A voice from I don't know where
Moments from my wild and sunny life (March 29-April 4)
Hi friend! If you’re new here: most weeks, I send out a little 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. I send them all from The Lighthouse. 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… 🕯
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.
The route home is just shy of 8 miles (13km). Along the way, we see an old telephone booth that actually has a telephone in it (most house defibrillators now), a bridge that serves as someone’s driveway (feels cute and dangerous to me, but only because I grew up near a fault line and know this wouldn’t survive in an earthquake), and a Queen Victoria post box (which means it was installed sometime before she died in 1901!). We also cross a few bridges and bodies of water, and say hello to a miniature horse TM befriended on a run the week before. I don’t take many pictures. I’m just happy to be out with him.
We arrive back at The Lighthouse just before 5pm and are done walking for today, but I know we aren’t done walking together. ❤️
March 30, 2025
I’ve been elsewhere in my mind all day. Distracted by sad thoughts. But now it’s 5:20pm and I’m nearing the end of a what has been a wonderful journalling session with some of the paying subscribers of this community and I’m feeling calmer. Facilitating these sessions always grounds me. Gets me out of one part of my brain and into another. We just finished a prompt where I encouraged everyone to close their eyes and write about something without looking. I thought it might feel vulnerable, but I finished with a huge smile on my face.
When I open my eyes, I look out the window and the first thing I see is Birdy’s husband in the bush. He’s holding a worm in his mouth. Food for their little babies. He turns around and heads deeper into the bush, then into the hedges, where their nest is tucked away. The nest she built. The nest he visits to check on everyone and bring them food countless times throughout the day.
March 31, 2025
It’s 6:30pm and I’m sitting on the couch. I’ve done everything I needed and wanted to do today. I wrote. I walked. I wrote again, until I was able to hit publish. Walked again. Picked up a few groceries on said walk. Did a strength workout when I got home. Stretched. Showered off the sweat. Cooked a delicious dinner. Washed all the dishes. And now it’s… only 6:30pm!?
What do I do now!? is a question I rarely ask myself. I’m genuinely stumped—at how I’ve managed to do so much and there are still so many hours left in the day.
Ohhh. It’s because daylight savings finally ended in the UK yesterday.
April 1, 2025
Spring’s arrival is technically as slow a transformation as any other season, but it feels as though it turned over with the clocks this year. The sun has come out, it’s 15°C (59°F) and the forecast says it’s going to be this way for the next 10+ days. I’m almost afraid to say this, because I don’t want to scare the good weather away. But I’m excited, friend.
Everything looks different in the sun. The daffodils seem bigger and brighter. The yellow, white, and orange flowers more vibrant. And they all seem to be facing in the direction of the sun. At The Lighthouse, the grass is suddenly begging to be cut. And (unfortunately) nettle is already starting to grow in a few places, which means it’s time to add “tidy the garden” to my bi-weekly task list.
I’m sitting at my desk with the window open. In the background, I can hear the birds chirping and a steady stream of neighbours mowing their lawns. One after the other, everyone seems to be doing the same thing today: getting outside. I went outside too—for three walks, in fact. Only the second one turned into a run. The sun has a way of making me want to move a little more and a little faster.
April 2, 2025
It’s 8:20pm and I’m driving home from Tall Man’s house. The sun has set, and the sky is dark blue with an orange glow on the horizon. In the distance, I see a house I’ve never noticed before. It has Christmas lights up. Warm white icicle lights. They are turned on. I am transported back to Victoria, where years ago I used to roll my eyes when I saw things like this. I would judge the people who left their Christmas lights up all year. It seemed strange, and also like a waste of resources and money. Tonight, it makes me feel warm. It might be nice, to be able to see your house all lit up, I think. It might be nice to drive home to that warm glow.
April 3, 2025
I’m getting ready to leave a restaurant, where I’ve been having some nice chats with other local creatives and freelancers. Before I go, an artist I’ve talked to a few times asks what I’m working on right now. I tell him I’m doing a bit more with this newsletter, and that I’ve also decided to shift direction on one project and play around with something new. I don’t know where it’ll go, but I can’t keep doing what I’ve always done. I need to try something different. He’s an artist, so he gets it. But someone else is listening to our exchange and he pipes in.
“Sounds like someone has a two-income household…”
He’s judging me. This man I don’t know… is judging me.
