It’s not that I haven’t had anything to say… but my voice feels inconsequential, too-quiet and diminished by the big things and noise of broader social & news media.
However, this morning, Saturday… my long-time favourite day of the week… it occurred to me that actually what I’ve been doing, repetitive and day-to-day as it is… is significant. I’m living my best life. And if I can have a best life, everyone should. If that’s not big and worthy of putting in some blog writing time, I don’t know what is.
How did I come to the realisation that this is my best life?
When I was living my city life, Saturday was my best day. It was the time I most felt like my real self; connected to my hopes and dreams… I’d walk to my local Carriageworks Farmers Market to buy fresh flowers and produce and walk home again to store some away for the work week ahead, prepare other of it for a special Saturday night dinner, put a load of washing on, water my balcony potted plants, tidy up and potter around our small apartment. But it only transpired one day each week… if nothing else got in the way.
More than 5 years into living my country village-treechange-downshifted life, this morning after I’d walked with Diesel down to the local produce sell/buy/swap meetup at the reserve where I swapped a bag of passionfruit for a bag of tomatoes, I was pegging laundry onto the old Hills Hoist clothesline in our backyard and I realised that although today -Saturday my best day- was much like the day before, the week before, the month and year before, it didn’t feel onerously repetitive at all… simply fulfilling.
These days, most days are like the best kind of Saturday, and that for me is my best life.
“If you do what you love, you’ll never have to work a day in your life.” – Marc Anthony