Creating a home that inspires us

I respect minimalism. I think the ease of online shopping, and comparing our lives to the pretty images of social media is making it too easy for us to bring unnecessary items into the home. And I don't believe that surrounding ourselves with material possessions necessarily makes us happy in the long run. 

I also find having more choice clouds my ability to make decisions easily. 

By removing unnecessary clutter from the home, and making a point of culling back from time-to-time, it frees up our lives. We're better organised. We create space. And we have more time to enjoy the things that really matter.

Minimalists don’t focus on having less, less, less; rather, we focus on making room for more: more time, more passion, more experiences, more growth, more contribution, more contentment. More freedom. Clearing the clutter from life’s path helps us make that room.
— Joshua Fields Millburn & Ryan Nicodemus, The Minimalists

While I believe minimising is beneficial to our well-being, I also feel that a home should accommodate life as it is actually lived, imperfections and all. It's a place to relax and recharge. To share experiences with family. And it can be a great source of inspiration.

Being a very visual person I value aesthetics. I like to surround myself with those things that inspire me - indoor plants, Danish inspired furniture, colours that calm my mind. And the little details throughout our home that tell a story of our travels. 

When we moved overseas we moved with nothing but a few boxes. Most of which were our son's toys and things to make his room feel familiar. We moved into a duplex in Berkeley and did a mad dash to get the necessities - a high chair and cot from Ikea for our son, a bed mattress delivered by Amazon Prime (yes they actually deliver a king mattress folded up in a box!), and enough to cook basic meals and have something to plate them up on. 

Slowly over time we gathered pieces and it resembled something of a home. But it lacked warmth. It lacked an expression of our personalities. Natural light was poor. The colours drab. It affected my already homesick mood and it didn't feel like home. 

It made me realise then how my physical environment really does effect my mood and creativity. I longed for those framed pictures we left at home. Those vintage furniture pieces I spent hours sanding back and painting to fit our interior style. Those favourite pieces of crockery that served many meals for family and friends. 

While I think minimalism can be freeing, I don't necessarily think we should feel guilty for taking pleasure in our physical surrounding - and some of our material possessions. It's about having those items in our home that we value, or that help our homes function and flow. 

I wrote previously about the Danish term Hygge. We often feel Hygge in the home. It's lighting a candle, the scent meandering up hallways. It's curling up under a soft blanket in a comfy chair and reading a book. It's walking from room-to-room surrounded by a warm welcoming glow cast from lamps. It's a sense of comfort that those material things can actually help us feel. 

Our home environment is an extension of our personalities. It provides a canvas to express our artistic tastes, and that of our family. We are affected by our surrounding to some extent. 

The environments we inhabit - our living rooms, bedrooms, offices, backyards and gardens - are outer manifestations of our inner minds. Make a commitment to ensure that your environment remains in-line with your ideals.

Doing so will bring you happiness, because you will be in harmony with your environment, because the environment is in harmony with you.
— Anthony Seldon, Beyond Happiness

So I think it's about finding a balance. Creating a space that reflects our personalities and inspires us. One that feels comfortable and safe and like we can be our true selves.

It's about being selective about the items we bring into our homes and assessing whether they align with our values, or serve a purpose. And taking time on a regular basis to free our lives of unnecessary items that restrict flow, both within our homes, and within our minds.

Searching for the "Something Else"

For years now I've been on a bit of a quest for the meaning of life. My belief was that we all have a purpose. And that I would feel much more fulfilled if only I figure out what my purpose is. It has been a painful and frustrating journey in ways. Like the answer is behind a door and I have a set of keys to get through. But each time I try one it doesn't work. And then I lose track of where I am in the sequence of keys and I end up right where I started. Totally confused. 

After my mother passed my father said to me "Chantelle, we are all just spectators". At the time I didn't quite grasp the significance.

But I think now I'm now starting to understand. 

Being somewhat anxious I fear the unknown. I'm always looking five steps in-front, trying to control everything, and seem to be on a never-ending search of the "Something Else", as Sarah Wilson puts it perfectly in her book First, we make the beast beautiful: A new story about anxiety. Something else will be the answer. It will bring me closer to my purpose. And I will then understand the true meaning of life. And feel pure happiness. Mental exhaustion right there. 

But (thankfully) I think I've had it all wrong. 

I recently read Beyond Happiness by Anthony Seldon, along with the aforementioned book First, we make the beast beautiful. Both interesting books that were like a smack-in-the-face realisation about life. 

