Into the Cauldron

During November, I scheduled myself a week of Cauldron Time, after taking the workshop Into the Cauldron with Moss of Spiral Path. Moss's concept of Cauldron Time is about taking time to rest and look deeply inwards during the dark half of the year. For me this involved taking space away from social media and screens, reading, journaling, meditating, yoga, divination, foraging, spending time in nature, cooking nourishing meals, and taking naps.

I'm a carer and parent, so I couldn't take a week off as would have been ideal, but I did try to maintain an atmosphere of calm and restfulness, and I also thought hard before agreeing to any social plans and only accepted invitations if I really wanted to. I found all this much harder than it probably sounds! Turns out, I am not brilliant at resting.

However, once I made the effort, I found it very effective. Taking time away from screens and spending lots of time outside under the grey November skies almost made it feel as though I had slipped slightly sideways out of ordinary time and into a liminal space. Suddenly I had loads of extra time which I had previously apparently been wasting fiddling about on my tablet and achieving very little. I also hadn't realised how rushed I normally feel, hurtling at ninety miles an hour from one responsibility to the next - again, apparently pointlessly, since during Cauldron Time the housework still got done, the Spud arrived at nursery on time, and everything was accomplished which needed to be, without me turning up everywhere sweaty, out of breath and slightly miserable. It was such a relief to stop trying to push the river.

I also spent time in darkness - the Spud and I sat out one night to watch the sunset, and were delighted to discover that our garden is apparently a bat hotspot. We also went walking under the full moon one night. I realised that I habitually do everything indoors, but I will try to make the effort to wrap up warm and head outside for reading, writing and playing (drinking coffee, doing surveys and checking emails could all be done outside too).

I found myself getting creative in the kitchen - mixing Penicillin cocktails on a whim to use up the last of the 'good' whisky, collecting rosehips and making syrup. 

I blitzed through my reading pile, and delved into poetry for the first time in a long time (The Girl and the Goddess by Nikita Gill was my starting point). Another notable book I read was The Stopping Places by Damien Le Bas. I found it really interesting to have a glimpse of different cultures and different ways of seeing the world, as well as different ways of experiencing this island where I live. I've been seeing Britain very differently since I started looking more into Druidry, folklore and history and learning about what's beneath and beyond the malls, car parks and council estates, and I find it fascinating to have these small peeks into a multiplicity of ways of living and of being here. We may share the same small bit of ground but we relate to it, see it and understand it in completely different ways. 

The lack of social media was a blessing during Cauldron Time. I often feel torn, as I've made some great connections on Instagram lately and found out about some wonderful events, but I can't deny I am more content without the mental chatter and feeling of being surveilled. No amount of giveaways are worth my peace of mind, surely?

The days felt strange - my life revolves mainly around caring for others and managing the household, so it was hard to find time alone or to deeply meditate as I might have liked, but the week was full of little coincidences and synchronicities, and that feeling that I was just outside normal life, in a secret and special space. The slower pace was wonderful - I did about as much as I normally would, but without feeling frazzled or habitually tense. And I prioritised time with my son over time with other people, which felt right - an important boundary that at times I had been lax about upholding.

I found taking Cauldron Time to be valuable, profound and powerful. There were many lessons that I plan to take forward, such as not letting all my time drain into my screens, being present, slowing down, and recognising that time with the Spud or time alone is also special and important, and that it's okay to prioritise it even when that means saying no to other things. 

Afterwards I felt more nourished, more settled, less scattered. I didn't really want to come back to normal reality, and I hope to try to keep my focus on rest throughout winter. I definitely plan to take Cauldron Time again next year, and at least once more this winter, to help me continue to live with more mindfulness and intention. 

I also had a guest spot this month talking to Hazel and Jenny on The Wheel podcast for their Sustainable Yule episode - listen here.

