This practice is so simple

Moments from my wild and distracted life (March 7-13)

I didn’t take any pics this week, so here’s one from outside Canada House in Trafalgar Square a couple weeks ago—February 2026

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…

I typically only send these to paying subscribers, but this feels like one that might be helpful for more readers. ❤️

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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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Sunday, March 8, 2026

Tall Man and I driving home when I spot a teenage boy in full camo. He looks over his shoulder directly at us, before walking through the gate into a graveyard—with a gun over his shoulder. It’s long and brown. Maybe a shotgun. “That boy had a gun!” I say to TM, and he doesn’t seem overly surprised. Farm boys can be pretty wild, he says. I understand why farmers have guns, but the sight of this boy looking at us with his feels alarming to me. I start imagining horrible things he might be doing, taking his gun into that graveyard. I know all the little creatures that live there. But these are just stories I’m making up, so I tell myself to stop. Then I realize I don’t actually know what the gun laws/regulations are in the UK—just that you never see them. I hadn’t seen one in the first four years of living here. Aware that isn’t everyone’s experience, I’m grateful I live in a country¹ where that’s true.

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Monday, March 9, 2026

I had a good writing session this morning. I’m getting closer to sending a portion of my proposal to my agent, and I know exactly what I need to do next. But my brain seems to have tapped out a bit earlier than usual. By 11am, I’m tackling a different project instead.

TM and I mostly emptied out the attic this weekend. We went through some of his boxes yesterday, and today I want to go through mine. I have only four—the small cardboard boxes you might use to pack up some glasses or dishes. Cheap and ripped during the move, they need to be replaced. But I want to see what’s inside, first. This won’t take long, I think, and I’m right. The contents of these boxes could be divided into four categories:

1. paperwork (not much, stuff like my will, power of attorney, etc.)

2. pictures/keepsakes

3. some books (including my copies of THE YEAR OF LESS, in all its translations too)

4. a few things I wasn’t ready to get rid of, when I moved here

I’m keeping everything in the first three categories, but am surprised to discover that I don’t care about anything in the fourth. It’s been 7 months since I moved out of The Lighthouse/into TM’s house. I got rid of almost an entire two-bedroom house’s worth of belongings, in that process, and didn’t care about most of it. But I had cared about these things… until I didn’t.

I put them all in one of the cardboard boxes and set it aside to be donated.

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Tuesday, March 10, 2026

Another good, but short, writing session. But I can tell I’m distracted—by projects, by the news, by my feelings. My attention span feels shot, and I feel frustrated about it. So I decide to run errands and cross some other tasks off the list. Anything to quiet the mind, and help me feel somewhat productive.

I run around to a few different post offices/parcel drop off locations. Ship all the things we’ve already sold on Vinted, after this weekend’s declutter. As I’m driving, I decide to check gas prices at all the pumps I pass. See it’s gone up to over £1.30/L ($2.35/L in Canada, $6.50/gallon in USD) at most, and over £1.40 at others. I start doing the mental math on how much it will cost to fill up. How much it might cost to do a return trip to my old town, and beyond. Wonder if it will ever hit an amount I can’t afford/don’t want to pay. And then I see where my anxious mind is going and tell it to stop. I can’t control what’s happening in the world, but I can complete the tasks on my list.

I make my last stop at B&Q—which is kind of like Home Depot in North America. I’m here to buy a storage container for the things I’m putting back up in the attic. On the drive home, I laugh to myself and think this might be one of the biggest commitments I have made recently. Yes, I moved in with my partner and his two kids. And yes, we redid our estate planning, etc.

But if you’re buying storage containers in another country: you have COMMITTED to living there.

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Wednesday, March 11, 2026

Another good, but short, writing session this morning. And another day where my brain stopped working before lunch. In the afternoon, I go for a walk and start listening to a new audiobook. I’m reading historical fiction this month, and have a lot of thoughts about this genre already, friend. Mostly, I’m struggling to get through any of the books I’ve started. I don’t know if it’s the genre, or the news/state of the world, or a combination of the two. But I start a new book and am delighted that I finally manage to listen for a full 30+ minutes, before losing focus. That’s a first, this week.

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Thursday, March 12, 2026

Sometimes I try not to check the news. Today, I do the exact opposite and decide to check the major news outlets both here and in other countries. See what’s in the headlines in the US, Canada, etc. I see a seemingly innocent article about how Canadians are changing their travel plans for spring break this year, because there so many travel advisories around the world. I go to the Canadian government website and start to scroll through them, then stop when I see the UK has a yellow warning: Exercise a high degree of caution due to the threat of terrorism.

“There is a threat of terrorism in Europe,” it goes on to say. “Terrorists have carried out attacks in several European cities.” This is true. This week, there were explosions at the US embassy in Oslo, and at a Jewish school in Amsterdam. But here? The site goes on to say attacks usually happen in London, but it’s still something to be aware of. And this advisory comes from the UK government, who says our threat level is “substantial” which means “an attack is likely.” So they are telling the world: beware before travelling here. Do residents/citizens need to be worried about being here?

Living in the UK, you are often reminded of what it might’ve been like here in various wars. It’s not uncommon to see signs of old military defense, when you’re walking along any coastline. Pillboxes/bunkers, canons, and other coastal artillery. Just two weeks ago, TM and I were in London checking something on a map, and I pointed out that we were near Churchill’s War Rooms. We were in the city, when we read the news that the US and Israel had bombed Iran. We walked past a protest, held over the next two days. We saw it in Trafalgar Square on the Saturday, and then over by parliament on the Sunday. It was peaceful, but the air still felt heavy.

There’s a weight to this war. We might not be there, but it can be felt all around the world.

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Friday, March 13, 2026

It’s mid-afternoon and I’m reflecting on the fact that this hasn’t felt like a very “Cait” kind of week. And I’m aware that this isn’t a typical Cait post. I have no outdoor adventures to share. No stories of the cat (she’s still old and cute) and the birds in our garden (they have started coming to our windows looking for us). I didn’t even think to tell you about the bees! I saw a big fluffy bumble bee almost every day this week! And the sun came out many days, too! Spring is definitely on its way…

But I’ve been distracted. Lost my attention span. Found it impossible to focus. Have hardly read. And have let a number of anxiety-inducing scenarios enter my mind, ones I’ve intentionally chosen not to include, because I don’t need to plant the ideas in your mind too! I don’t have weeks like this often, friend. It reminds me of the first few months of the pandemic. (And then everyone started sharing posts about how it’s been six years since that began, and I started thinking about that time more too.)

The beautiful thing about a mindfulness practice is that it is so simple: all you have to do is pay attention. Most weeks, the things I notice are calm and beautiful and interesting, and feel fun to share. And in rare weeks like this, sometimes the only thing I notice is that I’m feeling distracted over and over and over again. That’s not a bad thing. I don’t need to judge this, or my inability to do the things I wanted to do this week. And I don’t need to make it mean “more” than it does. It makes sense.

All I can do is notice it, name it, then try to come back to myself.

Over and over and over again.

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What did you notice in yourself this week, friend?

xx Cait

1. I should note, I never saw them in Canada either.