Being authentically wholesome and very uncool

I am in love with the word 'whole' at the moment, particularly as a prefix. Having read a lot of Brene Brown recently I'm all over the word 'wholehearted' and the general concept of wholeheartedness.

I'm also big on wholesomeness. I thought today, watching Cherry and Violet stare transfixed at an old-fashioned petrol lawn mower (the kind that you have to start by yanking repeatedly at a long cord. I don't even know what the word for that is. I probably used to. I reckon I've started a fair share of mowers that way) that if I were to sum up the childhood I want to give them in one word, it would be 'wholesome'.

It being September my thoughts are getting pretty wholesome anyway, full of lovely things like knitwear and apples and crackly leaves and morning frosts and rosy cheeks and bonfires and toffee apples and hearty stews and apple crumbles. Autumn lends itself so beautifully to wholesome but I like to apply wholesome year-round, as much and as often as possible.

I'm outdoorsy, enthusiastic, physically expressive, excitable. I'm really, really uncool.

This is how I want to be, and this is I suppose how I want my daughters to be too, although I have to caveat that with the disclaimer that I want my daughters to be whoever they are going to be. Somewhere within Cherry or Violet may lurk the angular limbs, nonchalance and aesthetic mastery of a hipster but you know what? I doubt it. With Noel and I as parents their chances of inheriting any street cred are less than zero.

I suppose it could be learned. If it bothered them that much.

I hope it doesn't. I love being uncool. I haven't always loved it (you'll notice I cannot deny that I have always been uncool). Not being a cool kid at school is pretty tough sometimes, even if you are very wholesome. But at 34 I love having the freedom and confidence to embrace my wholesomeness wholeheartedly, to practice cartwheels and handstands at the playground with Cherry and Violet despite the sniggering teenagers, to still derive such deep joy from being ruddy-cheeked and breathless in the chilly air then coming in and getting into a hot bath.

Today I saw an article about a spoof Instagram account poking fun at the kind of wholesome, authentic, wholehearted Instagram feeds that seem so very divisive. Some of us, and I fully include myself in this category, absolutely love the arty shots, styling, whimsical captions, liberal use of inspirational quotes (yep I'm a sucker for them) and hefty dose of positive thinking. I don't just love it, I aspire to it. I want MY IG feed to be all wholesome and pretty and apple-cheeked and authentic and heartfelt and genuine. I find it a really, really lovely way to live.

It's not that I want to stick my head in the sand and ignore THE WORLD or pretend that my life and everything in it is perfect, it's more that I have no interest in cynicism and criticism for criticism's sake. The sarcastic ranty blogposts, the hilariously knowing opinion columns, the look-how-hard-I'm-not-trying-to-try-too-hard spoofs and swipes. Having had my time of finding all of the above really 'me', I know for a fact the only reason I was drawn to any of it was to cover and conceal my own vulnerabilities. It's cool not to care - not to care so much that you write great big long rants about how much YOU DON'T CARE.

I care and I'm not ashamed to admit it. I care about being a kind person, about thinking positively, about choosing my language carefully because I really feel that language plays such a huge part of how we think and feel, and often we don't even realise it. I care about the kind of world I am borrowing from my children and grandchildren. I care about my own boundaries, and the impact I make and the effect I have on the people around me.

I care about having the strength to be vulnerable, enthusiastic, and very uncool. I care about the kind of role model I am for my daughters but most of all, I care about how I feel about the life I live, right now. Having tried the odd other model on for size and always found it ill-fitting, constricting, scratchy or just downright wrong, I can wholeheartedly say that I can think of no better life to live than a wholesome one.

Travel and children: Living the dream closer to home

I wrote a piece for the Telegraph's Men section this week. Frustratingly cycling content, unless it is specifically related just to women, is filed under 'men'. SIGH. Anyway, I happened to be browsing the men's section to see if my piece had gone up yet (you can read it here if you so desire) and I found this piece on travelling with children.

It's a really great read that is actually becoming a bit familiar. Among the online circles I haunt a fair few families have had the courage to rip up the rulebook and follow their dreams.

Being the kind of person who tends to want to BE the people she admires, immediately I also want a VW Camper and a spirit of adventure. I want Noel to take a sabbatical from work, I want us to pack up and off we will go.

Only we don't have a VW camper and I don't know if Noel could get a sabbatical and we've never really travelled and I'm not sure, truth be told, that I'm the travelling type.

