In trying not to die, did we forget how to live?
plus smallholding updates, a seasonal recipe and finally a solution to the flooding!
Hello! Welcome to The Beautiful Chaos - my personal journal of smallholding and renovating adventures as an unschooling family of six. I write about things that are important to me - Nature, Naturopathy, self-sustained living, health and homes, organic gardening and raising animals. Plus other things that make me who I am, and are a part of my story. As a free subscriber you can read the first part of this essay. To read it in its entirety, and access my full archive, back story plus all additional resources available here (which you can read about in the about page) please consider becoming a paid subscriber. For less than the cost of a coffee and a fancy pastry you will have access to so much extra content and will be supporting my work so I can keep creating MORE of this for you. Thank you x
Before I share smallholding updates, I wanted to offer some thoughts that have been sitting deep with me recently - and most importantly in the few weeks as Dad faced releasing his physical body.
I wonder if, in the pursuit of self-preservation, have we as modern humans, neglected the essence of existence itself?
Of course when we are in a hyper-adrenalised state and a health challenge becomes a live-or-die situation, we can only imagine how we might prioritise every moment as a carefully considered choice in a near-constant risk-assessment operation. Dad was ultra-careful about his health recently and tracking his ketones on a spreadsheet (so typically Dad!). He made careful considerations about, let’s say everyday pleasures, such as food, drink, a walk outside or a day trip out somewhere. There was a measured risk with all things. In the last few weeks it became a common sight when I would pop round and he would be at his laptop with appointment papers everywhere, strategically planning and prioritising his various doctors’ meetings and reading the latest article by one of his favourite holistic doctors.
In witnessing Dad’s decline in health and his determination to stay alive, it struck me how many parallels I see from this crisis approach which became laser-health-focused at the end, to reaching out to the wider lens and looking at a bigger picture. Dad lived well but he wasn’t obsessive about health, maybe not until right at the end when he really tried to get a tighter grip on it all.
But I know there are many many others, who live in a super strict and disciplined way in the name of health and longevity, where there is no crisis. I wonder, in our modern world, characterised by a relentless race for success, security, and longevity, might it seem we've lost sight of what it truly means to live? In my world of seeking and restoring homeostasis I see individuals build fortresses around our bodies, take cocktails of supplements and magic potions, and craft intricate plans to evade mortality. But amidst all this efforting, have we overlooked the very essence of life – the vibrant, unpredictable, and beautifully messy journey that defines our humanity?
In our quest for longevity, we've become adept at prolonging physical existence. Advances in nutrition, surgery, technology, and science have gifted us with the ability to be more informed about disease patterns and genetic mutations, repair damaged organs, and extend our lifespans. We can meticulously track macros, monitor our heart rates and glucose levels, and follow wellness fads and influencers in the hope of adding more years to our lives. We only need to be reminded of the explosion of ‘biohacking’ onto the wellness scene just a few years ago to get a sense for this. Today, mentioning one has sugar in their coffee likely receives more quizzical looks than admitting to a morning cold plunge before work.
As we focus on the quantity of our days, do we neglect the quality of our moments?
I wonder how it might look if we dared to live with abandon? Not in a destructive or toxic way I should quickly add! But what if we embraced the inherent uncertainty of existence and welcomed it as a catalyst for growth? Could living be more than merely existing? Even, and especially when we are faced with the unthinkable ie. our imminent death?
By accepting and embracing our own mortality, might we free ourselves of our obsession with immortality? It feels so taboo to speak of death still doesn’t it? But I wonder how much peace and freedom we might achieve to finally allow ourselves to live freely and fully, if the art of dying were part of the conversation.
Living authentically feels like it requires courage – the courage to step outside our comfort zones, to confront our fears, and to embrace vulnerability. It means allowing ourselves to be fully present in each moment, rather than spending the now to plan the next moment. How about we savour the beauty of the world around us, and connect deeply with those we encounter on our journey. It means pursuing our passions with unwavering determination, even in the face of setbacks and failures. Even knowing it will all, this will all one day end. That requires courage for sure.
Maybe living authentically means accepting our mortality as an integral part of the human experience. Rather than fearing death as the ultimate adversary, maybe we can view it as a reminder to live with intention and purpose.
In the end, the measure of a life well-lived is not the number of years we accumulate, but the depth of our experiences and the impact we have on the world around us. For me Dad epitomised this. He made an impact and packed so much into his deeply enriched life. Certainly yes he became ever so slightly obsessive about his ‘illness’ particularly as it was the first time he had actually ever been ill - but in doing so I can’t help but wonder if he wasn’t offering it more energy as a result, and overlooking what it meant to be alive. Maybe he didn’t and maybe its just that I want to have other memories of these last weeks of him, to cherish, rather than the ones I do have which are drenched in disease and despair.
And yet maybe intertwined within these memories, here too I can find the preciousness of life in all its colour and mess and know that still, we are living it fully.