And here are where my thoughts are. 

It's not until we fully comprehend the fact that life is finite, and we accept it, that we truly feel freedom from the constant chase of the unknown. From the never-ending search for the something else. We realise that we are a part of something greater. Something uncontrollable. Something beyond our understanding. Put simply, and as my father said, we are just spectators. 

When I really began to understand this, I felt lighter. A pressure shift from within. And as Sarah Wilson said "The exhausting outward chase can stop. It's all here. Right here. No need to run anymore. We let go; we join the flow of life. It makes sense; we belong". 

Freeing right? 

My husband has been saying for years in response to my angst about finding my purpose that "There is no one thing, no purpose". Finally I hear those words. And in way I'm holding up my flag to surrender to life. Allowing it to run its natural course. Putting my all in for a meaningful journey, but also sitting back to enjoy the ride. Bumpy patches and all. 

I'm choosing (and it will take practice) to focus more on the now. Like right now I feel like this is what I need to do. It may change in one year's time. And that's ok. 

I think of this in relation to being a child. As a young child we have no concept of what the future is. We live in the moment. Play for as long as our interest allows without worrying about what to do next. Cry immediately when hunger or thirst strikes. Or when we need sleep. 

And then as we age we complicate and question everything. We become future focussed. We study for what we think we will do 10 years down the road. Then work for the big house and multiple cars that we will one day buy. We save for retirement many many years down the road. While having a roof over our heads and being able to feed of families is a valid concern, it's the mental anguish of constantly looking forward that consumes us in this period of our lives.  

And then (if fate allows) we reach those last few years of a long journey. I wonder if that's when we again begin to live in the moment. When the awareness that 'well, that was it' sets in. And we can then at last relax and stop grasping for answers. Stop searching for meaning. For the something else. And assent to life in its pure simplicity. 

We come from stillness and we return to stillness. Our journey in life is from silence to silence. A life well lived returns us to that point of infinate quiet from which we sprang.
— Anthony Seldon, Beyond Happiness

So I guess that leaves us with - what can we do right now? Like in this moment, that will awaken us. That will illuminate, inspire and show kindness to the lives of those around us. And in essence, help us feel content. We forget about the something else. And simply focus on the something that is. 

Everyday hygge

On the resources page I reference two books -

Hygge: A celebration of simple pleasures, living the Danish way
By Charlotte Abrahams


The Little Book Of Hygge: The Danish way to live well
By Mike Wiking

Reading these books really struck a chord with me. I 'try' to create meaningful moments in my daily life. Hygge (pronounced hue-guh) is the Danish term for such a thing.

Last year Denmark ranked number one according to the World Happiness Index. Incorporating hygge-like moments into everyday life is said to attribute to their happiness.

So what is hygge exactly? 

Hygge is a celebration of the everyday.
— Charlotte Abrahams - Hygge: A celebration of simple pleasures, living the Danish way.

Or as Alex Beauchamp from Hygge House puts it "Hygge is a Danish word used when acknowledging a feeling or moment, whether alone or with friends, at home or out, ordinary or extraordinary as cosy, charming or special". 

It's a feeling of comfort, security, warmth and relaxation. Of celebrating gentle understated pleasure. It's about being present and totally immersing ourselves in the moment. 

Or you could say that it's about feeling content

An example of having a hygge-like moment is finding pleasure in making your morning coffee. Taking notice of the aroma, the depth of colour as it drips, and the rich taste as you sip it slowly.

Or something as simple as pulling your bed cover up under your chin on a cool night and feeling completely secure and in total comfort. 

In a way it involves mindfulness. By noticing the details, appreciating their simplicity, and how harmonious the experience is. 

I think the emphasis of hygge is about allowing ourselves to take pleasure in the moment.

We can create these moments - cook a comforting meal, light a candle and so on. But if we are caught up in our thoughts and don't allow ourselves to be present and fully immerse ourselves in the moment, then it's lost. If we critisise the minute imperfections, then it's a missed opportunity to really feel appreciation for the experience.

Mindfulness, which I understand as an awareness in the present moment of our thoughts, feelings and sensations, with acceptance and without judgement or comment, can help us to find a bearable lightness of being.

We learn to care, but not to care.
— Anthony Seldon - Beyond Happiness

Many of us unfortunately don't allow ourselves to be mindful of an experience. It's easily done. And I'm no exception. 