I'm not sure I'm not, but I'm pretty terrified of flying. Also I'm not really that interested in sightseeing and bargaining in markets in Marrakech (isn't that what travellers do?) and I don't smoke pot or want to lose myself on a beach in Thailand and I think I'd probably prefer a nice hotel to a camper van and insert 90's travelling cliche here.

And I love our home and our community and our family life here. And sometimes the best part of the day for me comes after I've been out in the cold and the mud with the children and we can come home and climb into a hot bubble bath together and then put on our pyjamas and watch Frozen.

None of this rules out travel but it's probably something I think we would need to work up to. Noel might not even want to, I've never really discussed it with him, because it's only just become That Thing I Have To Do and between you and me, I'm a bit faddy.

But there are a few signs pointing to travel becoming more of a force in our lives in the coming years.

We will be going to Singapore in May to stay with our family, and the girls and I will be staying for about a month after Noel heads back. With family based there for the foreseeable future it's a great springboard to the other side of the world.

I could probably place much more travel content now than I could have done a year or two ago.

We have just over 18 months before Cherry starts school and our travel options are limited - but that said I wouldn't think twice about taking her out of or delaying school to travel. Noel might have different ideas of course, again, it's not really come up yet.

I could write a book about our travels with our children.

I now own a travellers notebook - I mean of all the signs, this is surely the biggest?

What is it about the idea of travelling with children that appeals so much? Logistically speaking it could be a bloody nightmare, all four of you crammed into a tiny camper van alongside all the minutae of family life, the parts that you spread between the four walls of your house, bundled together and compressed into such a small, in our case probably quite smelly space.

I can feel I have no space and no headspace living in a roomy three-bed semi. What would I feel like in a VW camper?

But I do recognise it's day-to-day life, and the obligations and burdens we put upon ourselves, that make us feel cramped, not the physical details of where we live.

Outside the camper van, is the world.

We could all see things we never thought we'd see, try things we never thought we'd do, we could learn so much about ourselves and each other, the world around us. We could be so free, and our children so wild, the world their teacher, the classroom chalkboard (or electronic screen as I suppose it is now) and having to raise your hand if you want to go to the toilet a million miles away.

I love the idea of my children experiencing freedom - true freedom - and of the children that still live in often quite pronounced ways within Noel and I getting to do the same. I can't speak for him but my inner child would love a year or so running wild and free. I would look like I do in this picture ALL THE TIME, windswept and romantic and faraway and knowing and wise.

So far we've managed two holidays since the children were born - one lovely week in a villa in the South of France with a six-month-old Cherry and a week in the Lake District last April which was summed up quite accurately by Noel as 'knackering and really, really hard work in a different house'.

We've certainly never attempted anything as down-to-earth as camping yet, although it's definitely on the to-do list. But having never even spent a night under canvas as a family, twelve months in a VW feels like a stretch at the  moment.

One thing I often think about the fantasy of travel is that we can dream we will become different people, our cares and worries will melt away, but in truth you're always still you, you're just you in a VW camper.

There's also still so much to be discovered and seen and learned in the country in which we currently reside.

Forests and hills and mountains and trees and beaches and cobbled streets and flea markets and adventures to be had right on our doorsteps.

There's a museum less than two miles from our front door.

There's an ecology centre, a community allotment, a co-operative farm, art galleries, lavender fields, festivals, fairs and poetry readings. We live within 20 minutes of London. Two hours from the coast.

There are adventures to be had every single day, if we want them.

Travelling and learning and exploring are a state of mind as much as about physical location.

There's a world outside our front door, so much I can show the children and so much I can learn to see through their eyes.

The idea of travelling the world is so very big, but often we're so preoccupied with the big things we forget the things that are small. Outside our front door.

We can live the dream right here. And I can find out if it's really a VW camper and a year globetrotting I want, or if it's just the idea and the promise of becoming a different, and of course infinitely happier person, that I'm so drawn to.

*This post is not sponsored by VW. Other camper vans are available.

A year of unravelling

'Another book?!'

Another parcel arrived for me today. Noel didn't even need to ask what was in it.

The fact he knew it would be 'another' book is actually significant on several levels. It shows that I have been reading recently. Lots and lots and lots, in fact.

Which means of course that I have the time to read. Enough that book-shaped parcels are shoved through our letterbox regularly. Enough for Noel to comment on it.

Which means that somewhere along the line, I have settled into this life as a mother-of-two enough to have regular and reliable evenings in which I can do everything I want and need to do and then, before I go to bed I can read books.

