On introductions and community
and me and you
(This voiceover is an audio version of the newsletter below. It’s unedited, and today you might hear Ben walking around in the background, on a phone call - the joys of both working from home! If you like/need to listen to these posts I hope you enjoy it regardless!)
Hello mates! I’m back at the keyboard after a restorative couple of weeks away, and can I tell you, it is all such a delight. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt so connected to an online space and the people who fill it (that’s you) and I love how the cyclical approach I’m taking with writing here this year gives me both an opportunity to rest/restore and come back full of gratitude. It’s a good place to have landed and I’m so happy to have you here.
The break was full of time with family, little adventures, slow days, Mario Kart, some work, gardening, a day spent mushrooming (by far the best season I’ve ever experienced), rainy afternoons, lots of cooking, a couple of beach days, excellent books, a trip to the movies, housework, low-energy days, high-energy days… Heaps of good stuff.
Before I get into it any further though, I’ve decided to try something slightly different with the posts this term, sending my regular letters out every Thursday rather than Friday. It just aligns with the podcast nicely, and feels like a good thing to try. So as of next week, you’ll be getting letters like this one a day earlier. (There will also be posts for paying subscribers some Sundays, as well as additional posts for everyone throughout the month, but they will be more spontaneous.)
Okay, let’s get into it!
I realised over the break that I never really introduced myself here. I mean, I wrote an about page, and laboured over how to sum up my qualifications as a slow living writer (particularly challenging when I don’t feel like I have any). But as for me, who I am, where I’ve come from, what this space is going to hopefully become? I never put pen to paper about that.
Maybe I forgot. Maybe I procrastinated until it disappeared from my to-do list. Or maybe I was afraid. Afraid of being seen or known. Afraid of expectations that come from assumptions that come from only ever seeing a small portion of a person and their story. Afraid of putting out into the world the things I wanted to create, only to disappoint myself or others when/if I fail.
Things like community.
Community is absolutely something I crave, but it’s also something I resist. Mostly out of fear, but also as a protective measure. Over the years I have thrown myself into countless projects with the goal of creating or finding community, only to fold them sometime soon after, burnt-out and disillusioned. I then retreat, beat myself up, recuperate and start the whole cycle again.
My health issues over the past few years have taught me that there is a physiological reason for my cyclical episodes of fatigue and burnout, and the self-inquiry I’ve done has taught me that there are behavioural patterns that contribute too (*shakes fist at her people-pleasing*). But I think the main reason is that I’ve never actually defined what community means. If I don’t know what I’m aiming for, how can I stop myself from over-shooting? The question I’ve failed to answer is: What does community actually look like?
I don’t have an answer yet, nor do I know what is sustainable for me at this stage, but that’s okay. What I really want to do with this post is open that up to you.
But first, I wanted to offer a belated introduction. Because while I might not know what community looks like, I do know it revolves around being seen. Being known. And you can’t know me if I don’t share.
(If you’ve been around a while or listened to the Slow Home Pod back in the day, you probably know much of this. But if you’re newer to this corner of the internet, hopefully this will help round out your idea of who I am and why The Tortoise exists.)
The basics:
I’m Brooke. I’m 41. I’m happily married to Ben. We have two wonderful kids (14 and 12). We have two dogs. We live in Australia, in a small town on Gundungurra/Dharawal country, also known as the Southern Highlands. We moved here in 2019 after returning from an 18-month adventure in Canada and the US, just in time for the worst bushfire season in history, and before Covid changed everything. I’m a writer (of books and blogs and corporate client work – not necessarily profitable in that order) and a podcaster. I love gardening and making things with my hands and fantasy books and Stephen King novels and skiing and camping and being outside, preferably barefoot. I’m a weird mix of overly earnest and very sarcastic, with a thick streak of dark humour thrown in. I didn’t always, but I’ve realised this year that I truly like my life. How lucky is that?
The backstory:
I’ve been writing online about slow living for more than a decade and first came to it when I was diagnosed with severe post-natal depression in 2010. At the time, I was living a life that looked great on paper, very much the epitome of keeping up with the Joneses, but I was utterly miserable. Heartsick and depleted and unable to find the goodness in any of it.
One day, after listening to me tell her yet another version of this same story, my psychiatrist looked at me and said, “Have you ever considered doing less?” Striving and hustling for more was all that I knew, so the idea of choosing less was shocking to me. I didn’t hear the care or compassion in her suggestion, I only heard her tell me: You’re not capable. You’re not strong enough. You can’t handle the pressure. Honestly, I was offended.