We just celebrated Easter. My four year old son woke so excited to see the yarn strung from his door handle leading to eggs throughout the house. But I got caught up in a petty argument with my husband about something that I fail to recall now. And that appreciation of the moment of just simply seeing the joy in our children's faces was lost, because I was too in my head at the time. Not to mention the moment losing its magic for our children who had to listen to our bickering. 

With life comes stress, obviously. Frustrations and a dose of daily shit that makes it difficult to feel hygge. I'm sure the Danish are no exception and have their fair share of challenges. 

I think also that we are too distracted. We allow distraction to consume us - aka smartphones. Our attention is always elsewhere and we are becoming obsessed with a need to know all, immediately. That's a topic for another post. But those damn things are a massive distraction and causing so many missed opportunities in our lives to feel happiness. 

Too often I'm tempted by my phone. I have a love/hate relationship with that thing, although lately it's more the latter. Some mornings I'll wait for my coffee at our local cafe and my head is faced down scrolling mindlessly. And I'm not alone. Everyone around me is doing the same. Meanwhile the sky is blue, the morning sun is creeping through the trees, birds are flying from tree-to-tree and it's a beautiful cool autumn morning. But I'm too distracted to notice.  

To feel hygge, I believe we need to learn how to separate ourselves from that temptation to criticise. To actively step away from those things that distract us. And to pause, breath and be present for a moment in time.

It takes practice. But little-by-little we can feel hygge, or whatever you wish to call it, in even the most mundane of everyday moments. If only we allow ourselves to appreciate and enjoy them in their simplicity. 

The beauty of simplicity

Over the years I have really come to value simplicity. To a certain extent I was always a little that way - more minimalist in my aesthetic. But it has really become relevant over the past 5 years. 

When I work as a designer, stylist and photographer, it always helps to keep things simple. It's when I overcomplicate a project that my vision becomes clouded. Not only that but I love negative space in design. An image with room to breath. I find it uplifting and quite often it leaves me mesmerized. 

For practical reasons simplicity really helped when my son arrived and I was still trying to fit in food styling and photography work. A hungry or tired baby waits for no one. So I had a small window of time to get the shot. Not to mention the little guy nearly pulling my tripod over on several occasions. Keeping my style simple in a tight time frame really helped. 

Simplicity helps at home too. Life with children can be chaotic so simplifying helps the day flow. Simple meals, being conscious of our social calendar so we're not overloaded with activities, and keeping our gatherings casual so I'm not in the kitchen all day. By simplifying it means we have more time to enjoy each other's company in a relaxed way. And the less stressed my husband and I are, the more calm our children are. 

While I have always valued simplicity to a certain extent, life wasn't always so simple.

In my mind I complicated everything. I was, and still am on occasion my worst enemy. I often overthink and overanalyse a situation. Obsessing in my mind whether I've made the best decision. I'm anxious by nature and have been for a long time. 

Complicating my thoughts affected my health. I had hypothalamic amenorrhea (loss of period) for about 6 years, I had a lot of trouble conceiving both our children, I developed a rare autoimmune disease through my pregnancy called Pemphigoid Gestationis which lingered for years after my son was born. Google it. Or don't as it's pretty horrid. And in general just felt like my mind was going crazy with anxious thoughts a lot of the time.

It really became a priority for me in this past year to simplify my life. Within a three month period we moved back to Australia, said goodbye to my mother, and had our second child. Perhaps it was how I coped with everything - to simplify in any way that I could to get through what was an incredibly difficult time. 

So what did I do? 

I reduced. I cut back my wardrobe by 80%. Like many of us I had items hanging in there that I didn't wear for well over a year, but kept 'just in-case'. I donated the lot. And created a capsule wardrobe of sorts focussing on basics that could easily be be mixed and matched. 

I went through our apartment with a minimalist eye and got rid of anything that really served no purpose. Those things that didn't reflect our personalities. Or that simply got in the way of creating a flow through our home. Did I feel conflicted and like I was wasting money? Yes. But we barely miss those things, let alone remember what they were. Now whatever we bring into the home we question if it's really needed. 

I organised. Everything that remained had space to breath and was kept tidy. Our refrigerator contents are minimal with only those ingredients that we need for the week. Our pantry similar. Our children's toys I reduced and organised in baskets and boxes. Easy for them to access but tidy so they didn't overcrowd their rooms and overstimulate their minds. 