I don't know if it's taken me more, or less, time than is 'normal' to get to this stage, nor do I particularly care. Life is still unbelievably full-on a lot of the time and Violet's sleep is still at best erratic but there is more energy, more predictability and more shape to our days and weeks as a family.

Truthfully speaking one of the reasons the last 18 months have been so relentless and exhausting and draining and downright hard much of the time has little to do with the day-to-day aspect of being a mother to my two children. It has been prompted by becoming a mother to these two incredible little people, but it's been a process all of my own making and doing.

I have been, as it turns out, unravelling.

I only found a word for the mental and emotional process I'm still toiling through when I read This I Know by Susannah Conway. Unravelling is her word for the journey of self-discovery. Starting from a place where who or what or where you are is no longer tenable.

For her, the process was kick-started by the death of her lover. For me, it was when Violet reached four months and I realised the way I was attempting to raise her and her sister was incompatible with the people I hoped they would grow up to be. Which made me then look at myself and ask if I was the mother I really, truly and honestly wanted to be.

I wasn't.

And the process went deeper, I unravelled further, to realise that not only was I not the mother I wanted to be and by definition then the person I wanted to be - but I had in many ways no real idea who I actually was at all.

No idea.

It's not surprising. My life has changed irrevocably and at a lightning pace in the last four years. Having spent ten years building my identity based upon what I did, the vital question of who I am had slipped away.

And then there are the personal factors, the belief that to reflect upon oneself is self-indulgent, narcissistic and to be discouraged. The loss of fragments of myself every time I found myself admiring or inspired by another, because inevitably this admiration translated itself into feeling I had to become more like them, and therefore less and less like me.

Much of what I thought to be true about myself was built on the opinions of others, some of whom I no longer see or know, formed in most cases well in excess of ten years ago.

It turns out once you start questioning your beliefs and thought processes you realise how much of what you do is borne of habit, assumptions, or of just not knowing or considering any other way. The process of opening one's mind and heart to change - true change - is absolutely terrifying precisely because it involves questioning and challenging these beliefs. I wrote a little here about some of the beliefs I had identified about myself - none of them good - and it was from this starting point that I came to understand that just because I think or believe something, that doesn't mean that thought or belief is true.

Such a simple concept but once truly grasped, the implications are radical. I look at some of the most truly happy and alive people I know, and the one thing I can see they all have in common is that their minds are free.

Free from the tedious, limiting, exhausting cage of thoughts and beliefs and habits and patterns that has steadily built up and built up until it becomes so intertwined with our very existence we truly believe the world would crumble beneath us without it.

Initially I thought I was simply on a quest to become a better and more patient mother. I can say with 100% certainty that I have achieved this, but this ceased to be the aim long, long ago. At some point not too far into the process, it became clear that what I was doing was about far, far more than what kind of parent I am.

It was far, far deeper and it was incredibly scary. A small part of me already wanted to back out. I feared the end result. What kind of person would I become? How would the people who love me now feel if I changed? Would I change into a person that Noel could still love, would still want to be married to?

On a very real level, I feared losing everything and everybody I loved. But the only thing I feared more was not changing. Spending my life feeling lost, like my identity was swimming somewhere out at sea and I was paddling at the shore.

One of the practices I began was keeping a journal and as I was scribbling yesterday I happened to flick back to the date of my first entry. It was exactly one year ago.

One year and so much has changed. But also, so little.

I am still me. I am still a mother. I am still a wife. I am still loved by the people who loved me at the beginning.

On a superficial level, the only thing that's changed is I read more books, go to group therapy once a week and don't drink alcohol any more.

But underneath, everything is different.

This time last year life was characterised by waiting. Waiting for things to change. Waiting for life to get 'easier'. Waiting to 'get back to normal'. Waiting to be the person I was before even though this person was clearly a person I no longer wanted to be. Waiting for things to click into place, waiting for life to stop being so uncertain and difficult and challenging and such a struggle. Waiting to be a different person.

Waiting to be happy.

Now, I'm not waiting any more - for any of it.

I'm not waiting for anything at all.

I just am.

I am.

Bringing creativity into my life

This year I want to become more creative.

I became a journalist primarily because I loved and excelled at writing, but the role of a news journalist is really to channel the voices and opinions of others. There is very little room for actual creative expression.

(As an aside, I find blogging surprisingly difficult, because I spent ten years being very proficient at removing all trace of myself, my opinions and my creativity from my daily output.)

It's probably no coincidence that since cutting dramatically back on work, I have found myself wanting to become more creative. When I'm being paid to write reams of content for clients, I don't really want to spend what little free time I have writing.

