Hi friend,

If you’re new here: once or twice a month, I send a weekly dispatch from my daily life in the UK. It’s a collection of stories and things I’ve noticed—at home, in books, on my walks, in the world, and within myself. My hope is they feel reflective and calming, and inspire you to notice more in your own life. Writing them certainly helps me notice more in mine… 🕯️

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Saturday, March 7, 2026

It’s just after noon and the sun has inspired me to clean the inside of my car. “Can I help?” the youngest asks. This is a question I never once asked my parents. Of course, I say yes.

Together, we vacuum the seats, the floors, and the mats. We make a small bowl of hot soapy water and wipe down the dash, the doors, around the doors—anywhere we see dust or dirt or little swipes of mud from our shoes. I haven’t cleaned my car since I lived at The Lighthouse, and it feels nice to be taking care of this little thing that is mine.

We open up the trunk to see if there’s anything to clean back there, and she asks what everything is. I point out the jumper cables, the mini air compressor, and the high-vis vest—things you might need to fix your car when you’re on the road. I explain why I keep a jug of water in the car at all times. She knows what the wiper fluid is, but asks what the gold jug is: engine oil. “Do you need to use them right now?” she asks. I say I’d wait until the engine is cooler, before I top up the oil. She asks why, and I answer—then think about my dad, who gave me that answer. She asks if she can fill up the wiper fluid, and I hand her the jug.

At the front of the car, I ask if she wants to pop the hood. Tell her to feel around with her fingers until she finds a latch. I say it should go up and down, and she says no, it goes side-to-side. She’s found it! We prop up the hood and she asks more questions about everything she sees. I share what I do know, and also say “I don’t know.” Then she asks how much wiper fluid to add, and I tell her to fill it to the top! “Don’t worry about spilling,” I say to her, and to myself. Then I take a step back and let her do it. I’m suddenly aware of how much she’s learning today. By asking questions, trying new things, and being given permission to make a mess. And I feel the weight of responsibility that comes with being an adult who helps a kid learn how things work.

I spend the rest of the day thinking about my dad. ❤️

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If you’re new here: once or twice a month, I send a weekly dispatch from my daily life in the UK. It’s a collection of stories and things I’ve noticed—at home, in books, on my walks, in the world, and within myself. My hope is they feel reflective and calming, and inspire you to notice more in your own life. Writing them certainly helps me notice more in mine… 🕯️

This is my last newsletter of the year, and it’s a special one. I hope you enjoy it! And I hope Tall Man enjoys it too. ☺️

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Saturday, December 13, 2025

It’s 3:50pm and the preteen and I are still at the dining room table. We’ve been sitting here for a couple hours, doing something we’ve done a couple times already this season: painting Christmas cards for the neighbours. This isn’t a tradition. We’ve never painted cards for anyone before! So there was certainly no plan to eventually paint cards for all our neighbours. Back in November, I had just been watching some reels on Instagram of people painting Christmas trees, wreaths, snowflakes, etc. and thought: that looks fun. Then I setup my watercolours and laid out a bunch of brushes on the table as an invitation for anyone to join me. Something I’ve learned in this family is how important it is to not place demands on kids, but to create opportunities instead—and just see if anyone picks up what you’re putting down. I’ve also learned that if I setup the paints, someone will eventually come paint with me! I’m never sitting here alone for long…

When we decide we’re done (for today), we add up how many cards we’ve painted: 5 in total. Then I turn off the big light (that is: the main light on your ceiling), so I can take the picture above. It’s taken time, but I have finally figured out how all the lights work in this house, as well as which ones I like most—and which ones to turn on/off for the best pictures. In order to take good pictures in the kitchen, you have to turn off the big light. But we hardly turn on the big light in any room, anyway…

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Sometimes I try to look for themes in my weeks and shape my dispatches around them. This feels very “on the nose,” but it’s been a big writing week for me, friend. So I thought I would bring you into my inner world, as I start working on something new. This one feels a bit more vulnerable than usual, because sharing even a snippet of a new creative idea always leaves me feeling vulnerable. But I’m trying to let people in more and trust it will be ok. Thank you for reading, and for supporting my writing. ❤️

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Saturday, November 15, 2025

It’s 11am and I’ve found myself in a new-to-me park. I’m only in the area for a short time, and whenever I go anywhere new, my favourite thing to do is walk around and see what I might discover. As it turns out, there is a lot to discover here. This park contains a children’s play area, a skate park, tennis courts, many walking paths, a huge green field that could host at least a few team sports, a cafe, a duck pond, and even a freaking outdoor aviary (where, of course, I chatted with all the birds! And they flew to follow me around a bit and whistled back, woo woo!).

“I feel like I’m in London,” I tell a friend in an audio message. This is the same friend I sent a 20-minute long audio message to yesterday, 10 minutes of which were to share my next non-fiction book idea. This is the idea I said I wanted to work on at the start of the year. The idea I pitched to my agent (and got a yes!) in summer 2024. The idea I felt passionate about, but was missing one key detail of: the structure. The format. The how in how I would piece it together. It’s taken all year for me to figure out what the structure of this book will be. Now that I know it, I can’t stop thinking about it.

I just want to go home and write.

Monday, November 17, 2025

It’s Monday morning, the start of a new writing week, and I feel excited in a way I haven’t since… well, probably since 2019. That’s the last time I worked on a non-fiction book proposal that I felt confident about.