Fifty-Three Ways to Rewild Your Mind

1. Read poetry, even if - especially if - you haven't read any for years

2. Ditch Amazon - go to your local library

3. Begin a meditation practice

4. Make a meal from local, seasonal goods

5. Cut down your social media time (I signed up for email newsletters from my favourite creatives so I don't miss the relevant stuff)

6. Have your first or last hot beverage of the day outside in the garden

7. Challenge your habitual consumption behaviours - for example, take a break from online shopping and visit local retailers instead, or try buying only second-hand for a while. Disrupt the consumption engine in your head

8. Make or mend something with your hands

9. Swim or paddle in wild water (obviously take all relevant safety precautions)

10. Spend an evening by candlelight

11. Make offerings to your ancestors

12. Consider celebrating, marking or acknowledging the solstices, equinoxes and fire festivals to create awareness of the cyclical nature of time

13. Rest

14. Tend a plant or garden

15. Forage for wild foods (this doesn't need to be more complicated than blackberries or apples)

16. Compost

17. Become aware of the phases of the moon

18. Spend time in starlight

19. Speak your truth

20. Make space in your life to appreciate art. Obviously this is very subjective, but some artists I love who to me express wild mind include Rima Staines, Iris Compiet, Jackie Morris, Hannah Willow, Brian Froud, Julia Jeffrey, Nadia Turner and Brett Manning.

21. Read widely and voraciously on anything that speaks to you

22. Again this is subjective, but some books that specifically evoke the feeling I wanted to achieve include Wild by Jay Griffiths, The Enchanted Life by Sharon Blackie, Rooted by Lyanda Lynn Haupt and The Way Home by Mark Boyle

23. Listen to live music

24. Dance

25. Consider your relationship to movement. What would you do if changing the appearance of your body wasn't a factor? I have a particular hatred of the sterile box that is the gym, so I admit to being biased, but I love to exercise in a way that makes me feel good, which for me includes yoga, walking, dance, the occasional run, swimming and paddleboarding when I am near the sea, and the odd game of badminton.

26. Check out the ingredients in your cosmetics. Consider a switch to cruelty free products. Better yet, natural, organic and cruelty free. Or even consider making your own - books like Wild Beauty by Jana Blankenship and Freedom Face by Lucy AitkenRead have an abundance of recipes

27. Buy only what you need

28. Learn the names of the animals, plants and birds in your immediate environment

29. Wander

30. If you have the opportunity, listen to stories being told out loud - this can be magical

31. Look at the world around you with fresh eyes. Slightly cheesily, I think of being a tourist everywhere I go, and look for historical buildings, unusual details, things that tell a story about the place. I have a particular fondness for old pubs, which are often the longest-lived buildings in an area and packed to the beams with ghost stories, and if this also includes sampling a local ale or cider, well, so be it. Often we go about with half our brain in 'the great digital nowhere', and this can be a way to bring ourselves back to physical reality

32. See what's on near you. Whilst I find that minimising my social media use as much as possible is the best thing for me, I can't deny it's really useful for finding out about workshops, markets, mending cafes, live music, Pagan gatherings, community gardens and all kinds of other interesting events that help me feel more rooted in and connected to my local area

33. One concept of Stoic philosophy that intrigues me is of not being addicted to anything. I can easily fall into habitual ruts (this whole blog started because of my shopping addiction), so I find it useful to regularly challenge those habits and make sure I am in control of them and not the other way round. Phone addiction is probably one of the most obvious, particularly for those of us who are rewilding, but this year I have gone without caffeine just to make sure that I could! Maybe consider having a look at your dependencies and shaking things up a little

34. I was surprised this year to discover how much I am held back by negative body image. I have found books like Beyond Beautiful, The Beauty Myth, Just Eat It and You Are Not A Before Picture really helpful in challenging this

35. Watch a sunrise or sunset

36. Let your bare feet touch the earth

37. Feel the sun, rain or wind on your bare skin

38. Let yourself change with the seasons. Be aware of yourself and your needs. In winter, when nature is sleeping and dormant, you may find that you, too, need to rest, and go within. Don't fight this urge. Capitalism and ideas about productivity and linear progress have made this very difficult, but do what you can. (This is a work in progress for me. I recently encountered ideas about living more cyclically through the work of Moss at Walk the Spiral Path, and I was surprised by how much of an emotional reaction I had to the concept)

39. Consider learning some of the skills your ancestors would have had - weaving, spinning, knitting, pottery, playing an instrument, for example. Ancestral crafts connect us to our history and our bodies as well as being beneficial to our mental health

40. Sketching, writing/journaling or painting are all ways to unwind without resorting to the endless scroll

41. Plant lore and herbalism teach us more ways to connect to the world around us. Although there is a vast amount of knowledge available here, don't be intimidated - you don't need to know everything about everything to brew a simple herbal tea (my simplest is this: I chuck a handful of lemon balm leaves into a mug, pour on hot water, and drink) or make an incense blend. 