I simplified my diet and cooking. I 'try' to ignore the stream of advice by strict diet advocates and keep to what I believe is a heathy diet for our family. Focussing on quality ingredients, prepared simply. With an emphasis of sharing time together around food. 

And above all, I began to accept that my role at the moment is simply being a mother to two beautiful children who need me, and a supportive wife to my husband. And doing my best to create a comforting, safe home for us all to enjoy and be happy.

Trying to be superwoman wasn't doing me any favours, and can't be sustained long term. It's still something I struggle with. I'm a doer. I like to be independent and not rely on anyone for help. But I realised I can't be there for anyone, including myself, if I push my body to its limits. 

And how do I feel now? 

Light a weight is lifting. Like the fog which clouded my mind for many years is reducing and I'm gaining clarity. I feel more present for my family, and content within myself. And like I'm not easily distracted by the noise that quite often surrounds us.


PS. Last month I got my period back. It was a love/hate moment. 


As mentioned in the first post, having children was quite a significant event. Not just for me personally but for my husband as well. 

We are both introverts. And need time in our own space to feel like ourselves and recharge. It's when I feel most inspired to create and when my best ideas surface. I feel like my head becomes clouded when I haven't had a chance to take a breath. In quiet. In a calm surrounding. 

Children require attention. Obviously. You are relied on constantly and can rarely ever switch off. Breakfast needs making, nappies need changing, songs need singing, tears need wiping and reassurance that everything will be OK given on a daily basis.

It's no longer about you but almost completely about the well-being of your little ones.

I knew going into parenthood that it would be somewhat like this. But I guess I didn't realise to what extent. And how physically and mentally drained I would feel at times.

If you're not exhausted from lifting kids constantly, bending down to pick up the collection of food that touched their tongue and didn't suffice, or tidy up the toys for the twentieth time in that day, then you're mentally tired from trying to figure out how to help your little ones manage their fears, self doubt and struggles. And assisting them to become confident and kind little humans.

There is of course the upside. And it easily outweighs the not-so-glamorous side of parenthood.

They open your eyes to something greater. They force you to look beyond your own needs. And challenge you to enter into their world and leave all that messy crap in your head aside.

Parenthood forces you to look at your own behaviour, for it is often mirrored in them. At times you feel like you are a child yourself growing and developing with them. And you question how you are ever going to help your children thrive when you yourself can't seem to get it right. 

Some days I beat myself up because I feel I'm failing as a parent. But what I try to remind myself, and admittedly have difficulty in doing so, is that they are creating their own little lives and we don't need to protect them from everything. That gentle encouragement and giving advice when they ask for it is enough. 

A child needs the right amount of space to learn and grow in the zones that are right for him or her, with the right amount of help.
— Jessica Joelle Alexander, ‎Iben Dissing Sandahl - The Danish Way of Parenting

What I have also learned is that whilst our children need a lot of our attention, so too does the relationship with our partner. It's easy to let time together slide. To give all your affection to your little ones. But it is so important to remind yourself why you made a commitment to one another. And to not always compare what one person does to the other, as it often creates unnecessary anger. It's a team effort. You have to be in it together. 

Parenthood is a balancing act in many ways.

It's about finding that sweet spot of having time for your kids, for your partner and for yourself. Each one is as important as the other. But rarely can you give one 100% of your undivided attention. It's more like 80-90% at any one time. Some days it's a mere 25%. 

It makes you look at your own parents with empathy. In your twenties you begin to think that they really messed you up and you look at their parenting skills a little cynically. It's not until you become a parent yourself that you realise that the majority of us are doing the best we can given the knowledge and experience we have.

Our kids will no doubt grow up questioning the things we did and decisions we made. But I hope that what I instill in my little ones is empathy themselves. An appreciation of the beauty around them. And a glimmer of excitement and curiosity in their eyes as they explore something greater than themselves. 

Living abroad

When I was in my early twenties and met my now husband, we were so keen to pack our bags and head overseas. It seems to be common among Australians. Perhaps due to our distance from the rest of the world and our curiosity to see what else is there.

Our journey over the years looks something like this -  

Toronto for 9 months
Back to Australia
Montréal for 1 1/2 years
Back to Australia to have our son
California for 2 years
Seattle for 6 months
Back to Australia to have our daughter

I learned a great deal about myself through these experiences. 