Creativity isn't exactly limited to writing - by definition, it's limitless. I have picked out a few areas in which I would like to become more creative this year.

They are

Writing
Might as well start with the obvious! I want to work on different types of writing and as a start have chosen to commit to a journal, this blog, and letter-writing to my family in Singapore. I am pondering adding short stories to the list, but that's probably enough writing for now!

Photography
God I love photography. I am not very good at drawing, so I have carried around for years the belief that I'm not 'arty' or can't 'do' photography. In fact I've always loved the concept of photography and been quite drawn to it, but lacked the confidence to actually begin to learn anything in earnest because 'I'm not arty'. Although once I thought about it one of the things I love so much about photography is it allows you to create art without having to draw anything yourself!

My home
Since moving into a family home I have come to understand that home-making is a skill and an art. A home can be functional and beautiful. A home can reflect the individual and collective personality of the people living within it. As a lifelong member of Generation Rent, until now my house has basically been where I put my stuff. It's only now that I have the freedom to make the house we are fortunate enough to live in, a home.

Working out
If I could I'd ride my bike for hours and hours every day. Unfortunately I have years to wait before my children are at school and such an ambition is feasible. Most days I work out in the house and there's not much I can do about that, but I can make the space I work out in more creative. I can also be more creative with my workouts in general rather than going through the same tired old motions.

My children
V is still a little young for true 'crafting' but Cherry loves cutting and sticking and painting and anything involving masses of mess and things that V shouldn't but always does end up putting in her mouth. They can however both decorate the s**t out of a cake, and V's pretty good at 'drawing', if by 'drawing' you mean sitting in her chair saying PAPER while eating Cherry's crayons and throwing stuff on the floor.

Meditation
I'm intrigued by the concept of creative meditations and adding visuals and other tools to the practice.

Connections
At the end of last year I took an introduction to massage course, which I will blog about another day. I learned a lot about myself during the five-week duration as well as much about the way in which we make connections. Human connections are far more than just verbal and massage is an entirely unspoken but deeply powerful way of making and nurturing connections. I'm excited to explore this more this year.

That'll probably do for now. I would love to hear any tips or recommendations for good learning sources on any of the above - particularly photography, as that's really dominating the list at the moment.

A word for 2015.

Noel's out with the kids and for the first time this holiday I have a bit of time to spend to myself. So obviously I went on Twitter and read a blog written by Annie, which led me to discover a blog written by Ruth, which led me to discover somebody called Susannah Conway.

Straight away I downloaded her workbook Unravelling 2015 and now my day has a deliciously introspective shape to it. I can't wait to sit down and reflect on last year which was, for many reasons, my hardest ever.

Part of the exercise involves choosing a word for 2015, to keep in mind as something of an overarching theme for the year to come.

Before I even begin I know what theme will dominate my 2015, and so my word is….

….of course….

VILLAGE!

At the end of 2014 my brother, sister-in-law, niece and nephew moved to Singapore. My sister-in-law is my best friend, my brother is about my favourite person in the world that I haven't either birthed or married, and my niece and nephew are Cherry and Violet's best friends and soul mates. We have lived with, or round the corner from, each other since 2008 and our children have grown up together.

Now they're on the other side of the world. My village has flown the village.

And so this year I need to address the loneliness they have left behind. I can't replace my best friends and my children's soul mates of course. But having had close family close by at all times, it's safe to say I've been pretty lazy about making new friends.

So this year I need a new village. Friends. Friends for the children, friends for Noel and I as a couple, and friends for me.

I want company and community. We all do. It's a fundamental human need.

I want to be able to pop next door and ask my neighbour to keep an eye on the girls for 20 minutes while I run an errand. I want to be able to text a friend and arrange a playdate for Cherry if she's driving me bananas bouncing off the walls and just needs another child to be childish with.

I want to look after friends' children so they can pursue their needs, and have the favour returned. I want to talk to friends about the future, find out their hopes and dreams, listen as they work out what they will do next.

I want a house full of laughter, I want friendship and company, connections.

I want a village again.

So, we've kicked off by inviting the whole street to ours for drinks and nibbles on New Year's Eve in the afternoon. So far we have no idea who, if anybody, is coming. Many people are away, many others will be busy with plans and friends of their own.

But even if it ends up just the four of us and one solitary neighbour who has absolutely nothing better to do, it's a start.

Fiction and non-fiction

When people find out I am an author they get all excited and squeaky. 'So what do you write? Have I heard of you?!'