I sit at my laptop and open two documents: a PDF of my agent’s book proposal template + a blank Word doc. I do not re-open the proposals from my first two books, or the one I was working on earlier this year. I might later, to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything… but right now, I want to start fresh: with the ideas and new structure I can’t stop thinking about.

So I open a blank doc and I type these words:

Only I don’t write TITLE and Subtitle. I write the words I know fit in these spaces. The ones I dream of seeing on a book cover. The ones I hope you might read and connect with one day.

On the next page, I create a blank table of contents (headers with no page numbers) for the proposal itself.

[Insert → page break.]

And then I type the header for the first section: Overview. The Overview in a non-fiction book proposal gives potential editors a high-level view of what your book will be about. It answers a lot of the who-what-when-where-why questions, including: why now? And why are you the best person to write it? It also answers the question of how you’re going to piece this book together. Back to that whole structure thing. I finally know the answer to this question, so that’s where I begin—and it feels so good, friend.

I know how easy it is to make a mess of these documents. And I know that will happen eventually, and that it’s all part of the writing process. But for today, I just want to focus on filling in the blanks in the Overview. When I feel done for the day, I send an audio message to a friend and tell her what I’ve come up with so far. And I still feel excited.

Day 1 update: 777 words + a smile on my face

Tuesday, November 18, 2025

I’m home alone for the day, so I decide to work at Tall Man’s desk—which is actually my dining room table from The Lighthouse. I get my laptop, stand, keyboard, etc. all setup. I turn on the LL Bean Yule Dog video, for some cozy background noise. And then I open my proposal and dive back into the Overview. I add more notes, and turn some of those notes into proper paragraphs, but I can’t find my same focus today. I’m acutely aware of the fact that one of the stories I will be including in this book happened exactly 6 years ago today. It was an experience that changed me in an instant. It feels ok to reflect on it all now, and I am grateful for that—but still, it’s top of mind. And the timing of finally feeling able to write about this experience today—exactly 6 years later—feels impossible to ignore.

After a couple hours, I close my proposal and open another blank doc to get some of these reflections out of me. Moments in the aftermath I’d forgotten about. What I said when I told my agent and what she did for me after. How I showed up for myself, right after, hours after, days after. Things that are only part of my life today, because of all I learned and healed in therapy. How special my relationship with TM is, and really, how special all my relationships are now… I look at this new doc and think: some of this is likely going to end up in the book. But I don’t need to write about it today. I just read back what I wrote and think: I’m so grateful for where I am right now.

Day 2 update: 1,333 words + feeling good

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This one is a little shorter, as I caught a brutal cold this week, which might’ve turned into a chest infection!? I was given some antibiotics, anyway. So I was only paying attention to: noticing my symptoms, timing my meds, and trying not to keep TM and the kids up with my coughing. We’ll skip past most of that and get to the simpler joys…

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Tuesday, November 4, 2025

I am not well. I’ve been coughing all day, to the point where I think I’m throwing my neck/back out. But I’m committed to going for a walk and getting some fresh air every day. So I choose the flattest route and I move slowly. I’m more focused on going slow and not breathing too deeply, so as not to prompt a coughing fit. But after a while, I start to take in my surroundings. Of course, the first thing I notice is the distinct sound of a blackbird. I can’t see it, but I can hear its birdsong. It reminds me of Birdy and her many husbands (the male’s birdsong was the sweetest of all).

I’ve already decided that I’m going to have an afternoon bath today. I don’t really have baths at TM’s house, mostly because the tub is in the kid’s bathroom. But I miss them and I’m desperate for it now. So when I get home from my walk, I clean out the tub, then fill it up with hot water, plus a cup of epsom salts. I throw in some bubble bath for good measure. Then I lay in that hot water and I SWEAT. For a full hour, I just drink cold water and sweat and hope it is releasing even 5% of the discomfort in my body.

Later, TM tells me it’s nice to see me smiling, and I know exactly why I’m in a better mood… “I had a bath!”

Wednesday, November 5, 2025

“Before you go, wh- wh- where are you from exactly?”

I’m just about to leave the doctor’s office, with a prescription for antibiotics, so you might think I’d be ready to go go go. But instead, I just smile. I love talking about where I’m from.

I’ve lived in the UK for long enough now (4 years in January) that I don’t notice people’s accents as often. It mostly feels normal for me to be surrounded by English and Scottish accents now (and all from various regions, more of which I can identify these days). But everyone notices mine, because you don’t hear North American accents very often here—especially up in the North East. I am the outsider. And most of the time, I’m ok with that. I’m certainly happy to answer the doctor’s question. I tell him the same thing I tell everyone. My script goes like this:

“I’m from the west coast of Canada. Victoria, British Columbia, which is on Vancouver Island.”

To which I usually get replies along the lines of “Ohhh, Canada!” “I love Canada!” “I’d love to go there!” “I’ve only been to Toronto!” ← this is what the doctor says.

Occasionally, I’ll find someone who has been to Vancouver, sometimes even Victoria. My hairdresser in my old tiny town has been twice! When I find those people, we talk about BC with a shared fondness and love. It is a special place, and yes, I am honest when I reply to their question of whether or not I miss it. How could you not? But it’s not my place, right now… I am here.