As an introvert I found it confronting. With each journey I struggled, and possibly made it harder than it had to be. I really missed our life here in Australia. I missed the feeling of home and the familiarity. I missed our family and friends. I felt extremely guilty for not being there for my mother

I also felt so removed from everything that brought me comfort. Arriving with nothing but our suitcases meant that we had to create our lives from scratch over and over. It sounds exciting. But those things - the pictures on the wall, your favourite coffee cup, your big comfy couch that you spent many nights cuddled up on with your husband and children - they attribute to feelings of comfort and security. When they are completely removed you appreciate them all-the-more. 

More than anything I realised the importance of community.

Through feeling isolated I yearned for that human connection with others. When living in California I would take my son to a local coffee shop just to sit and feel like I was part of society. It did help for a brief moment. But the process of building friendships was an arduous one. And it left me feeling extremely vulnerable. And on days in tears due to feelings of loneliness. 

There are of course positives of our travels abroad. 

I learned how much I do actually love to travel. Despite the anxiety, I feel totally free and in my element when exploring a new surrounding. 

One of my greatest memories was when I cycled down a mountain in Austria. The scenery, the breeze on my face, the sunshine glimmering through the trees, the sound of nothing but birds in the trees and my bicycle wheels turning... that feeling of being in total awe, and deeply connected to my surrounding is reason enough to travel. 

I loved observing how other cultures live. Seeing the way they interact with their community, the way they celebrate time together, the differences in our climate to theirs and how it effects their way of life. And befriending some of them and learning so much about their culture. Seeing the city through their eyes. Sharing dinners with their family and friends. They welcomed us as one of their own and for that I feel forever grateful. 

I also learned a great appreciation of where I'm from. We often think the grass is greener on the other side. But you realise being away for so long that you actually have it pretty good right where you are.

I look back on my time abroad as being some of the greatest experiences of my life. It was a time of maturity. A time of looking deeper at life and those things that I value most. Encouragement to more towards that place of Quiet Contentment

Despite how hard it often was, and the tears on those countless nights, I feel so grateful that I had the opportunity to share them with my partner and our son. We have stories to remember and talk to each other about for years to come.

Would I do it again? Yes. Would I do it right now? Perhaps not. At this point in life, with two children, I feel familiarity, security and that sense of community is important for us all. 

But I still daydream about exploring Scandinavia. Of looking across misty rolling hills of Ireland. And standing on the bridge in Milford Sound where my mother's footsteps still silently dance. 

One year past

I mentioned previously that my world was rocked when my mother commit suicide. It's not the nicest story to read so I do apologise if you're left feeling sad rather than upbeat.

But one which might help to paint a picture of how I reached this point in my life. By writing this I'm not hiding anything. It's real. And sadly it happens to so many others. 

So here goes. 

This month marks one year. One year since my mother passed. This time last year I was pregnant with my second child. I had just arrived back in Australia after living in America for nearly 2 1/2 years. My husband was still in America but I returned with my son earlier than my husband was able to as he had work commitments to complete before he could join us. 

On this dark day I was visiting a baby store with my nearly three-year-old son. He was playing in the kid's play area outside the baby store when I noticed I missed a call. It was from the police station in the suburb that my mother lived. They asked me to call back immediately. My heart dropped so far I thought I would fall. I held my pregnant belly. And called them. They said something had happened to my mum and instructed me to go to the nearest police station. I knew what it was about. I had mentally prepared myself for this event for years prior.  I called my younger brother and he met me at the station. We sat with the same heart wrenching feeling and brewing sickness in our stomachs. My son was with me and the three of us were taken into the sergeants office. 

I knew what the sergeants words were. I waited for them. They were spoken and the world went silent. Time froze and this event that for years I dreaded had finally come. "Your mother ended her life today". Those words will forever haunt me. While for a long time I anticipated this moment, I was in total disbelief. There was silence. Our heads hung low. My son sensed the pain and immediately left the room to explore the station with another officer. We were given details. The sergeants condolences. An offer of help and a ride home. I called my dad and my older brother to deliver the news. My older brother like me was in disbelief. My dad was away for work and received the same call to visit the nearest police station to him. But he hadn't yet heard what had happened. With a quivering voice and tears welling in my eyes I broke the news to him. That his love, his 'Tiny Dancer' had left this world. His cry through the phone teared my heart open. 