I instantly get squirmy. 'Oh, nothing exciting. Just non-fiction. Boring stuff. You won't have heard of any of it and I've hardly sold any….so what do YOU do?'

I know, I want to slap myself too.

My mystery conversationalist doesn't know that actually, I've always wanted to write a novel but I don't feel I'm quite ready yet. Or rather they probably do, because I'll tell them, apologetically, if they ask me if I've thought about fiction.

The way I present non-fiction you'd think it was some kind of inferior option. Writing for those who aren't (whispers) real writers.

The urge to write a novel has been plaguing me for as long as I remember. As a young girl I devoured all the children's and YA fiction, and even Mills & Boons, I could get my hands on. I'll see you a Sweet Valley High and I'll raise you a Saddle Club, The Silver Brumby, Phantom Horse, The Babysitters Club, The Black Stallion, anything by any of the Pullien-Thompsons, Mallory Towers, and Enter My Jungle to boot.

And I wrote too. Thrilling tales of girls and ponies, girls who wanted ponies but couldn't have them, girls who had ponies and went on adventures with them, exciting yarns about misdeeds uncovered by intrepid girls, the misdeeds inevitably involved ponies, you get the gist.

As I got older and added Jilly Cooper and her ilk to my reading list, I would throw a Handsome Man into my writings. He may or may not have been roughly based upon a combination of Liam Gallagher and Ronan Keating (criiiiinge). Our intrepid girl heroine usually stumbled - literally - across this weirdly handsome, inevitably Irish, rather rude ruffian while she was riding her pony, and they would have cross words, and off she'd gallop, fuming at his lack of manners.

But when she got home she'd find she couldn't stop thinking about him…and he about her, of course…and in the meantime, ponies...

A novel is in my future, of that I have no doubt. I have two drafts saved on my computer, both of which need A Lot Of Work. I flit between the two then have long, long periods of not attending to either. I have little creative and emotional energy at the moment for anything that doesn't involve my children. When this will change, I don't know. But I know I will know when I know.

I also haven't had the emotional energy to read much fiction lately. Or more pertinently, the time! But I have read a lot of non-fiction, and I can honestly say I love it as much as, if not more than, fiction.

I always have. One of my favourite things to do when I was younger was read non-fiction. I had a library card and boy did I know how to use it. Having read my way through every single pony book (and magazine) in the South East of England by the age of six, I turned my avid, greedy eyes to anything else I could get my mitts on.

On any given week I would check out of the library books on herbal remedies, yoga, cooking, gardening, beauty, makeup, music, dance, gymnastics, hair care, DIY, design, geography, art, photography, the natural world, reflexology and massage….

Healing, nature and animals certainly featured heavily but I would read almost anything. Once I checked out a book entitled How To Be A Supergirl which was like a pre-teen equivalent of How To Walk in High Heels by Camilla Morton. The ethos was wonderful, here was a practical guide to being capable, a lifestyle handbook dressed up as aspirational.

Another time a friend dared me to find a library book that had never been checked out (we knew how to live) and take it out. The Complete Guide To Beekeeping was duly brought home in my rucksack. I read it from cover to cover and within a year I'd been to beekeeping classes and had a hive kept in an orchard a mile up the road.

I rarely, if ever, delved into anything around politics, economics, history, popular culture and celebrities. If it was historical and involved ponies, it might make the list but other than that these were - and still are - pretty much black holes for me. I can't explain why, these just aren't areas that have ever lit a flame within me in the same way the natural world or, well, ponies did.

Today I still read non-fiction in a kind of frenzy, devouring it until the words are coming out of my ears. I've read so many parenting and child development books I could probably write a thesis. The consumption of parenting books in particular is surrounded by snobbery and finger-wagging and the myth that good parents don't need to read as they somehow automatically just know everything. I am 100% happy in my decision to read as much as I can about the development of the two people I have chosen to bring into the world. After all, reading about what I do, is what I do.

I'm still that girl with the bruised, battered library card. I'm sad that libraries no longer keep dated records of checkouts in the front of books because if I could, I'd find a book that had never been taken out of the library, and I'd take it home and read it to this day.

I don't even know if any libraries hold my books. If they do, they may well be the books that nobody's ever checked out. But some day somebody like me might. They might take home The Girl's Guide to Life on Two Wheels, laughing to themselves. 'Who needs a book about riding a bike?' And they might read it, and fall in love with the idea of getting a bike and riding to work, just as I fell in love with so many things through the medium of words, and if they did, that would be just lovely.

Pix of Cherry circa 16 months reading The Girl's Guide to Life on Two Wheels.