When I get back to the car, I quickly scroll through photos and videos from my visit in Sept/Oct. I didn’t spend much time in nature, this last trip. Even given three weeks, there’s never enough time to do everything you want to do or see everyone you want to see. And my one regret from this year’s trip was that I only went to the ocean once—right at the end. The soft sounds of the water hitting the shoreline, and seagulls squawking overhead, immediately calmed my nervous system. I watched kayakers go by and a heron fly right in front of me, and I spotted a seal bobbing its head up in the distance. Or maybe it was just a log, it’s easy to confuse the two! And I was hit with that feeling of: I should’ve been coming here every day.

But the other truth—no matter how cheesy it might sound—is that the island is with me, everywhere I go. It’s part of why I know how to slow down; how to enjoy and respect nature; how to appreciate what I have (because you can’t access everything other people can on the mainland); how to live without, or be a little more resourceful. The longer I’m away, the more I understand about my connection to my first home. And the more I love being asked where I’m from…

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Saturday, October 11, 2025

I wake up at 7am and the first thing I notice is that my head is still pounding. It’s the same headache that woke me up two other times in the night. A side effect from the flu shot I got yesterday, no doubt. So I’m not worried about this headache. I’m also not worried about the body aches or general “malaise” as the doctors call it, which really means: feeling like you got hit by a truck. I know it will pass and I won’t feel like I got hit by a truck forever. But right now, I do. And I know I won’t sleep more. So I get up and get dressed and go downstairs. I feed the cat1 and make a coffee and curl up on the couch and somehow 3 hours pass by. Three. Hours. I do not know what I did in those hours, other than look at my phone, then curl into a ball and wish I felt better, then look at my phone some more.

But after three hours, I start to notice something that’s happening outside of my body: the sound. Or rather, the distinct lack of sound. It is so quiet here. One of the first things I noticed in Victoria was how busy it had gotten. How many more cars were on the roads. And how loud it was. Compared to what? I wasn’t sure, when I was there. But now I know: compared to here. This quiet little part of the world I’ve chosen to live. Sometimes it feels too small, this place. Too small, too remote, too far removed from some of the life and work-related things I think I’d like to do. Then I hear the tiny birds chatting away in the garden. Other than a few hummingbirds—a bird we do not have in the UK—I do not remember hearing the birds in Victoria. I feel calmer and excited to get to know the birds that live here—around my new home. So I close my eyes and curl back up into a ball and just listen.

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May 10, 2025

It’s mid-afternoon and we’ve arrived at the beach. The plan had been to go for a hike in the Lakes today, but I looked at the (incredible) forecast and was also honest with myself about how tired I’ve been lately, and asked if we could consider another option. Would you be up for doing a beach walk instead? His answer was along the lines of yes, whatever you want love, etc. and I believed him. It’s taken a long time, but I finally trust that Tall Man really likes when I say what I want/need. I do want to hike, but I need to be near water.

When we arrive, we grab our bags and walk across the sand dunes and down to the shore. We walk south along the beach, until we pass all the humans, then find a secluded spot to have lunch. We put down the picnic blanket he got for my 37th birthday, eat our food, then lay back and soak up the sun. It’s 22°C (72°F) and we have nothing to do and nowhere to be.

I do my usual bit where I marvel at how gorgeous the beaches are here and how soft the sand is. Victoria is one of the most beautiful places to call home, but we do not have sand like this. Most of our beaches are covered in rocks. We talk about all the colours we see in the sand. The black stands out most—probably remnants of coal-mining activities, which used to be the main industry in the North East. This day feels like yellow sunshine and blue sky and water, and puffy white clouds, and the warm sandy beach. But there’s a little bit of black too.

Before we get up to leave, we talk about how relaxed we both feel, how nice it is to see one another look so relaxed and content, and how good this day has been overall. Then TM asks if we want to give ourselves the gift of not having to cook dinner or do dishes. We walk back to his car and head north to find fish and chips by the sea!

May 11, 2025

Beach day is followed by chores day. I tell TM I’d happily help with some of the jobs around his house, and he asks me to grab a piece of paper from the cupboard. TM and I are similar in so many ways, including how we organize our homes. The one big difference is that he has a bit more stuff—but the way most parents do! Stuff to keep your kids entertained! Like arts and crafts supplies! I open the cupboard and dig through a stack of coloured paper—the kind I haven’t seen since I was a kid—and decide to go for the brightest one I see. “Orange is the colour of the day!” He takes it and turns it into a list of all the jobs with little checkboxes next to each one. By the end of the day, we’ve checked off every single one. I add an “A++” for us at the top!

May 12, 2025

I arrive home from the weekend at TM’s and discover a surprise. It seems I’ve been the victim of a little childish vandalism. There’s pink ice cream rubbed all over my front door and two pink popcicle sticks on the step. I notice my back gate is open, and discover plastic wrappers from more ice cream treats in my garden. I know exactly who did this. I know, because other neighbours have told me they’ve had to put locks on their gates to stop him (a 6-7 year old boy down the road) from going into their back gardens.

I wish I could stay calm or not be too bothered by this incident, but I am angry. It feels like a massive violation, to know someone was snooping around your house while you were away. I can also hear my dad telling me to get a lock, because the last thing you want is for someone to injure themselves on your property. It’s a violation and a safety/insurance concern.

