(This voiceover is an audio version of the newsletter below. It’s unedited, and today includes barking dogs, my elbow squeaking on the desk and many a word stumble. If you like/need to listen to these posts I hope you enjoy it regardless!)
I love a redemption story. Theon Greyjoy in Game of Thrones. Steve Harrington in Stranger Things. Alexis Rose in Schitt’s Creek. Actually, all the Roses in Schitt’s Creek.
There’s something genuinely wonderful about watching a character grow and evolve, especially in a way that feels true and satisfying and above all — human.
We’re watching Season 2 of The Bear at the moment and while I have no idea how the season will end, I don’t think it’s a spoiler to say that everyone’s least/most favourite cousin, Richie, is on a journey. His story has brought me to tears and after watching Episode 7 (‘Forks’) suffice to say I will never listen to ‘Love Story’ by Taylor Swift the same again.
Of course, there is something to be said for the elegant, compact way characters grow on our TV or cinema screens. It’s appealing to think that our own evolution might play out as neatly:
We meet the character — they’re unlikeable, but not too unlikeable.
We see their flaws play out.
We learn a little about why they are how they are.
We see them hurting (themselves and others).
We see them reach a moment of potential growth, and we see them run away.
We see them try to improve and we see them fail.
We see them give up. We see them when all hope is lost.
We see the spark that ignites a desire to change. (These are my favourite moments because they’re usually about kindness or awe or a tiny reminder of something good).
We see them resolve.
We see them make different choices.
We see their self-esteem grow.
We see how their new way of being is accepted.
We see them grow into the new version of themselves.
We see a happy ending!
But life — real life — is rarely as elegant. And even if it was, would we be able to appreciate our own evolution? Would we recognise those big moments of change and growth for what they are?
I’ve been thinking about those delineating moments in my own life, the ones with a Before and an After. The ones that would make for interesting TV. And there have been some. But the majority of what I would consider personal growth has been far messier and far more mundane than anything we ever see on our screens.
On our screens we see epiphanies, motivation, training montages and the inevitable success. We see virtually instant growth.
But in reality, we might have an epiphany and then forget about it when life gets busy. Or we might need to be reminded of it over and over until we pay attention, and many more times before we begin to change. Or we might change, only to be met by resistance from people close to us who would prefer if we didn’t. We might screw up, backslide, self-sabotage, get cocky or afraid or tired.
I’ve written before about my struggle to live in the grey areas of life, veering more often than not into all-or-nothing territory. So the messiness of becoming is not always somewhere I’m comfortable. But I think getting comfortable with it — with not knowing, with the ups and downs, the false starts and good days and bad days — is the only way to allow myself the space to live out my own, messy redemption story. The only way to allow myself to grow.
Change can happen instantly — the lightbulb, the phone call, the big news — but growth can’t. Sure, there are stages of rapid growth and times where we recognise growth all at once, but it’s not instant. It’s slow and quiet, building on what was there before.
There’s this scene in the Pixar movie, Soul, that always makes me cry (I cry a lot) where the main character Joe is smack-bang in the middle of his ‘all hope is lost’ moment.
He is sitting at his piano, unsure of what to do. He looks around and sees reminders of tiny moments of delight — a lollipop, a Metro ticket, a seed head — and suddenly we see his memories come to life. His mum bathing him as a little boy; riding a bike through the dappled sunshine; teaching his students about jazz music. He’s overwhelmed with delight and nostalgia and grief and joy, and he plays all of them on the piano. He makes something new from everything he’s been and done and felt before.
And while that scene is neat and elegant in the Hollywood way, I also think it hits closest to what I’m trying to say. Growth isn’t the moment he sits at his piano. Growth isn’t the memories he thinks back on. Growth is the new thing he creates as a result of having lived all of those moments. He takes all that he was and makes it into something more. And if he hadn’t been and done and felt all those things before, he couldn’t have created it.
I think the mess is the redemption story. It’s the arc. It’s how we grow.
And sure, it might not look or feel as satisfying as watching someone else’s life transform across an eight-part limited series, but we know that’s not real life anyway.
Real life, real growth, real redemption stories are built in the tiny moments and what we do with them over time.
It’s in the warm spring air coming through the car windows and the song you’re singing at the top of your lungs.
It’s in walking barefoot on the bush track.
It’s in laying under the picnic blanket with your two-year-old and realising, for the first time, that you’re really there. Alive. Full of love.
We can’t tell what ripples these tiny moments are casting out into our lives. But none of them happen in a vacuum. They are all adding up to who we are and what we do in the world.
Have you ever looked at a flower bud one morning, closed tightly against the sun, only to find that it has burst into flower the same afternoon?
Personal growth is like that. We feel like nothing is changing until we look back and realise — we’re blooming.
Writing as self-care
So if it’s so important to mark our growth and evolution, how do we pay attention to it? How do we learn to spot the tiny moments of growth? Not only so we can be assured they’re happening, but also so we can harness them?
We pay attention. We develop our own way of noticing.
It might be art or poetry or journaling or hiking or a self-reflection practise of your own design.
For me, it’s writing, in all its forms. I journal, I keep a sporadic logbook of my days, I write poems and kids books and a meandering middle-grade novel about magic and nature and belonging. I also publish here. I draft about five times as many posts as I will ever share publicly and many of those drafts are just me figuring out how I feel about things.
It all helps me to keep a handle on the messy mundanity of my own personal growth, and I can tell you with absolute certainty that I would be lost without it.
Every quarter I create an online retreat for my paying subscribers, and this quarter the theme is Writing as Self-Care. I’ll be announcing details soon, but in short, it will look at why we write, how we can harness writing as a tool for self-care, and help you establish a rhythm that works for you.
If you’re not yet a paying subscriber and would like to take part in the retreat, you can join us for just AU$5/month or $50/year and get access to not only the upcoming rhythms retreat, but also the 3-part values workshop and rhythms retreat from earlier in the year. This payment also gives you access to the full archive of The Tortoise, the monthly 1% posts and several extra paid posts per month.
(Also, if you’re unable to pay as a subscriber but truly feel that you will benefit from the retreat, please drop me an email at brookemcalary@substack.com and I will give you access to the retreat, no charge and no questions asked.)
In the meantime though, here’s a few things I’ve been doing lately.
I’m currently…
Having a much better week than last week. Long may this energy last!
Planning to finish this post and go lay in the sun for ten minutes.
Enjoying the Women’s World Cup. We were lucky enough to watch the Matildas play Denmark on Monday night and oh my word these women are incredible athletes. I’ve never played a minute of soccer but found myself completely in awe of their skill.
Looking for some book recommendations. YA fantasy that’s probably on the younger end of YA. My 14 year old wants to find a new fantasy series and this is one of my favourite genres, so I’m all ears. (She’s currently reading Nightbirds by Kate Armstrong — which I loved — and has Isles of the Gods by Amie Kaufman, which I also adored, queued up for her next read. Beyond that though, I’m open to all suggestions!)
Smiling. Just because.
I hope you have some tiny moments of delight today, my friends, and I will be back next Tuesday with another Tiny Tortoise post. Until then, take good care.
Brooke xx
I just loved “We feel like nothing is changing until we look back and realise — we’re blooming” So beautiful Brooke and something I will be thinking about for some time 💕
You’re such a delight, Brooke! I needed this… :)