Hi friend,
On the 1st, we moved almost all of my belongings to Tall Man’s house. Then we came back to The Lighthouse, went out for dinner (where we had reasonably good service!) and spent the night on my mattress on the floor. In the morning, we only had access to a kettle, my French press, a couple mugs and spoons. I had unplugged the fridge to sell it, and couldn’t store anything fresh or cold. So we drank black coffee and ate instant oatmeal, like we were camping, and waited for Sasha to arrive.
She came for a couple of the big things. My couch is now her sofa and lives in her living room. The fridge is in her kitchen. I love that I know where so many of the things I bought for The Lighthouse have gone on to live. Most people who picked things up shared stories of why they were buying an item and what purpose it was going to serve in their homes. The dresser in the guest room will continue to be a dresser in a guest room—now, for when a couple’s nieces and nephews come to visit. The dining room chairs were added around a local couple’s table so they could host more friends this summer. The big mirror was first going to be used as wedding decor, then brought into the married couple’s home. And the young woman who bought my bed frame was moving out and furnishing her own place for the first time. I thought about her after. About how expensive it is to setup a home, and how overwhelming it can all feel. A few days later, I offered her a couple boxes of things that lived in my kitchen. She came back to pick it all up and is now drinking from my glasses and eating from my dishes.
As part of this series, I thought I might write a post about what it felt like to declutter most of my belongings again. How it felt to get rid of many of the things that had felt like self-expression at this age, and made The Lighthouse feel like a home. I also thought I might write about the sunk cost of it all. As I worked on that post though, I realized it doesn’t really matter… I had some thoughts and feelings, and then they passed, and now I’m in a new place—physically, mentally, and emotionally.
The journey to stop ruminating started in this home and I am grateful.
For the last week, I’ve been going back and forth between my two homes. Waking up here, going to The Lighthouse to clean and tidy the garden, then coming home for dinner and sleep. I hung out with Birdy every day, but also chatted with my neighbours—and my next door neighbour’s mom. She doesn’t even live on our street, but she’s probably the person I’ve talked to the most in this neighbourhood. It’s always been a bit surface level, though. Present moment topics, like the weather, the dogs, and plans for the day. It was only last week that she finally asked what it is that I do for work.
“I’m a writer,” I said.
“Oh right… what kind of writing do you do?”
“Well, I’ve done lots of things over the years,” I replied, avoiding the question. “But… I’ve also written a couple books.”
I said it like it was a secret. Because it had been.
Up until last week, I had only told two people here that I am an author. One neighbour and Ryan at the coffee shop.
While I’m extremely open in my writing, I tend to not talk about it “offline” so to speak. The main reason: I want people to get to know the real me. Who I am today, not whoever you might read about when you Google my name. Is this a feeling more authors have? Not wanting to be known for what you do/have done, but instead wanting people to care about who you are as a human being? I don’t know. But it’s something I’ve struggled with since THE YEAR OF LESS came out. While there is no such thing as overnight success, it does seem as though there’s a thing I’d call overnight perceived success. It’s where you tell people you’ve done a thing and they immediately see you as successful. Then they put you on a pedestal, whether you want to be there or not. And I do not, friend. I hate the feeling of being on a pedestal. So I don’t really talk about my work with anyone new that I meet.
But I also do not want to hide any parts of myself anymore. I don’t want to make myself small or withhold anything that feels true. More lessons learned in this house.
And what’s true is that I am an author. And my first book has been pretty successful. So much of that is luck, and it’s true. So I told her. Then I answered her questions, and we parted ways.
Later that day, I saw her again and she said she’d Google’d me with the grandkids (my neighbours). She was surprised at how much had come up, and asked me a few questions about how writing and publishing works.
“We’ll be able to say that you lived here!” she said in her goodbye.
There it was. The tiny pedestal. Where you’re no longer a human, and are now an object or idea that people will talk about. I know she didn’t mean any harm, but I still felt it. That’s just how I’m wired.
She’s also right: I did live here. I lived at The Lighthouse—past tense.
So that’s what I’ll be saying now too.
In the end, I lived at The Lighthouse for 39 months—or 1,188 days. The longest I’ve stayed anywhere as an adult.
I lived here. I loved here. I expressed myself here. I openly embraced my love of animals here. I healed here.
And I wrote here, friend.
I came back to my writing here.
When I moved into The Lighthouse, I hadn’t written in over two years. Not since what happened in Wales. Not since my second book was tainted by that experience, then came out during the pandemic and got lost in the stormy seas of it all. Not since I’d convinced myself I was a failure for not out-earning my second book advance, and that no publisher would ever want to work with me again. Not since my creativity had been “stolen” from me, as one therapist finally worded it. This statement turned out to be the catalyst for me to start writing again. But I think I also needed a safe space to write from. The Lighthouse was that space.
After 2.5 years, I finally sat down and started writing again here. I wrote hundreds of posts on Substack. Made a couple attempts at a new book proposal. And I wrote words of FICTION, friend.
I thought I might write my third book here, and that didn’t happen… but I think I did something more important. I showed up to the page. Again and again, week after week, month after month. I started this Substack in September 2022, am still here three years later, and only want to keep going. And I want to keep working on this thing I’ve been calling, “pretending I know how to write a novel,” whenever friends ask what I’m up to.
I moved in thinking I might give up writing and go back to school and re-train for a different career. We could joke (or not joke) that AI might make that a requirement in the future (especially if they keep stealing our work to train it). And if I have to do that one day, I will. But I knew I wanted to write again… so I did. And I’m finally back in that place where I’m having a lot of fun with it right now.
When I first viewed The Lighthouse, I knew I wanted to live here. I also knew it was a bit too much house for me (especially the garden) and was scared. Scared that moving here would be a mistake. And scared to commit to staying still in one place. But the story I told myself was “the light will be good for my mental health.” It was. Living here was very good for my mental health. It was also good for my creativity.
I’m leaving The Lighthouse feeling like a writer again.
It’s the best ending to this story that I could’ve asked for.
xx Cait
💌 Thank you note (+ see you in September!)
Thank you for reading along, friend—and for being so supportive of this move. This is the last post in this little 6-part series. If you missed any entries in my Moving Out Diaries, you can catch up on them here:
As you know, I always spend the month of August offline. Somehow, it’s already the 13th!? So I’m signing off a little late. With the move officially behind me now though, it’s time to ENJOY SUMMER! (The sun/heat have finally returned, just in time!) We have the kids for the next two weeks, and will be taking them down to London during that time. I’ll also continue to settle into this new home… and maybe try to come up with a name for it!? (A 4-year-old in my life has suggested The Sprinkle House!)
So I won’t send you any emails in August… but I’ll be back the week of September 8th! And can’t wait to see what I write from this home.
While I’m away, if you’re looking for new newsletters to enjoy, I would recommend scrolling through the archives of these two:
Shangrilogs by Kelton Wright 🪵
Tending Gardens by Kana Chan 🌱
I hope you have a wonderful month—and enjoy this bit of summer or winter, wherever you are!
It makes me a little sad that you hide the fact you’re a writer. Your first book means so much to me and helped me very much. It has a place of honor in my small collection of meaningful books. Maybe next time someone asks what you do, you could proudly say you do all sorts of things, including publishing and writing! Either way, I love everything you stand for, and I’ll be following your Substack and this next chapter of your journey with great
interest.
That looks like a wonderful house or cottage whatever it may be and is so clean and contemporary which I prefer at this stage of my life. I followed you because you have the same philosophy of living 'simply' that I do and think you're a kind and down to earth person by how you communicate.