42. Spend time with your friends and family (whatever family means to you). Sharing food by firelight is often wonderful

43. Stop mowing your lawn

44. Don't be afraid of the weather - just get a good coat

45. Go off-grid for a little while

46. Turn off phone notifications for email

47. If you can, spend a night outdoors

48. When you're outside, check in with all your senses (maybe not taste? But also maybe yes?)

49. Focus more on what makes you feel grounded, content, joyful, free or simply grateful. Living by your true priorities and values, not those of the dominant culture, is not easy, but it is importantvalues

50. Spend time alone

51. Challenge your comfort zone. So much of our money, time and energy is poured into our comfort and convenience. We are, in a sense, domesticated. How will we cope with the societal changes ahead in this era of climate change? (Many more of us in the UK will be experiencing cold and darkness this winter. Having these changes foisted upon us as the result of inept governing is, of course, terrible.) Finding ways to increase our strength and resilience could turn out to be beneficial in the long run. Common suggestions include cold water exposure, spending time in wild places or without electric light, breathwork practices such as the Wim Hof method, building relationships and communities, and learning how to grow, preserve and forage for food

52. Find a sit-spot that you can visit at least once a week

53. Care for and nourish your body, whatever that looks like for you

100th Post: What's Next?

So this is my 100th blog post on Katrina, Consumed! I must admit, it doesn't feel like I've been cranking out a weekly post for almost two years now (whaaat?). I never really had a plan in place for this little space on the web, and to be honest I still don't, but I really enjoy being able to discuss and delve into some of the thoughts and topics that have come up for me whilst I've been trying to get a grip on my shopping habit. I never expected to have so much to say about it, but I love being able to share with you (even the embarrassing and not-so-flattering moments), and I'm grateful to you for reading these words and for being here. Thank you!

After my successful No-Buy July, I feel buoyed up to take on the next challenge. I've completed several successful no-buy months now - but the full year remains elusive. However, knowing I can do a month at a time with very little difficulty has encouraged me to look at the challenge differently. I decided to tackle each month as its own entity - of course, completing twelve no-buy months in a row would equal one no-buy year, but even if I didn't succeed in that challenge, there were other wins I could achieve. Four no-buy months consecutively would be a new personal best, for example. Or if I managed to complete every other month, that would be an improvement over previous years and probably help me rein in my wayward annual expenditure.

Dai had suggested that in 2023, rather than aim for a full no-buy year, which he thinks is impossible for me, or aiming to spend half the previous year's totals, as I did this year, to set my budgets at 1/3 of this year's spend. That way, even if I go over budget like I did this year, my overall spend would still drop. I think this is a good mindset to go forward with, but having achieved that No-Buy July (and No-Buy August, I'll be talking about that next week) with relative ease, I'm tempted to see if I can carry on from here for as long as I can (breaking it into those one-month chunks). If I did complete the full year, I would then be able to shop again just in time for next year's Pembrokeshire trip, when I could stock up on any replacement items I might need from my favourite sustainable shop in St David's. Although, perhaps the fact that I'm already looking past the finish line to the next shopping opportunity is not the best sign...

Alternatively, I've started kicking around the idea of setting myself a small monthly budget next year for thrifted books and clothes or eco cosmetics, in keeping with the idea I read about of giving oneself a gift, and also because I'm feeling really good and a lot more confident than I have in a while, and I'm thinking I'd really like to experiment with different types of clothes, more skirts and dresses, different silhouettes from what I'm used to. I have a lot of loose fitting t-shirts, lots of jeans and patterned harem pants, but only a handful of skirts and dresses and few other styles of top. If I thrifted one or two pieces a month, I could try out some new things but still keep my annual budget wayyyyy down from what it was this year. I also really enjoy the uniqueness of the items you can find in second-hand shops, to my mind it's much more creative and playful to build a second-hand look than to just buy an outfit from a fast fashion store. Basically, I want to play!

I think probably my best bet is to carry on as I have been, taking it a month at a time and seeing how I feel and what I need (that's actual needs, as in when things are worn out or don't fit any more, not 'oh I need a treat'), and being creative with the things I already own.

I'm heartened by how well I've been doing - the biggest and most noticeable shift is that I haven't really felt like I've even been doing a shopping ban, my attention overall has just moved away from consuming. This has led me to start thinking about what else I can do next - I'm thinking about reducing our household waste, trying to eat more locally and sustainably, and learning more in general about greener living and changes we can make to be more eco-friendly, frugal and self-sufficient.

