Attempting Ego Detachment, Night Creatures, Butterflies and Getting Good at Golf
I’m sitting outside the studio on a Sunday afternoon; it’s threatening to rain, and I wonder if the trees will serve as a canopy so I can keep my perch. I love being outside in every season. I was just looking at potential properties with my Mam, and something I’ve realised is non-negotiable for me is a balcony or outdoor space. As moving out becomes more a reality rather than some distant dream, I’ve had to allow some wiggling away from my dream quayside rooftop garden apartment (for now), into ‘realer’ locations. I’m an outdoor girl who needs to feel the sun on her face or I’ll start to fade away. Finally, though, it feels real, like I’m really nearing having a place of my own. To mirror this actuality, I’ve changed my 1,244-pin-deep Pinterest board from ‘future flat’ to ‘new flat’. I’ve even saved an image of my dream living room as my screensaver.
Dipwood Way garden (Mam and Dad’s) will always be my favourite paradise. The other weekend I spent hours lying in the garden, communing with the butterflies, bees, and ladybirds. I can easily spend days here; I’m brilliant at lounging. Maybe that’s why I have always gravitated towards loungewear and comfy cushions with Dipwood Studio. I can’t wait to have my own home to design. I will slowly take my time to fill it with vintage bits and then make the rest myself. I wonder if it can bring a more established focus back to the Dipwood Studio brand, in a meta way. As I respond to my own homely needs, I can naturally develop products for Dipwood. I almost don’t want to write that, to put any more plans out into the world just now. My reluctance comes from a recent feeling that I am too attached to both professional and creative identities as lecturer/designer-maker. I’ve been trying to be both, and there’s just not enough room. No room in the days, nor space in my head. I think this has been clear recently when I try to paint. Every week for a while I have tried to paint and, well, I have painted. Whilst I am no stranger to making bad or mediocre art (totally appreciate it as part of the process), it feels as though there’s just no room for ideas to really come through. There’s no electricity happening, none of that magical satisfaction when something feels new and good. Instead of pushing, pushing, pushing, why can’t I be patient? Even better…surrender. I am finding great comfort in trying to detach from my ego. So much pride and self-esteem gets wrapped up in professional and creative identities. If that isn’t there, then underneath lies just me… and the magic I was born with…and it is enough. Everything seems easier if I can just remember to be humbled by my own insignificance.
So instead of, as I often do here, making a statement for some new creative idea …planting the seed (OK, I know I kind of just did with Dipwood home and lounge stuff)… rather anxiously, because I am so afraid I will never do it… I am letting go. Making space and trusting in a future I cannot see clearly at all. Prioritising rest and presence in my favourite golden season. No more pushing, just pottering with ease.
I’ve been meaning to have a little Insta detox since last week, but once Monday started and I was whisked up in the work week, I could not seem to muster the energy for any sort of significant habit pause. This might also explain why I am still a member of the gym I was meant to quit a month ago (to help with my saving). But this week, I am doing it, the logging off. I just have the call to take a step away and see what life looks like without it, through the lens of my own biological cornea, unfiltered. What space will I free up when my mind is not tethered to the virtual brain bog that is Instagram?
On Friday I went for a Thai massage, and it was so good. My lovely masseuse kneaded and clicked out weeks of tension that had knitted its way into my musculoskeletal system. I only needed a wee towards the end, which is good (I often need one straight away and then can’t relax and am too polite to ask to go, it kind of ruins the experience). Sometimes I struggle to switch off my mind, but I found that imagining the sensations as colours, almost like paint spreading up and down my body, really helped. Like synaesthesia but for touch. It kept me in the moment, inside the sensations.
I shared some fresh peeled pears with the lovely masseuse ladies afterwards and then went to meet my pals, who had gone for pho. Despite not even being sure if I was up for socialising after a tiring week, before I knew it I had missed the last bus and was having a good old dance to some absolute bangers, including N.E.R.D. and Yeah Yeah Yeahs (My inner teen was in her element!). I do believe when the night calls unexpectedly, you can’t really refuse it. I used to beat myself up for nights like this; now I celebrate them. A little night out like that in town…night creatures, gabbing to friendly people of all ages, bouncers that remember you because you’ve lost your coat a million times, canny bar staff, friendly DJs that actually play your requests, and a statue that you’ve danced next to so many times she feels like a friend. Deep drunken chats before the tunes kicked in and had us on our feet, carefree and comfy in our jumpers and jeans. Yes, we may have had one too many Disaronno and Cokes, but I don’t mind losing a Saturday of potential activity for that. Plus, I had two eps of MAFS lined up already.
Oh, and one more thing… I’m a golfer now, no biggy. I agreed to a six-week stint of free lessons through work with my friend. Sarah is one of those brilliant, enthusiastic people who really likes to ‘do stuff’, and through osmosis this has resulted in me, not really an activity-based gal usually, trying ‘stuff’ I never normally would. I am grateful for this, because it’s good to pop out of your comfort zone every now and then, isn’t it (and make Dad proud-he’s an avid golfer).
The first lesson was humiliating. The teacher, Bryan, made me stand in front of the class to have a whack at the ball and have my swing analysed. Well, of course, I went on to repetitively miss the blooming thing all together! My worst fears about taking part in group activities came true: everybody watching, the regret in Bryan’s eyes for ever picking me as an example (I think my carefully selected cap and zip-through pullover may have given off the air of a naturally sporty person), the pity in the others’ faces when they gave me reassuring ‘well done’s once I eventually managed to make contact with the ball. I felt humiliated, and after a particularly stress-ridden day at work, I had hoped to feel uplifted.
However, I was OK, I survived… and after making very little progress in the sessions that followed, in the past week something has shifted. I believe because of my new focus on the art of surrender, I only started hitting it quite bloody good, didn’t I! Then today I went to the practice ground with my parents (a rare wholesome family outing)… and once again, I was hitting it dead good. Dad was impressed! I don’t know what this means for me and the future of women’s golf… and I know I’m trying to detach from ego etc. etc. But all I’m saying is: watch this space. We are playing a two-hole competition with the golf lesson crew on Wednesday; I will let you know if I win any trophies.
‘It’s good to try something new’, an often-repeated cliché , but after pushing through the initial discomfort, I don’t regret my foray into golf. Especially when other areas of life feel pressured, it is quite joyful to have a whack at something with no expectations and low stakes. Golf feels a world away from all of the things I feel I should be good at, and the unfamiliarity is almost a palette cleanser in recent weeks riddled with unfinished to-do lists. It’s been worth it, even if just to don a new sporty look! If anything, both Sarah and my Insta stories have benefited from the fresh golf aesthetics. Not that I care about that, of course (just going to update my insta story one last time before I log out for the foreseeable future).
Thank you for reading. Wishing you a crisp and cosy October.
With love,
Abi
Xxx
Love love love! ❤️