Later, I look at the date and realize I got the keys to The Lighthouse exactly three years ago today. I share this with TM, along with a picture of the door covered in ice cream. “Happy anniversary!?” he replies. Happy anniversary to The Lighthouse, indeed.

And then I walk into town and start my search for a lock.

May 13, 2025

It’s just shy of 10am and I’m walking through the grocery store parking lot, when I spot an older man in a bright purple shirt with a mini burlap shopping bag in his hand. It has an illustration of an orange and white striped lighthouse on it, surrounded by blue and white waves. I wonder where that bag is from? I think. And what does he carry around in there? This man is not going to the grocery store, and neither am I. I’m walking to the coffee shop, and I’m on a mission: to get a cheese scone to go with my lunch. Lucky me, it’s fresh out of the oven! Golden and shiny and hot in my hand! And it goes perfectly with my red tomato basil soup…

Later, I test out a few different locks and find one that fits my gate. It’s gold too.

May 14, 2025

I start the Zoom meeting for a call with a paid subscriber, and the first thing I notice is the tapestry hanging on her wall. NOTE: I will not write about these calls or what anyone shares with me. These calls are for you, not for public consumption! But I am so drawn to the colours I’m seeing: a rainbow of soft tones, with an image depicting someone kayaking down a river with mountains all around. I think they were kayaking, anyway. All I can remember are the colours… and, how good this call felt. I finished it feeling energized, which is always a sign I’m doing work that feels good and right-sized for me.

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May 15, 2025

One of my favourite things about living in this town is how walkable it is. I can go in any direction, and be out for as long (or as short) as I want to. When I step out the front door, I don’t always know where I’m going. I just walk and make lots of little decisions along the way. That’s how I find myself down at the river today. Then I’m walking along the rocks in the river. I had no intention of coming here, but I’m glad I’m here now. Looking down before taking each step, then looking up at my surroundings. When I face west, I see the blue sky coming in. When I turn around, I see the grey clouds that are passing by. This feels like a metaphor for how I’ve felt lately, and the work it has taken to stop living in the dark and search for the light. I decide to turn towards the blue sky, once again.

May 16, 2025

I wake up feeling inspired—to write, to workout and then… to bake! It’s been a couple months since I last baked anything at The Lighthouse. It might’ve actually been the Nanaimo bars I made with friends in February (though you don’t have to bake them in the oven, they set in the fridge). I think I’d like to make some muffins. My first thought is cranberry orange, which was one of my favourite flavours at Marvelous Mmmuffins (RIP) when I worked there as a teenager. Then I look in the fridge to see what I already have and decide on lemon blueberry.

After mixing most of the ingredients together, I turn on the oven and grab the muffin pan and liners. I have all the colours of the rainbow, but choose two: yellow and blue. It’s extremely on the nose, which is just like me to do. Obvious choices, but it really does make them feel more fun (for me!).

As I look down at the muffin pan filled with empty paper liners, the colours remind me of the sun and the sand and the sea and the sky. I start thinking about how colourful this week has been, which inspires an idea for which stories I’ll share in this dispatch.

I feel as though a fog has lifted from me this week, I texted a friend a few days ago. That fog is something I was trying to push past, even ignore. But if you read April’s newsletter, it might have been obvious: I was having a hard time last month. That’s why I missed a few weekly dispatches. When I’m in a darker place internally, I can find it challenging to pay attention to what’s happening externally and look for the light in my life. On Friday morning, I still didn’t know what I wanted to share with you this week. Then I was inspired to put less pressure on the writing and simply focus on the colours.

Have you ever gone on a rainbow walk? It’s when you go for a walk and try to find things in all the colours of the rainbow. Tall Man told me about them a few years ago. Then he went on one, and sent me pictures of something red, orange, yellow, etc. Rainbow walks are a fun way to engage your senses and be more present and potentially find lots of details you wouldn’t normally notice. (They are also a great way to engage kids on walks!) But you can do a simpler version of this practice in daily life too.

You can pick a single colour then try to notice all the ways it shows up in your day. Maybe you’ll find it in your closet or cupboards. Maybe you’ll see it on a label in the grocery store. Maybe you’ll notice it on signs you pass or things people are wearing/holding or in someone’s garden that you walk past. Will today be a pink day? A yellow day? Maybe a purple day? Purple is a good one. It always reminds of the quote from The Color Purple: “I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field and you don’t notice it.” I don’t personally believe in God, but I do believe in the power of noticing colours. It’s a simple exercise to ground yourself on anxious or depressed days. You can do it alone. You can share it with a friend (and even send them pictures). You can also write about it. One colour you looked for, or all the colours in your week. I know I’d love to read about it. This is still one of my favourite reads on Substack:

So, I’ll leave you with that, friend. But I’m curious:

Have you ever gone on a rainbow walk?

And/or, have you ever written about colour?

