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There’s a feeling of tiredness that comes as we enter the colder, wetter months. The weariness I’d find myself surprised by in the midst of running errands in town; the strange shortness of breath I’d be left with simply walking up the stairs. Or waking up when it’s still dark out and not feeling ready to start my day.
I’m writing this in pyjamas. B is still fast asleep in the bedroom, I can hear him rotating around in the sheets. I’ve got the lamp beside me on. It's beginning to rain. Classic Irish weather. It’s early morning, but with the grey skies it feels like the afternoon; with the warm light emitting through the house, I feel like time has been suspended.
When B comes into the room he does a little jig. I comment that he’s looking rather cheerful compared to our other holidays spent in Italy and Portugal. He jokes it’s because he’s enjoyed nine-hours of sleep and hasn’t been run ragged around a city. He’s right. I’ve never been one that takes kindly to rest. I’ve been told on one too many occasions to “chill” and B is well accustomed to my inability to settle in any one place for too long. I’m always shuffling, pottering, moving, and cleaning around the house. In holiday-mode, I’m that person ten times. I’m so eager to devour every part of the city that I run us ragged at times. I want to see the museums, dine at local eateries, explore the local watering holes and cafes where people go on their commute to work for coffee. I want to immerse myself in local culture. I sometimes feel I live forever in FOMO — the fear of missing out. Holidays are so few and in between that I often want to make the absolute most of it before I’m dragged kicking and screaming back to office life, stationed at a desk for seven hours.
But this holiday has been different. I’m surprised by this new, almost cosy state of being that has set in. I’ve settled in for late-nights bingeing Succession while the fire glows amber. I’m in no rush to check emails, let alone answer them. I used to be comforted by planning relentlessly, and now, residing in the West of Ireland with nothing but good internet, I feel inclined to turn away from tuning in. I’ve been restless to write; sentences and ideas forming in my head as we wind through the countryside.
This new me spends hours curled up in the chair by the window, the radiator keeping my feet warm, a lamp above my head for extra light as the hours tick by. I have wanted to stay inside when the skies are grey. It surprises me how little I want to move or do. How happy I am just being. While my everyday life consists of early mornings and the need to keep moving, to keep active, this holiday has been a much needed change of pace.
Yesterday, B and I wandered up to the forest by Lisloughrey lake and walked a circular path through the trees; there was nothing but quietness, the steady drip of raindrops on the path from the towering trees overhead. The lake was completely silent, and after a day of rain, the clouds finally broke, the low-hung sun poking through with rays of light reflecting off the water.
I know I won’t get to have this sort of rest forever, I know I’ll eventually get bored of it. There have been moments when the house has felt small and constraining, where I have a desire to be outside, to be sightseeing and driving the country roads to show B everything Ireland has to offer. I will want to return to my morning routines, to be selecting recipes for dinner and going to bed at a reasonable time. There are emails to send, places to be, things to write.
But for now this short break from city life is welcomed. I watch B take his socks off the radiator, excited by the warmth. I love his embrace of the simple things. He goes over to stoke the fire, embers flutter upwards as he places another log on. We settle in for the evening, cosy.
Natalie, this sounds absolutely wonderful - especially this bit: "This new me spends hours curled up in the chair by the window, the radiator keeping my feet warm, a lamp above my head for extra light as the hours tick by. I have wanted to stay inside when the skies are grey. It surprises me how little I want to move or do. How happy I am just being." There's nothing like a deep recharge - I don't mean just for the sake of appreciating the everyday afterwards - but to relish the break away from it first. 😊