Life at Its Simplest

Welcome back to north of Finland, to our fading four seasons, our wondrous wild nature, and my little corner of the world where I gather little moments of beauty and let life unfold in its own gentle and simple way. Summer has been gone for quite some time now and even autumn is slowly beginning to fade. Somewhere along the way life has found its own quiet rhythm again. The days follow one another, filled with familiar routines, and before I know it another week has passed. Since the summer holidays we have settled back into our everyday life. My husband is back at work and I am home with our little one. And as anyone with children knows, there is so much more to everyday life than just caring for little one. The laundry still piles up and bills need paying, the car needs fixing, and life keeps finding its way into all the little spaces in between. I think I have always been a little slow as a person and I don't mean in a sense of intelligence, I hope, but in the way I like to do things. I enjoy taking my time and getting lost in something and giving my full attention rather than jumping from one little task to another. But now in this new chapter of life my days have become a collection of tiny moments. Little pockets of time here and there and I'm still learning how to find my rhythm in between them. So lately these familiar routines of mine, baking and knitting and taking care of little things around the house have become a way of finding my footing again in the gentle chaos of this season of life. They give me something steady to return to, a little sense of calm and continuity. At times I catch myself wishing that everyday life felt a little less repetitive. As if every day should be worth remembering or something meaningful should always be happening. I do not mean constant excitement or changing the next big thing. I just love when life feels alive with something to look forward to, something that sparks curiosity and a feeling of moving forward. Maybe that is also why I have been thinking more about the way I spend my days. I have a tendency to fill them with too many things at once. With our days shaped by little hands, changing routines and all the ordinary things that need tending to, I'm slowly realizing that I simply cannot do it all. The strange part is that I generally enjoy most of those things. I want to do them all, but right now there simply is not enough time and I still find it hard to let any of them go. Maybe that is why focusing deeply on one thing feels so good. For a little while I am not somewhere else, thinking ahead or juggling several things at once. I can simply be there, completely absorbed in what I'm doing. It is a skill I'm still learning, but when it happens it feels surprisingly good. Almost like finally hitting the right note or keeping the paint inside the lines. I am slowly learning that a full life does not have to mean a full schedule. Some things can wait, and some things can be left unfinished. And perhaps there is something comforting in knowing that I do not have to fit everything I love into every single day. For now I'm trying to make a little more room for the things that bring me back to myself. A loaf of bread, a few rows of knitting, something slowly taking shape under my hands. Small things perhaps, but they make the days feel a little more like my own. After all, the ordinary days are often the ones I love the most. Maybe I will not remember each of them 10 years from now, but I might remember how they felt. The slowness, the familiar rhythm, the repetition that gave me enough space to do things without always feeling like I had to rush to the next one. There is something quietly beautiful about that too. I think that is what I'm learning in this season of life. That not every day needs to feel significant to be meaningful. Some days are simply bread in the oven, laundry waiting to be folded and little moments at home, and the same familiar things happening all over again. And that can be enough. And honestly, I do need a lot of these days when it feels like nothing much is happening. I've always needed plenty of space, quiet and stillness to find my way back to myself. Sometimes even leaving home for a little while means I need the next day to simply slow down and feel like myself again. Sometimes even a short time away from home can leave me needing the next day to slow down and settle back into myself. It's not that I do not want to go to places, meet people or do things that take a little more energy. I do. And I generally enjoy many of those things. I've simply learned that I need a little more time afterward to feel grounded again. To let everything settle and to find my own rhythm once more. This is now the hardest part because the other one is... Just one moment. So what I was saying is that this is now the hardest part because the bread is out of the oven. The other one is in the oven. But I still have to wait like an hour or so before I can have a taste of this. I've learned that it is the best way because it's still kind of moist inside. So if I let it sit for an hour or so the crust gets even better and the inside is not so... How do you say? Like mushy. It's somehow... I don't know what it is but it works. But the smell is so good and the whole house smells like bread. But yeah, I'm going to wait. And at the same time I need the opposite too. As much as I love the quietness of home sometimes I need to step outside of it all. To leave the little routines behind, head into the fells and stand under a sky that seems to stretch on forever. It does take some energy to get myself out of the door and sometimes it does not feel easy at first but it is always worth it. My husband has a saying that I have come to completely agree with. You never regret going outside and I never have. We are on our way to our first overnight trip with the family. We have here a girl who is here with me and I have a backpack and here's my husband. Hello! And of course the dogs. It's a little bit of a circus with all of these five creatures but it's still so much fun. I think I need both. Little nest at home where life can become small and slow and the wildness outside where everything suddenly feels wide and open again. That is what balance looks like for me. Knowing when I need to turn inward and when I need to step out into the world. Perhaps neither one is meant to replace the other. I need the quiet to hear myself and I need the vastness to remember that there is a whole world beyond my own little thoughts. We got to the hut. It was quite a journey with all of these.