Please feel free to share links to your work in the comments!

xx Cait

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April 26, 2025

We wake up to the sound of a fire alarm. It takes a few loud BEEP BEEP BEEPS to remember where I am. I’m in a hotel room in London with Tall Man. And the fire alarm is going off. We need to get UP. We race to our bags, me throwing clothes all over to find a freaking pair of socks. Where are my freaking socks! I pull on a tank top (inside out and backwards) and leggings, and zip up my fleece (might be cold out). With every beep beep beep, I keep wondering if this will be a mistake and the fire alarm will turn off, but it does not. I think we might be outside for a while. Within a minute, we’re dressed and ready. TM grabs our phones, I grab our Garmin watches. And then it stops. The fire alarm… stops. There’s just a loud ringing leftover in my ears.

I open the hotel room door and briefly chat with two women in the hallway. “There’s no fire,” one woman tells us. “It was for one person’s room but they couldn’t figure out how to turn the others off.” Up and down the hall, there are sighs of relief and annoyance. We are mostly just relieved. I look at my watch and see it’s 5:30am. There’s time to get more sleep—and we do. But as I lay there, I can’t help but reflect on what I just learned about us and our relationship.

We did all of that in silence. While the fire alarm was going off, we did not communicate. We just moved—doing the same things, at the same pace. We only seemed to cared about two things: getting dressed and grabbing our tech. And even when we found out it was all a mistake, we didn’t really grumble. We just took our street clothes off and got back into bed. There are many moments in a relationship when you can test how compatible you are, and hopefully not so many of them are in a crisis. But also: how do you both handle a crisis? Separately and together? This answered the question of how we would both handle a potential fire in a hotel: the exact same way.

As for why we are here? Well… Tall Man is running the London Marathon tomorrow. ☺️

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April 5, 2025

It’s mid-afternoon and we’re halfway through a walk, finishing the ice cream bars we stopped to buy along the way. “Do you want to go this way?” I ask and motion right. “And stay in the sun a little longer?” This way takes us through one gate, across a bit of grass, then through a second gate. Before opening the second one, I see a sign attached to it: BIRD FLU DETECTED HERE.

I have never seen this sign before. Not here, not anywhere, especially in a public place. We are not walking through a farm (though sheepies are often in the next field over). We are walking by a small body of water occupied by birds: ducks, geese, swans, etc. The sign says to report any dead birds found, and not touch them or even their feathers. A minute later, we walk past a huge carcass… of maybe a goose!? Though the feet look more like an owl. It’s hard to see what it is/was. Looks like a fox dug into it. If it was infected, that could be bad news for the fox. It’s definitely bad news for the bird(s)…

April 6, 2025

“Do you want to go on an adventure today?” I ask the preteen in my life. You have a preteen in your life!? you might be wondering now, and the answer is yes. I have a preteen and a teenager in my life, and that’s probably all I will ever tell you about them, friend. Because they aren’t my kids to talk about. They are Tall Man’s. I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about how kids are put on the internet more broadly, but trust we can only ever do what feels right for us. What feels right for me is to not talk about his kids, or these two autonomous humans. But I am interested in exploring what it means to be an adult in kids’ lives. And when I realized the preteen and I would have 6+ hours alone together with zero plans or time restraints, I asked the most Cait question I could think of:

Do you want to go on an adventure?

This was naturally met with some follow-up questions. I had no predetermined plans or ideas around this, friend. I was just making it up on the spot, the way all my friends who are parents admit they do every day! “Do you want to just get in the car, get some snacks, then you can tell me to go left or right, and we’ll see what happens?” That got a very big YES.

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March 29, 2025

It’s 12:30pm and Tall Man and I are standing at a bus stop in my town. We’ve never stood at a bus stop together, or taken a bus anywhere together for that matter. We’ve also never popped into the bakery to buy a sausage roll, then stood on the street and taken turns biting into it before either. But just because you’ve never done a thing with someone you love before doesn’t mean you can’t. One of you just has to ask or make the suggestion.

The bus is late but it doesn’t matter because we don’t have anywhere to be. The day is ours. We eventually get on and the bus goes down the road and over the bridge, then I realize we’re on a road that feels new to me. TM says we’ve driven on it once before, but I think that was in the dark. I don’t recognize the road or surrounding properties. It all feels new, in a way that makes me feel both like I’m an explorer and a woman whose life has shrunk. How have I never driven down this road that is only 5 minutes from The Lighthouse? It doesn’t matter. I’m here now, and we’re going on an adventure!

Our plan is to ride this bus for ~20 minutes, then get off in another small town and walk back through the fields and down old railway tracks. This is the most quintessentially British way to travel (usually by train, but it’s a bus for us!) and explore on foot. One of us always drives. So it’s our first time going on this type of adventure together. And the afternoon ends up being filled with first times and new things. We went to the bakery together! We took a bus together! We decided to stop and get coffee and split a slice of fudgy chocolate cake too! (It could’ve only been more British if we’d had scones.) We don’t usually do these things. But today, these are those little things that are actually the big things. And we are the type of people who notice and name all the new experiences we are having. The details aren’t lost on us. We appreciate them.

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March 15, 2025

It’s 12pm and I’m laying on the living room floor. My yoga mat lives here permanently laid out, so the invitation to stretch is always open. I look up—at the ceiling, at the way the light is cast across it, at the blue sky. I can’t wait to go outside today.

A couple hours later, Tall Man and I have set out for a nice long “walk and talk.” Our relationship began outdoors, in a way. And from the very beginning, we agreed that anytime we need/want to have big conversations, we will try to do it while we are moving our bodies in nature.