And I am MAD. Filled with a rage that surprises me as much as his words. I do not know until this exact moment just how independent I am, or how angry I would feel if a man were to suggest that someone else must supplement my lifestyle and career choices. Like I can’t possibly afford to be a creative and play with my art and DO IT ON MY OWN. And I am just SO MAD, friend. I take a breath and look him in the eyes and say the only thing I can think of.
“Nope.”
…
“No? Oh, well then…”
“I live alone,” I confirm. “And my book royalties make up more than half of my income.” This is a thing I do not tell most people ever, and immediately regret it. Not because I’m not proud of it (I am SO proud and grateful). But I regret saying it because I do not need to prove myself to this man who is judging me. Although, I think, sometimes it’s nice to prove that women actually can do what they love and support themselves too.
On the drive home, my feelings are all jumbled up inside me. I’m a bit dysregulated by this exchange. I think about something my first therapist said to me. “Anger is my favourite emotion, because it’s SO clarifying. It tells you exactly what does and doesn’t work for you.” This man’s judgment clearly didn’t work for me. I’ll need to sit with it and try to figure out why.
When I get home, I set out for a walk and take the route that goes into the woods. I haven’t been here in a little while, but I need to go now. I need to be surrounded by trees. I need to hear the sound of the creek running through it. I need to see if the wild garlic is out—and it is, friend. I can see it and smell it! But not until the end of the route, where you start to come out of the woods and head back up into the streets. I don’t want to go on the streets! I think. I don’t want to leave the woods! So I don’t. I turn around and go back through them.
This is the only place I need to be right now.
April 4, 2025
It’s 4:30am and I’m on the couch. I just finished reading FERRIS by Kate DiCamillo and I’m crying again. Not as much as last time, but my heart is cracked open. “I think she had a very sad childhood,” I say in a text to my friend Shannon. “Only sad kids can write like this.” And what I mean is: with each of her books, she’s clearly writing towards the hole in her own heart.
Now it’s 2pm and I’m sitting at my desk, finishing up this week’s newsletter. I’m thinking about what happened yesterday, and how dysregulated I was after. I’m thinking about how dysregulated I’ve been all week, actually. I’m thinking about how grateful I am to know how to give my body what it needs. And how grateful I am for the sun we’ve had, and for how much time I’ve spent outside.
I’m grateful to be surrounded by books and words that soothe me more than alcohol ever did for all those years. I’m grateful that when I was flipping through one of Mary Oliver’s books this week, and a voice told me I need to be able to see one of my favourites every day, I ripped it out without hesitating. I’m grateful I took a frame down from my wall in the living room and put the poem inside. I’m grateful I put it on my desk. I’m grateful I can see it now and share it with you too.
I’m grateful I listened.
A Voice from I Don’t Know Where by Mary Oliver
It seems you love this world very much.
“Yes” I said. “This beautiful world.”
And you don’t mind the mind, that keeps you
busy all the time with its dark and bright wonderings?
“No, I’m quite used to it. Busy, busy,
all the time.”
And you don’t mind living with those questions,
I mean the hard ones, that no one can answer?
“Actually, they’re the most interesting.”
And you have a person in your life whose hand
you like to hold?
“Yes, I do.”
It must surely, then, be very happy down there
in your heart.
“Yes,” I said. “It is.”
What have you noticed in your part of the world this week, friend?
Outer or inner. I’d love to know ☺️
xx Cait
At the age of 67 years old, I decided this week to take on the guardianship of my 12 year old great niece. Many have asked how I feel about this. I answer honestly, I don't know. I haven't even got my head around it. I am on auto pilot as I go about the tasks of making room for her in my own little lighthouse. The only thing I feel is that it is the right thing to do. We don't know when it will happen. Her dad, my nephew, is on hospice so it could be a week, a month, a year. This uncertainty is difficult for all of us. But I may find new blessings in this new phase of life that I never, ever imagined.
I am so grateful you chose to include us in your encounter with the man who eavesdropped then commented about "two incomes." Reading this is serendipitous following a spontaneous group discussion of mostly recently retired women telling and even spewing out the things that have stirred anger in them lately. I forwarded this to them to show them the power that anger has but can also teach us; to look at what triggers in it in us.
Mainly I am here to say I love the quote by your first therapist. I keep a homemade book of quotes that my heart leans into, and I wrote that one of hers in my book this morning. Again, thank you for sharing, you could have let it remain private, but it is truly a gem, and I am grateful to be included.