There is so much information out there about this already, so many different ways to try to be sustainable, and so many ways to fail at being sustainable, that it's really always felt a bit overwhelming up until now. We've made a few small changes as a family, but now I'm finally in a place (and I hate to link everything back to shopping, but I do think that untangling myself from that consumeristic mindset makes this a lot easier) where I can see what to do next. It's also helped that I've been following the work of sustainability influencers like Gittemarie Johansen, who stress effort over perfection, and practicality and realism over aesthetics, and also - simply put - aren't quite as intimidating as some of the zero waste hardliners I've come across before.

I appreciate that individual change, in and of itself, won't and can't change the world. But as a Pagan, and a person who loves the Earth, I feel like this is a path I need to continue to take to bring my way of living more in line with my beliefs and personal values.

It's also worth mentioning that I have seen great personal benefits since I started this journey in 2019 - trying to reduce my consumption has made me happier, calmer, more confident, it has helped me achieve some of my lifelong goals, and I honestly feel it has even positively affected my relationships and my health. Pausing my excessive consumption was like dropping a stone into the centre of a pond, and the ripples have spread outwards throughout my entire life and being. If the attempt to simply shop less can bring this much change, growth and joy, what fresh change might be wrought by working on some other areas of my consumption and lifestyle? I can't wait to find out.

In other news, it was my birthday this week (I am thirty-one, which seems a little ridiculous to be honest!).

Also, some more advance reviews for my book (The Anti-consumerist Druid, available for pre-order now from all the usual suspects) have been appearing around the internet (and readers of Pagan Dawn magazine may have recently seen my article The Anti-Consumerist Pagan in the Lammas issue, available here. It's a three-page spread, which I did a little happy dance about).

Publishers Weekly describe TACD as an "introspective debut": "Townsend’s trajectory from skeptic to believer makes this well suited for readers who might not be sold on paganism (she discusses her fear of “being too woo-woo”), and her discussion of how her druidism intersects with sustainable causes illustrates what the tradition has to offer modern practitioners. The result is a pensive pagan outing that will appeal to nonbelievers." Full review is here.

Saskia of Graveyard Picnic (who is also a DJ and therefore on my list of Very Cool People) says this: "Townsend’s writing style is inviting from the get-go. She comes across as friendly and non-judgmental and manages to dip her tales of woe into a healthy dose of humour. Her openness about not only the ups, but also the often overwhelming downs of her quest makes it virtually impossible not to sympathise with her. Despite the perhaps somewhat unconventional subject matter, there is nothing too woolly about Townsend’s prose. She comes across as delightfully down-to-earth and also provides insight into her own bouts of scepticism, making her all the more relatable." And also, "Townsend’s path may not be one-size-fits-all but it does offer far more nuance than your average self-help guide. It’s also a delightful read to boot." Full review here.

The release date for TACD is approaching fast; I can't wait to start seeing it on shelves!

The Dark Side of Decluttering

I swing back and forth on the subject of decluttering like a pendulum. This is another area where I've had to accept that my opinions and behaviour might differ from the prevailing tides amongst society in general, and also my friends.

Firstly let me say that I can understand why we declutter. It is certainly easier to maintain and manage a household that is not so filled with miscellaneous stuff. I live with two people who are in general less bothered by mess than I am (one of them is three, and doesn't actually realise that toys all over the floor constitute 'a mess' to other people) - Dai can sit and relax in an untidy room, which I find very difficult nowadays. I'm not a very tidy person, and I don't want to live in a show home, but sometimes things do get embarrassingly out of hand.

The other positive aspect of decluttering is of course mental - when you've had stuff piled up on your surfaces and in your cupboards (and That One Room that you're always going to get around to sorting), it's a huge relief, and greatly satisfying, to let it all go.

However, where I personally get stuck is that I see getting rid of stuff consistently described as positive, always positive. But actually, I don't think that constantly shedding possessions is a positive thing at all. It's a waste. Not of your money - those costs are sunk - but of the materials and energy that went into your stuff (our stuff). Since reading The Story of Stuff, I've really become aware that everything has been made somewhere, using somebody's resources, and it all piles up somewhere else when we, the privileged, decide that owning it has become a burden. The burden doesn't go away. We just push it off onto someone else's shoulders.

I'm not saying you should keep every single thing you've ever bought or been given. But I think we could take far more responsibility when we do get rid of stuff, and be more thoughtful in how we do so, rather than the standard procedure of dump-and-run at the charity shop or tip. The amount of fly-tipping of household goods that occurred during lockdown shows how burdened we feel by our vast array of possessions, but also how little we care for them, for the environment, or for each other. 