Today’s talk is a scheduled one—something we like to call our seasonal check-in. I won’t share anything we talk about here, but it’s an important practice that was originally inspired by this post he’d read. We (try to) do it at the start of every new season. Spring is here, so it’s time to reflect on winter.

Three hours later, we’ve walked 7.75 miles (12.5km) and I’ve hardly taken in our surroundings, engrossed in the conversation. (We’ve done this walk before, so I don’t feel as though I’ve missed out on anything!) But we pause at the waterfall. Personally, I’ve stopped to check on this bird.

If you zoom in, can you see it? On the rock in the bottom left corner? It is so tiny, but has such a loud call. Has it lost its friends? Can anyone hear it over the roaring waterfall below? I can hear you, friend! It flits away and I hope it ends up wherever it wants to go.

March 16, 2025

Tall Man is sleeping upstairs (at The Lighthouse), and I’m downstairs sipping coffee and reading. I pause to do my daily Italian lesson on Duolingo. It’s day 173 and we are revisiting lessons from the early weeks. Tu hai un ragazzo alto! translates to You have a tall boyfriend! It made me laugh then and now. Yes, yes I do.

Now it’s 2pm and I’m walking down the street towards a coffee shop, when I hear a familiar voice call out: Hi friend! It’s Sasha! Calling out from the car, while she waits for a parking spot. She’s here for a quick visit, and over the next two hours we hangout in a way that only two people who really know each other can: with complete ease. We get tea. Walk paths we’ve walked many times before. Go back to The Lighthouse. Sit on the couch and chat. Hug and say goodbye. Throughout it all, I have little moments where I think: I can’t believe she’s here, this feels so surreal. You’d never know we live 3 hours apart now, or that we hadn’t seen each other in 4 months, or wouldn’t see each other again for a while. It also doesn’t matter. We will text each other in an hour.

March 17, 2025

I wake up at 4am, not tired but… refreshed!? I want to get up and make coffee, so I do. My lifelong history of sleep issues has taught me: listen to your body. When you’re tired, get into bed. When you feel awake, get up. Bed is for sleep, not for hanging out. (These are my rules for myself, not advice for anyone else.)

I get dressed, go downstairs, fill my French press. Then I curl up on the couch with my first mug. I decide to start reading one of the middle grade novels from my 2025 reading list. I choose BECAUSE OF WINN-DIXIE, for the simple reason that it’s the shortest. And then I devour it—all 157 pages in one go. There’s a quote towards the end that is so shockingly honest, I am left sobbing again. How does she do that!?!? Knowing a bit about Kate’s childhood, I imagine this is what she meant when she gave the advice: write towards the hole in your own heart.

I can’t remember the last time I read two books in a week. (I finished PINEAPPLE STREET last night.)

March 18, 2025

Between writing sessions, I walk into town. Outside of one shop, I look down and notice a few paper hearts on the ground. Oh wait, there’s a star. Oh, and a bell. And are those horseshoes!? They are pink and blue and yellow and white. Little bits of confetti, no bigger than your thumbnail, are scattered down the sidewalk—spanning the length of at least six shops. How did it get here? I wonder and will never know.

I’m noticing things I haven’t noticed before, on today’s walk. Things that have probably always been here and I just haven’t seen. Like the bright pink door on #14. And the navy blue and brass sign indicating one house’s name. Are these more noticeable because the sun is shining? Then there’s the house that uses at least one room for storage—so much so, all I can see are random objects (a lamp, DVD player, and books) shoved up against the window. No light pours into that room, I think. There are stories behind everything I’m seeing today—or I can make some up. Why would I try to brainstorm new “artist dates” I could take myself on each week, when I can simply go outside?

I turn a corner, look up, and notice the objects in another window. A lamp and jars of paint brushes. Who lives here and how often do they paint and what do they paint? I wonder and will never know.

Then I hear the familiar sound of buzzing and spot a big fluffy bumblebee. A sign of the new season. A sign of hope.

Until it crashes into a window. Again and again, before flying in another direction. Silly bee.

March 19, 2025

I’m up at 4am again. Ready for coffee, ready to read before I write. I pick up my copy of DEVOTIONS by Mary Oliver and open it to a random page. This is the first thing I read:

“maybe just looking and listening
is the real work.
Maybe the world, without us,
is the real poem.”

After doing all the work work (not the “real” work) I wanted to do today, I go for a walk with a purpose. The sheep in the distant fields are louder than usual, this week. I can hear them, whenever I open my front door. The lambs have been born… and I want to see them! So I walk 10-15 minutes one way, but discover they are hanging out at the back of the fields—a little too far to get a good look (or picture). So I listen and watch them jump and run around. I’ll be back, lambies! I say and I mean. Their arrival will change the route I take on my daily walks now.

On my return trip home, I hear and see another big fluffy bumblebee.

March 20, 2025

It’s 1pm and I’m walking towards the lambs again—only this time, I’m also talking on the phone. I’m chatting with Emma Simpson, author of BREAKING WAVES which comes out next week. We speak honestly about how it feels to promote a memoir. Emma and I have met once briefly before, but we are basically two strangers who have something in common now. The conversation flows easily, the way it does when two people have a shared experience—and a shared language. And there’s a lot to say.

Later, I finish another of Kate DiCamillo’s books: THE TIGER RISING. It does not make me cry. It kind of makes me angry? I don’t think I like this book at all… but that’s three in one week.

