Lately, I’ve felt tired. Not from the work I love, the writing, the research, the quiet thinking that brings ideas to life, but from the pressure to grow something. To build a business. To constantly be online: liking, sharing, commenting, posting, marketing.
It’s as if the only way to be visible is to shout louder than everyone else.
And yet, the older I get, the less I want to shout.
Sometimes I catch myself thinking: why can’t I be like a tree?
A tree doesn’t chase followers.
It doesn’t send out newsletters with calls to action.
It doesn’t agonise over algorithms.
It simply is; deeply rooted, alive, present.
And the birds come.
Yesterday, I was cleaning my kitchen, a straightforward, physical task with a clear end point. Like when I’m in my wood, stacking logs or painting pallets to create simple log stores. There’s no strategy, no optimisation. Just movement and presence. And in that simplicity, I remember who I am.
I don’t want to turn every thought into content or every hour into output.
I want to create work that feels like a clearing in the forest.
Quiet, real, nourishing; and there if someone needs it.
So, I’m giving myself permission to grow more slowly.
To tend my roots instead of chasing the wind.
To trust that the right people, like the birds, will come.
If you’d like to spend more time in the forest with me, metaphorically and sometimes literally let’s have a conversation.