But something about her words struck me, and I found myself later that night Googling “How do I simplify my life?” That’s where I discovered an entire subculture of people who had decided to actively reject the Joneses and the endless pursuit of more. It was liberating to read their stories, and I knew I wanted to be one of them.
So, of course, I threw myself into the pursuit of a slower, simpler life with crazed vigour. If I was going to be a member of this counter-culture, I was going to be the best, dammit.
That worked out exactly as you’d predict. I burnt out from my efforts to slow down and was soon faced with the realisation that any change was going to be, well, slow. And it has been. Slow and messy and never as straightforward as any book or podcast episode or blog post would make it seem.
The years since that psychiatrist appointment have included the wearing of many different slow living-related hats – from fairly hardcore minimalist to super-crunchy earth mother, slow entrepreneur to mindfulness advocate and everything in between. All of which have taught me things, leaving behind layers of lessons on which I’m building today’s version of myself.
I used to think all of this made me flakey. But now I think it just means I’m curious. And I can see that there’s a singular thread running through all of it, binding even the most disparate parts of the last decade together. It’s the thread of slowness. Of intention. Of paying attention.
I started out searching for The Thing that would unlock life for me. The Thing that would make me happy. Now I believe… there is no thing. And there’s lots of things. But mostly, there’s slowing down enough to pay attention to all of it.
So that’s me in a nutshell. (You should probably also know that every time I say, “That’s me in a nutshell,” I think of that scene in Austin Powers where he pretends to be in a nutshell… I’m sorry. But I can’t help who I am.)
What I’m most interested in now though, is you. Getting to know a little about you, what you would like to see more of in this space, and what you see when you picture community.
Drop a comment below introducing yourself in as much or as little detail as you feel comfortable. Maybe where you live, what your favourite book is, how you found your way here… whatever feels right. And, if you want to, let me know what community means to you. I’m all ears.
If you haven’t yet subscribed, I’d encourage you to join The Tortoise mailing list below. You’ll get a slow-living letter in your inbox most Thursdays and become part of what I think is the best little corner of the internet. If you’re financially able, and would like to support my work, you can also become a paying subscriber for $5/month or $50/year. This gives you access to quarterly workshops* as well as subscriber-only posts several times a month.
*The last series of workshops was on unlocking our personal values, and the next one will be announced soon. (If you’d like to have a say in what it might be, head over to the Chat, say hello and let me know).
And that’s it for today. Pop into the comments, introduce yourself and let’s have a nice little cosy-up round the imaginary fire.
Take good care,
Brooke xx
I’m Stephanie. I live in Dover, England and am married with a five month old son (who is the loveliest boy!). I first started listening to the slow home podcast years ago when I was particularly anxious and stressed and it opened a new world to me, the possibility of not living in such a stressful way. I’ve been on a journey since then to simplify and enjoy life and it’s going well. The values course I did with Brooke during Covid was also really helpful. I think for me there are two aspects to community. There’s one you can create, either online or in person, with like minded people that give you a sense of belonging. And there’s also a local aspect to community, that you don’t always get to choose and where people are not always like minded, but being a part of a local community of people living in close proximity, even if that’s all you have in common, is important to me. I think perhaps the first kind of community fills you up so you can take part in the second kind (which can often drain you!). Community is about give and take, there are aspects that should fill you up but also you need to give a part of yourself. I suppose a good community is where those balance out.
Hi Brooke (and everyone else here)! I started listening to the Slow Home Podcast a couple of years ago and am really enjoying and fully supportive of the evolution into the Tortoise - I wish there was more of your honesty, Brooke, in online (and offline) spaces. I think the world could do with more of it! My husband and I have been proponents of slow living (though we didn't have a name for it) since forever, but it's always been a messy, hit-and-miss kind of slow - baking bread, great. Lots of commuting, not so much. Everything changed when our eldest daughter arrived nearly 8 years ago. A hugely demanding baby, she wasn't going to allow for us to slowly evolve into parents - she needed us to be parenting at 150% and she needed it yesterday. Cue postnatal depression for me and stress/anxiety for my husband, both highly-sensitive people (actually, Brooke, I have you to thank for mentioning highly sensitive people on your podcast, otherwise we'd never have known!). Now with two children, slow looks like self-directed home education (on the other side of a demand-avoidant autism diagnosis for my 7yo and a highly sensitive 5yo), dog walks, and home made bread (still. Mostly). But it's still messy and since self-care often comes second to just getting through the day (it should never come second. And yet.) burnout is never far away. So I often find myself returning to Slow, and Care, and the Slow Home archives just to remind myself that there is sanity somewhere in the world, even if it isn't in my small world at that exact moment. Thanks for the lifeline!