March 21, 2025

It’s 9:30am and I’m on the road, heading west toward the M6. I’m going on my first literary adventure day! The plan is to meet up with Keris Fox in St. Anne’s, explore a bit, then pop into Katie Clapham’s bookshop. I’m excited to meet new people, see a new place, and get some new books!

It’s 11am and I’ve just parked my car at the St. Anne’s train station, where I’m going to meet Keris. I missed a call 10 minutes ago, so call the number back. It’s the woman who interviewed me for a job two weeks ago. I didn’t get it. She’s kind and says our call was the one she least wanted to make, because she’d really liked me and enjoyed our conversation. But one person had a bit more experience. I think I say nice things in reply, but I am gutted. I liked her too and I wanted this job. I am also tired of applying for jobs and not getting them. Tired of trying to get ahead in the UK and continually feeling as though I’m stuck where I am. A few minutes later, Keris walks off the train. We hug hello and then I cry at her.

It’s 4:30pm and I’m back in the car. I’ve had a beautiful day with Keris, which included not one but two visits to see Katie! We walked, talked, laughed… and I am coming home with so many new books! (I’m going to tell you more about this next week, when I have the energy.) But there’s been a cloud over me all day. It’s still here now. I’m sad. My royalties are late again and I’m worried about money and the future. I’m tired.

It’s 7pm and I’m in the bath. I read Daisy Buchanan’s newsletter about how Meta stole her novels and used them to train their AI systems. I understand how violated she feels. Last year, I shared that THE YEAR OF LESS was 1 of 183,000 books stolen to train systems like ChatGPT. This time, Meta has stolen 7.5 million books and 81 million research papers. Numbers so big, my brain can’t compute them. Once again, The Atlantic has done some incredible reporting on this, and even created another database you can search to see whose work was stolen by Meta. I search my name and see they took both of mine this time. I search friends and authors I love and see they’ve taken everyone’s work.

It is an exhaustive list and I am exhausted.

Trying to survive as a writer feels exhausting right now.

xx Cait

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March 8, 2025

It’s 9:55am and I’ve made my first coffee of the day. It looks so perfect, I decide to take a picture and send it to a friend. Good morning! I might get a few minutes to myself at Tall Man’s, before little feet come downstairs. I sit in the living room and chat with the cat. (Yes, I talk to her like a human. You should know this about me by now!) We spend a lot of time together on this couch, but our morning chats are my favourite. She ditches me to sprawl out on the rug and soak up the sun. I’m good at slow mornings, but she’s better.

March 9, 2025

I leave TM’s house to go for a walk by myself. It’s not even noon and it’s already 15°C/59°F (!!!) and sunny. People think England is only grey and wet, but I find the weather is actually different every day (and sometimes changes many times throughout the day). This past fall and winter were actually pretty sunny! But it has been cold for many months now, and it’s due to return. So the lesson I’ve learned about living here is: when it’s warm, GO OUTSIDE.

The route I’m on will take about an hour. Twenty minutes in, I stop to sit on a bench and feel the sun on my face. I don’t do much in terms of guided meditation, but I know how to do this. I only stay for 1-2 minutes, and it’s enough.

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Tall Man and I are walking along the Northumberland Coast. We wanted to walk on the beach, but hadn’t checked the tide which is very much in. So we are walking alongside it, talking and listening to the waves. The topic changes, and we are now having a conversation we don’t want anyone to overhear. Whenever people pass by, we go quiet and/or laugh. I’m enjoying the topic and hearing TM’s thoughts and perspective, and I’m also enjoying this playfulness that’s been added to it. If there’s one thing we have proven we can do together, it’s adding lightness.

March 2, 2025

It’s somewhere between 10:30 and 11:00am, and I’m sitting by the window in a coffee shop in Alnwick. Next to me, there’s a small group of friends chatting about an event they went to the day before. I assume they are here for the same reason we are: Alnwick Story Fest. It’s the festival’s third year running, and I feel grateful to have attended (or been part of) at least one session every year. We came up for Oliver Burkeman’s session this afternoon. I don’t know it yet, but we will have some interesting conversations on the other side of his event. Right now, I’m here: at this table in the window, with a coconut milk flat white, alone. When I look outside, the blue sky is an invitation. Soon, I will walk: into the Accidental Bookshop, through the town, into Barter Books, then back to the hotel to meet Tall Man. It feels like a luxury to have these two hours to myself, doing the simple things I love. Starting with sipping this coffee by the window.

March 3, 2025

It’s 11:30am and I’m at the mall. I’m looking for an outfit to wear to a job interview this week. One hour in, I’m ready to give up. I hate malls and I hate shopping for clothes.

It’s 1:30pm and I’m back in my car. I bought an outfit! It’s comfortable and I feel like myself in it! I still hate malls and I still hate shopping for clothes, but I am happy with what I got.

It’s 4:30pm and I’m finally home. I made one extra pit stop, which somehow added two hours to my trip? I don’t understand, but I’m so happy to be DONE. I got 10,000 steps from shopping and never want to do that again.

March 4, 2025

Two friends text to wish me a happy adoption day. Today is the day my stepdad legally became my dad, four years ago. It feels as meaningful to me today as it did then. It feels extra meaningful that friends have put it in their calendars and celebrated with us—in 2021 and some every year since.

