Come Home to Yourself

reflections on a year of showing up for myself, as myself

Welcome to Slow Folk - a community for gentle hearts and rebellious creatives, thirsty for a slower life in a world obsessed with speed. Notes and reflections from a decade + of life in the Slow Lane. If you’re ready to push back against busy to build a life of purpose and presence-over-perfection - please join me.

Welcome to the Unbusy Revolution.

This time last year, I made myself a promise. No resolutions. No outward-facing goals.

Instead, I started to wonder about all those things that each of us carries about in our pockets, the things we know bring us joy, light us up, make us feel alive . . . that we never do.

I’m willing to bet that as you read this, at least one pastime, activity, passion springs to mind. The thing that when you do it causes that little voice inside you to whisper - Ahhh, yes. This is it.

There’s no rules or reason to what that ‘thing’ might be.

Maybe it’s something creative - writing for example. Maybe it’s something small; getting outside for a walk, tea with a dear friend, getting down on the carpet and playing with your kids. Or maybe it is something bold and brave; a choice of career, learning a new skill, moving house.

I got curious about this.

If I know what brings me joy and lights me up, why don’t I just go and do it?

I tugged on that string and discarded the first few good ‘reasons’ that ensued.

It wasn’t time. I know how to make time for things that matter.

Was it money? Maybe, but that didn’t hold water either - I find money for therapy, for my kid’s music lessons. I could find money for my joy, too, if I made it a priority.

I looked a little closer at the things on my list.

• paint more

• learn to swim

• feel put-together with my wardrobe

• learn to play the piano

• lift weights regularly

• see more live music

There’s nothing too revolutionary there, so why weren’t they already a part of my life?

And then it dawned on me, slowly at first, then all at once. These things all felt . . . bold. Not because they were inherently bold things to want for one’s life, but because choosing them felt selfish.

Ooph, am I right?

That realization hit me like a ton of bricks.

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Was I avoiding living my one wild and precious life, holding back, because I thought doing so made me selfish?

The answer, shamefully, but unsurprisingly - was a resounding yes.

Yikes.

As I thought about it a little more, I saw that I was waiting for someone else to give me permission. To peek into my pocket of secret joy and desire and what - tell me it was ok? Give me a permission-slip like my 5th grader before a field trip?

It was ridiculous and it was absolutely true.

I admit my initial instinct was to talk to my family about it, say - Hey I’m thinking about maybe doing these things because they’d bring me joy . . . but I didn’t.

Instead, I decided 2023 would be the year I just did the damn thing. And so I did.

• I signed up for piano lessons for the first time at 41 years old.

• I poured my mom bod into a two-piece and started swimming three days a week.

• I spent an afternoon and a little money in my favourite art supply store.

• I bought myself some new clothes.

• I got on a first-name basis with the lovely chap at the front desk of my gym ( love, ya, Derrick! ).

• I saw more live shows in one year than I have in the last 10 combined.

I didn’t make a big deal about it. I didn’t ask anyone if it was ok. I didn’t think about it too much. I just did it.

Prioritizing my own joy was uncomfortable at first.

Like, really, really uncomfortable. But I decided to trust the process. To give myself grace through the discomfort, the challenge of trying something new. To embrace becoming a beginner.

It has been glorious.

Did I have moments of Oh, shit, WTF am I doing here?? when I took my 40-something soccer-mom self downtown to the Commodore Ballroom on a Monday night, and dove into a mosh pit full of 20-year-old dudes?

You bet. But then my heart sang, no - exploded - with joy. Sure, the last time I’d seen Modest Mouse play, most of these kids were in diapers. But so what?

And that became a powerful mantra. So what?

So what I’ve got a mom-bod, I’m getting in the pool. So what I’m going to piano lessons with my 10 year old, I’m learning something I’ve always wanted to do. So what my jeans are a few sizes larger than they used to be, I deserve to feel like myself in my clothes. So what there’s still laundry yet to do, no one will die if I take an hour to myself to paint.

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And slowly, quietly, my joy blossomed, crowding out my shame and doubt.

I came home to myself.

Motherhood is a beautiful experience. For me it was also one of grief and loss of self. The edges between myself and my children blurred; sea and shore. This was beautiful and necessary and painful.

I thought for a long time that the woman I was - the artist, the guitarist, the girl who could be found three nights a week at a gig in some dive bar, savouring both a bottle of beer and the base reverberating in her ribcage . . . I thought she was lost to me forever.

This isn’t about a return to youth. You couldn’t pay me to do my 20’s over again, thankyouverymuch. It is about a return to the core of who we are, that person we are often asked to set down as we take on new identities; mother, wife, provider.

And despite my early misgivings, it hasn’t been an exercise in selfishness or navel-gazing.

Coming home to myself in this slow and deeply rooted way has been selfish only insofar as it is about my self.

What I’ve learned is that joy - true, rooted, genuine joy - is never selfish.

As I came home to myself and embraced my joy without permission or so much as passing comment, I modelled for my kids what it is to truly live our one wild and precious life.

I learned that joy is both contagious and grows exponentially.

As I returned to the pool day after day, faces became familiar, then names. Soon I wasn’t only nourished by the swim itself, but by the relationships that had blossomed on the pool deck and in the sauna.

These daily, small interactions filled me up and buffered me against the stress of what turned out to be a difficult year, and I quickly came to see that the research surrounding the benefits of weak-tie social relationships is true.

I spent more time with my friends, found the courage to start sharing my painting with the world again, shared weekly belly laughs with my piano teacher.

All of it was good.

And so, as we embark on the season of New Year, New You I’d like to know - what secret joys are you keeping tucked away in your pockets?

What small joys could you bring into the light of day that might breathe life into your life? That might bring you home to yourself? How might you show up in your own life, as yourself, for yourself?

What do you quietly wish for yourself when you’re all alone, that might feel bold or selfish or just a little bit crazy?

What would happen if you gave yourself permission to simply go do the thing?

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Stacey Langford is a writer, renegade farmer and slow business mentor living and working in Canada’s Fraser Valley. In 2010 Stacey ditched her cubicle in the city to turn her attention homeward, farm and help others craft a simple life, from scratch.

Are you ready to build a life - and a living - you actually love?

I help rebellious solopreneurs and creatives build businesses rooted in Slow Values. If you’re ready to step into your own Slow Life and finally claim your calling, let’s chat!