights they are garden height. One night recently one blinked his light all along the top of the window. And harvesting my strawberries brings me joy. And the mullein growing its flower tower makes me smile. But the news of the world, not. The endless details of my business project, not. Thank you for writing to honor the solstice.
I’m in the midst of covid and experiencing this ‘mild’ version gives me pause to reflect on how I am and how others are. These are bleak times but light is hope and it is hope which gives me strength to fight, to challenge, and to help make things better for me and for others. Keep well all.
I am guessing you are busy doing and being, but I am so much wondering what you are up to in your kitchen? How was the veg crop this year? I hope the winter doesn’t stop the walking in the dark. It is terribly tiring to be alive. Yet here we are, still trying. My candle is still glowing. The world is still grating. We are still diamonds. Love from St. Louis
I'm OK. But I am noticing that a lot of people around me are not. When people greet me with, How are you, I usually stop and say I'm good thanks. I look them in the eye and ask them, how are you. They usually stop and look at me, sort of startled, usually people just say the words, but they are not looking for an answer. Then there is a moment. Shall I tell him how I am? No. I'm fine thanks.
Happy solstice! Summer for you winter for us here in the down south.
I'm fine, grateful to read your words now. If I'm coping? well I'm trying, being part of the social service means all that you well described. the best part is I'm dealing with humans and my coworkers help me do my job in a human way. that means I'm learning everyday to connect, may it be a more understanding way, listening better, asuming less. This mini verse I cohabitate is never silent, is a deliberating one and I'm often asked how I'm doing. Connection is hard everywhere, I think. So being asked how you doing and having the chance to say what you're dealing with or not being able to means a lot. Abrazos!
I am so happy to hear this , Katherine . Your experience will help others just through the being of it and being in it . Most of all, it is helping you. I hope your winter goes on being so bright
Thank you for asking. I am good, actually, I am whole. The most I have ever been in my life. Living alone these last 2+ years has afforded me the space for Being more me than I knew possible. Truly transformative to not be a carer for anyone, not even an animal. To allow all that time, energy, attention to find other movement, other meaning. To cook what I feel like eating. To feed myself, deeply feed the soil of my being. Rare and precious and a deliciously grand way to menopause. Highly recommend this kind of space for the transition that is the ‘pause. The gold you find in being still, silent, for as long as you need to. Or the frenzied creative states that make as much mess at they need to. The whole of me arriving, becoming the woman I always knew I was, given the time to collect all my edges. It is wonderful knowing that you, Jeanette Winterson, also stop and pause and note the Solstice. Blessed Be Your Solstice, from down here in the depths of Winter.
Hi I loved your piece. Most blogs I just skim over, but this one, I read carefully, word for word, from start to finish. So thank you! And how I am is always anxious, and obsessing - as the big things feel too big - over small things that shouldn't really matter when people are starving, imprisoned, driven from their homes - no, I find myself obsessing over the blackfly on my one climbing rose, the tiny insects that seem to get through even tightly closed windows, little black specks that make me itch, flies coming in whenever a door is left oen. Whenever I kill one, because their buzzing stresses me out, and I fear the disease they help spread, then I feel terrible because I've just taken a life, and so will I be punished next life, add to my karma, come back as a cockroach......? Obsession - it takes many forms, I'm sure. So thank you for asking!
Thank you, Jeanette, for a lovely essay. I live in the city, but I've built a fire pit in my backyard. Tonight I will build a fire, sit under the stars and just be.
We are human beings, not human doings. Thank-you for asking. I’m 53 and love being me. I eat chocolate whenever I want to. I’m convinced that chocolate is filled with vitamin H for happy.
Longest night, shortest day here in the Blue Mountains, Australia. Quiet. Solitary. The vague dread is lingering. Covid creeps, relentlessly unrecorded. Thanks for reaching out.
The fireflies have been my impetus to keep going. One magical morning right before dawn they were high in the treetops, first time I have seen that. On other nights they are garden height. One night recently one blinked his light all along the top of the window. And harvesting my strawberries brings me joy. And the mullein growing its flower tower makes me smile. But the news of the world, not. The endless details of my business project, not. Thank you for writing to honor the solstice.
I’m in the midst of covid and experiencing this ‘mild’ version gives me pause to reflect on how I am and how others are. These are bleak times but light is hope and it is hope which gives me strength to fight, to challenge, and to help make things better for me and for others. Keep well all.
🙏🏾 thank you💗🖖🏾
Thank you for this.
I am guessing you are busy doing and being, but I am so much wondering what you are up to in your kitchen? How was the veg crop this year? I hope the winter doesn’t stop the walking in the dark. It is terribly tiring to be alive. Yet here we are, still trying. My candle is still glowing. The world is still grating. We are still diamonds. Love from St. Louis
Thanks Jeanette!
I'm OK. But I am noticing that a lot of people around me are not. When people greet me with, How are you, I usually stop and say I'm good thanks. I look them in the eye and ask them, how are you. They usually stop and look at me, sort of startled, usually people just say the words, but they are not looking for an answer. Then there is a moment. Shall I tell him how I am? No. I'm fine thanks.
Happy solstice! Summer for you winter for us here in the down south.
I'm fine, grateful to read your words now. If I'm coping? well I'm trying, being part of the social service means all that you well described. the best part is I'm dealing with humans and my coworkers help me do my job in a human way. that means I'm learning everyday to connect, may it be a more understanding way, listening better, asuming less. This mini verse I cohabitate is never silent, is a deliberating one and I'm often asked how I'm doing. Connection is hard everywhere, I think. So being asked how you doing and having the chance to say what you're dealing with or not being able to means a lot. Abrazos!
I love this. It's simple but really makes me think!
So thankful you came back to us. Your writing IS needed👍👍👏👏❤️❤️