It was late in the day. My son was hungry and we arrived home to our apartment. We had fish from a box baked and a handful of peas each. It's all I could manage. We sat and ate. I tried to talk with happiness and forced a smile across my face for the sake of my son. I bathed him, read our usual stories, sang a few songs, kissed him gently and put him to bed. I called my mother-in-law and my good friend and told them the news. I text my husband to call me as soon as he woke since in Seattle it was the middle of the night. My mother-in-law soon arrived on my doorstep. 

That night was surreal. I remember laying at the bottom of my son's bed feeling empty. I didn't cry. I didn't know what to feel. Hours passed as I gazed at the ceiling, replaying the day over and over in my head. I closed my eyes and eventually fell asleep. 

This month marks one year. One year since my mother passed. I've attended therapy. I've confronted so many emotions. I've dealt, and I'm still dealing with the guilt I feel over the arguments we had leading up to her passing, and for perhaps not showing enough love. I've forced a smile across my face despite the horrible feelings within. At the moment it feels as raw as it did this time last year. Only now it's accompanied with the feeling that her memory is gradually slipping from my grasp. 

Loosing a loved one brings up a lot. It makes you question life. What you are doing and where you want to go from here. It's a smack in the face that life is fleeting and each one of us will have our day where we will leave this earth. It makes you take notice of your kid's smiles and laughter even more than you already do. It makes you question why we are here and the imprint we make on this earth.

I still hear her voice. I miss her voice. I miss being able to call her to talk about a problem I'm having and hear her loving words. I miss her hugs. How warm and comforting they were. I have her scarf. With everyday that passes the smell fades away that little bit more. 

I know life moves on. Our spirits move to another world, or perhaps that we are reincarnated into another form. At least I find comfort in thinking that maybe the case. I imagine that she is watching. Smiling at me as I have a rough day with my little ones or argument with my husband. And telling me to stop worrying, that "Channy, everything will be OK". I still remember vividly Mum dancing in our living room singing 'Don't Worry Be Happy' by Bobby McFerrin. I wish she listened to those words. 

I have attempted to write this many times. But always stop after a line as it was too painful to confront. Perhaps this is a small step forward in the grieving process. Acceptance of this dark day to make space in my heart to move on and fill with beauty. Life really is beautiful. I know my mum saw beauty and it wasn't always sorrow. That her laughter was genuine despite the pain she felt inside. I know she loved deeply and felt loved. And while it was a very sad departure, that she finally found the peace she so desperately needed and could once and for all put her frantic thoughts to rest. 

Living a life of quiet contentment

Contentment is defined as a state of peaceful happiness and satisfaction.

When I think of quiet contentment I imagine a life of simplicity. A calm and peaceful life. Where we don't need 'bells and whistles' to be happy but can enjoy experiences and life around us in an authentic way. I imagine sitting in silence and being aware that there is more to life than ourselves. That life is both vast and lucid. 

It may mean something else to you. And that's OK. We all have our own set of ideals around what contentment means. 

For a long time I've felt far from content. I've battled with my confusion about the future. I felt like I was meandering through life without a clear path. I felt so much anxiety about the prospect of reaching mid-life and still having no clue of where I'm going.

I'm realising however that this feeling isn't uncommon. And in a way we are all wandering together confused, full of questions about this journey that is life.

Could it be, in fact, that our lives are ‘about’ nothing more than this? That the whole raison d’être for our birth was this voyage of discovery, with a divine sense of mystery, or mischief, decreeing that our journey, properly followed, is one that passes from narcissism to self-knowledge, through happiness to joy?
— Anthony Seldon, Beyond Happiness

A few significant events in my life have increased my desire to really question its meaning.

The first - my mother's suicide. The second - living abroad. And the third - becoming a parent. Each event has encouraged me to think about life on a deeper level. To appreciate and see the beauty of simplicity. And to realise that there is more to life than material possessions, or a focus completely on ourselves. 

These events have encouraged me to practice living in the moment. To find pleasure in the everyday - the mundane bits and all. To notice the smiles on the faces of those around me. And move towards that place of Quiet Contentment. 

Through this space I'll share thoughts on what I believe creates a wholesome and meaningful life. And hopefully encourage you to look at your own on a deeper level.

Some areas I'll write about are:

  • The beauty of simplicity
  • Feeling inspired in our homes
  • The importance of community and creating memorable moments together
  • Feeling a sense of flow in our lives
  • How being alone is good for the soul

Among many other things. I hope you enjoy what is to come.