I've been following a lot of menders and makers on Instagram, and it's really got me looking at everything as a resource - one worn-out pair of jeans can be used to patch the next pair. I'm really excited about visible mending, it's something I want to get much more into. (I've also been looking at companies who make made-to-measure clothing out of recycled textiles, and giving serious thought to having my childhood character bedsheets lined and made into a crop top and pencil skirt set.) 

My other bugbear about decluttering is that not many people seem to talk about the flip side - buying less. Instead there are loads of people who have an annual 'big clearout', and then seem to immediately set about refilling their houses and closets again. Even if they actually intended to try minimalism. Obviously big business is loving this, but it's not doing anyone else any favours. I do eventually want to own much less stuff, but I've kind of resigned myself to getting there very slowly, when the things I use and cherish eventually wear completely out or break beyond repair. To my mind, buying less is a more important choice - for peace of mind, for sustainability, for putting a middle finger up to corporate capitalism - than finally getting around to clearing out your spare room.

Of course, I have to admit here that I'm biased, because I am very bad at decluttering. Not the actual getting rid of stuff, I'm pretty good at that. Mainly I'm terrible at decluttering because of regret. This year I have asked a friend to post back to me a shirt that I gave her (yes, I felt like a dickhead), and bought a t-shirt on eBay identical to another I'd cleared out. I'm also giving serious thought to buying some of my own clothes back from Thrift+. Which is deeply tragic. I'm pretty sure at this point that jumping aboard the decluttering train is not going to be for me. I get on much better when I accept that my clothes are my clothes, and try to wring every last drop of use and enjoyment from them, than always having half an eye on what I can next discard and replace with something else. Not treating everything as replaceable.

Some of my favourite menders:

@gatherwhatspills

@logoremoval

@mindful_mending

@visiblemend

@wrenbirdmends

@katrinarodabaugh 

Why I Deleted Goodreads

I've been toying with the idea of deleting my Goodreads account for years, but I've finally done it. If you Google 'thinking of deleting Goodreads' you'll find that lots of people struggle with the clunky interface, the ownership by Amazon, the mining of the fairly intimate data about what you do and do not like to read, the new policy that deletes reviews that focus on scandal to do with the author, the fairly arbitrary star rating system that some feel devalues authors' work, or the annual reading challenge, which makes finishing books into a numbers game.

The clunky interface was, for me, the least of these issues. For some context, I've been on Goodreads for seven or eight years, minus a six-month break at the start of my first shopping ban. It was the only social media I kept using when I deactivated all others - I was only tracking my reading for my own interest, not really networking with others or promoting my 'brand', so I didn't see it as harmful. 

I stopped doing the reading challenges a couple of years ago, as I realised that it was becoming more about reading more and more than about savouring, pleasure, enjoyment, or knowledge. Just ploughing through one book after another. 

For similar reasons, during my shopping ban I deleted all the books I had saved on my 'to read' list, and stopped looking at my recommendations. Now, I know many people use Goodreads specifically for this feature, and certainly it was one of the things I enjoyed most about the site early on. But for someone trying to release themselves from the grip of buying too much, it wasn't helpful. 

There are always going to be new books out there that I want to read. But between lending with friends, charity shops, phone box libraries, the actual libraries, the independent bookshops I frequent, magazine reviews, authors and reviewers on blogs and on Instagram, publishers' websites, newsletters and catalogues - and, yeah, okay, Amazon, big chain bookshops and supermarkets as well, I don't think I will ever be short of ways to discover them. I found that relying on recommendations based on things I'd previously read - the Kindle store does this as well - can tend to create a kind of echo chamber, and I could fall down a rabbit hole of reading fifteen books about the same thing from the same perspective. Of not feeling 'done' if I hadn't read every single book about a topic, even when I felt I'd scream if I had to read about one more variation on - for example - circle casting, or the Wheel of the Year.

I also found that reviews from other readers could make or break a book for me before I'd even made the purchase. Reviews on Goodreads tend more towards the negative than those on Amazon (for some reason), and although I'm aware how subjective opinions are (I once gifted a copy of my favourite book to a friend, in what I believed was a fairly inspired move - she never could make it past the first chapter), it was fairly easy for a low star rating, or even a well-written negative review, to put me off even trying a book.

