As I write this, it’s Sunday. The final day of June, yet I haven’t seen even a peek of blue sky through the blanket of cloud that’s hung low all day.
Our kitchen is filled with the sweet smell of honey garlic chicken, which has been simmering in the slow cooker for almost five hours. On our living room windowsill sits a batch of muffins I baked earlier, cooling and wafting the scent of chocolate through the room. Behind the muffins, nursery pots of differing sizes house various herbs I’ve planted from seed. I repotted them yesterday and I’m filled with pride every time I look at them.
Aside from time in the kitchen (which, as I’ve previously written, is my favourite) I have done very little. I’ve spent a lot of time scrolling Substack, engaging with some incredible end-of-June articles, and looking at recipes for the coming week.
I feel so whole, it almost hurts.
(NB: Ironically, as I write the sentence you’ve just read I reflect on how at peace I feel too. At that moment, my neighbour starts some form of DIY that we can hear through the walls. Peace over.)
And I notice; I’m doing it. I’m romanticising.
But wait… no I’m not.
The definition of “romanticise” is: “to deal with or describe in an idealised or unrealistic fashion; make something seem better or more appealing than it really is”.
At this moment in time, I’m not describing anything unrealistically and I’m not making it seem better than it is. It actually is this wonderful and I do feel this at peace (despite the aforementioned neighbour). I’m just experiencing it romantically - because that’s how it feels.
I realise I have become more aware of these things. And I think I have Substack to thank for that.
When I started The Quiet 20s almost three months ago, I did it because I wanted to write for me again. Writing whatever I fancied, in whatever format…
Sometimes that’s meant I go off on random tangents (Exhibit A. Exhibit B is probably this post.) but it doesn’t matter because it’s mine.
Inadvertently this has led to me becoming so much more conscious of my own existence and the life I lead.
My Substack has tapped into an authenticity and a happiness that I didn’t even know I had. Call it trying to romanticise or finding my people or something else entirely - whatever you want to label it, my life has improved because of it.
Because on a weekend when I’ve poured love into dinners and baked goods and freshly-grown herbs, I’m considering the impact those actions have had in a way I never would have done before - thanks to this platform.
“Presence is the present.”
I quoted this in response to a comment on a post of mine from last week, and it rings true.
I can’t remember the last time I was so present, and so effortlessly present at that.
I’m considerate with every single thing I do; from my bedtime routine to tidying our kitchen (a job I hate doing) to dedicating time to sit down and engage with other Substackers rather than doomscrolling. It’s all done with a bizarrely deep appreciation of what I’m doing in the here and now.
And there’s no way this would have happened without Substack and the wonderful people on here who also share the small slices of their day. Moments I once deemed insignificant in my own life, I now recognise as the highlights.
In an age of constant distraction and ‘busyness’, finding peace in the small, everyday moments has become a gift - one that I cherish.
In the name of authenticity… shortly after drafting this post I put my laptop away and plonked in front of the TV to watch England play Slovakia in the Euros. I was not feeling particularly at peace as we sat 1-0 down for most of the game, then went to extra time thanks to a goal scored with seconds to spare. As I edit this post on Tuesday night, I think my heart rate has only just gone back down to resting. There is not much to romanticise about being an England fan when it comes to football.