March 5, 2025

I walk into the local library on a mission. I’m here to print 2 copies of the written test I had to complete for my job interview, as well as a document I need TM to sign. I do all my printing at the library. I’ve bought many things for The Lighthouse, but I don’t want to buy a printer. I like coming here. It could seem inconvenient, but the steps it takes are all things I enjoy: walk for 10 minutes, hangout in a library, look at some books, walk 10 minutes home. I also might only print stuff 4-6x/year, so it makes more financial sense to come here than buy a printer/ink/paper for myself. I’d rather give the library my money, anyway.

As I walk in, one of the librarians recognizes me and walks over to the hold shelf. She grabs the two books that are waiting for me. No one has recognized me and done that before, I comment to her. “Well, I’d say you’re a regular!” she replies. I feel warmed by her words. This feels like community.

I go to computer #8 and print 8 pages in total. Four of them are colour, so this will cost a few pounds. I go back to the counter to pay. As she tallies up my total on a little slip of paper, I notice a logo on the wall and wonder if we could have the same employer one day.

March 6, 2025

It’s 1:20pm and I just got home from the job interview. The first one I’ve had in over a year (because: job market), and the first one I’ve done in-person in… well, a long time. I did the best I could, in terms of preparing and going through the tests (there were two) and interview itself. That’s how I defined “success” at the start of this process: I wanted to be able to say I did my best—and I can. So I feel content. I also feel tired.

I change back into regular clothes, then put on shoes but no jacket, because it’s 14°C/57°F and sunny outside. It feels like the first day of spring. I decide to take a route I haven’t been on in months, which takes me through the sheepie fields (and all the sheepie poop) and down to the river. I listen to audio messages from a friend in PEI. It feels like she’s here with me. I stop to take a few pictures for her, and send her a couple audio messages along the way.

On my walk back into town, I cross paths with an older man wearing a Toronto Blue Jay’s hat. I decide I have to say something.

“Hey, that’s a great hat!”

“Ohhh thanks. Not a lot of baseball fans in the UK, but I love it…” he replies.

This exchange turns into a five-minute conversation about where we are both from, how we ended up here, and where he wants to go before he dies (India and China). He also tells me about a secret tunnel under a local pub, which I make a mental note of should I ever visit (12 years sober, it may not surprise you I haven’t been to any of the pubs in this town). Before we say goodbye, he tells me his name and shakes my hand. “You’ve chosen a beautiful place to live!” he says as we both turn around and go in opposite directions. After an exchange I had about where I live earlier, this comment feels like a kindness.

I walk past the coffee shop and decide to go in—not for coffee, just to say hi. The place is empty, and Ryan and Abby are sitting on the sofa. I sit with them and tell them about my job interview. Ryan tells me about his recent vacation. He grabs his phone and shows me some pictures and videos. There’s no rush to get up and leave. They are closing soon and happy to chill.

March 7, 2025

It’s grey and wet outside. This feels like a huge contrast, compared to yesterday’s sun and warmth, but I don’t mind. All of this job stuff made for a big week and I am tired. I’m happy to be inside and happy to be writing this.

I’ve thought about writing a weekly series like this for a couple years, but I haven’t known what its purpose would be, and therefore what to call it. I’m not afraid to say I’m terrible at naming things (and would be a terrible copywriter). I’m not skilled in the art of banter and I’m not very quippy and I’m not good at coming up with one-liners or titles for pieces/projects. In fact, I would say my MO is to come up with the most obvious option first. See: The Lighthouse. And Tall Man. And Baby and the Hounds and Kitty and Meow Meow.

One of the things I’m appreciating about getting older is that it becomes easier (and less threatening) to name and notice what you’re good at and what you’re not. I know many of my strengths and weaknesses, including as a writer. I’m not good at naming things. But the other truth is this: I’m tired of having to name things. I’m tired of every piece of content feeling like something that needs to be part of your “brand” or your “business ecosystem.” I’m growing tired of being in business. I’m also growing tired of being the business.

I love writing. I want to live and write and share because it is my favourite form of self-expression.

I don’t want to have to package everything up into something original.

I think about a post my friend Laura published this week, where she revisited Mary Oliver’s poem The Summer Day. She talked about how the last two lines (“what is it you plan to do / with your one wild and precious life?”) are perhaps her most famous. They are also her most misrepresented/misunderstood.

When you read the entirety of the poem, you know: “Her call to arms isn’t about seizing the day… it’s about marvelling at the smallest things to make everything ordinary extraordinary.”

And that’s because of two lines in the middle:

“I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention.”

That’s what I know how to do, too. I would go so far as to say I’m “good” at it. Paying attention. Noticing. Feeling. Slowing down and being present for an experience. I’m not always good at understanding my process or being able to name why my writing might be interesting to anyone. But I do know how to pay attention—and how to share what I see and experience in the world.

I still don’t know what to call this series. But I know I love Mary Oliver. I kept a copy of DEVOTIONS next to my bed all throughout the first two years of the pandemic. Her collective work is meditation after meditation after meditation. She was the master of paying attention. Whenever I need a moment of stillness, I can find it in that book.

Maybe using her words is the most obvious choice, for this series.

Or maybe it’s exactly right.

xx Cait