I did try to stop using Goodreads a few times over the years, because I was uncomfortable with the way it seemed to be taking over my reading behaviour. I'll put my hands up and say this is probably more a me problem than a Goodreads problem, as there are echoes of it in my previous obsessions with blogging and with Instagram (apparently I really, really like documenting myself for an audience). I noticed that I was sometimes choosing my books to make sure I seemed well-read on a certain topic, in case someone (who?!) checked my Goodreads to make sure I was qualified to hold an opinion. (In fairness, when I was a goth blogger, someone did once trawl and screenshot my last.fm to prove that my music taste wasn't goth enough. Too much Black Eyed Peas and not enough Bauhaus. It's a fair cop, guv.)

Even without the reading challenges, even without marking my 'current reads' to avoid a numbered total at the end of the year, I was still racing through books. Partly to defeat my TBR pile, which shrinks and grows and shrinks again but never completely goes away - which I want it to do for a little while so I can re-read some older books, slowly and in a leisurely manner, without guiltily side-eyeing the teetering stack at the side of the bed - but also partly to hit that arbitrary and subjective star rating (which for me ranged from 1 - hated it through to 5 - loved it beyond measure). 

The biggest factor for me in the end, though, was feeling as though someone was reading over my shoulder all the time. Although my friends on Goodreads were predominantly my real-life friends, I imagined that the sceptics were rolling their eyes at yet another spirituality book; the cool punk people laughing behind their hands if I picked up a Jenny Colgan. The star rating began to feel like an author popularity contest and I worried about hurting someone's feelings. The irony is that when I tried to take breaks from Goodreads, one of the things that kept pulling me back was if I read something that I knew one of my friends on the app would enjoy!

Deleting my account took all of three taps. Goodreads is built into my tablet, so I'd found it pretty impossible to just not go on there (which is how I ended up back on the app after that six-month break). Amazon punished me for those three taps by immediately deregistering my tablet, losing all my bookmarks, which was unhelpful but didn't diminish how liberated I suddenly felt. Interestingly, the TBR pile suddenly lost its grip on me. 

I think this was the right decision for me, possibly one I should have made a long time ago, but postponed because I didn't want to lose the big list of books I'd read. Will I forget some books? Almost definitely. Will it matter? Almost certainly not. And now I feel like I can do what I should have been doing all along - reading whatever I want.

Rewilding in 2022: A Progress Report

So, we're now around a third of the way through the year. This feels like a good time for me to lay my cards on the table and talk about how things are going. Buckle up, this is going to be a long post.

The reason I started this blog in the first place was to stay accountable during my year-long shopping ban. As I'm sure you know by now, despite multiple attempts this was not a challenge I have yet been able to complete - however, one incremental lesson at a time I was able to get a better grip on my finances and reorient myself in the world, rebuilding a life that didn't revolve entirely around shopping.

In the process I somehow ended up writing a book, discovering the practice and philosophy of Druidry, making efforts to live a more sustainable life, and reconnecting both with myself and the natural world. So it wasn't exactly a wasted effort.

This year, I decided not to try to force myself through another twelve months of trying not to shop at all. I'd tried three years in a row, and it just wasn't working, despite the positive changes I had made. Each time I seemed to stick with it long enough to begin to see a difference, and then something would come along that was just so special I had to have it. And after that first purchase, it becomes much harder to stop yourself from the next, and the next.

And the thing was, as I've said many times, now that I wasn't panic-buying and binge-shopping all over the place (that stereotypical image of Woman In Mall With Fifteen Shopping Bags And A Skinny Latte really did used to be me), I was choosing better. Not perfectly, not every time, there were still things that didn't look right when I got them home, nail varnishes I never wore and gave to friends, the occasional regret - but overall, I did manage to develop a smallish but functional wardrobe of things I love. So, not completing a shopping ban turned out not to be the worst thing in the world.

Rewilding

This year I decided instead to put my focus more on what I wanted my overall life to look like, guided by the single word: rewilding. 

One of my last purchases of 2021 was an almanac, the Way Back Almanac by Melinda Salisbury. I purchased it without seeing a sample or any inside pages, based purely on the blurb. And on New Year's Eve, I sat up in bed and read the January chapter while fireworks blossomed across the sky outside. 

 "You'll notice all the things we're supposed to acquire and become all fit a narrow and artificial, wealthy, white and western bandwidth of what 'good' lives should look like. And they don't factor in the natural world at all. [...] I'm giving you permission not to succumb to media and brand demands to change yourself. These dark days are ideal for nurturing and soothing, for resting and recuperating. However, we're not entering total hibernation. We need to remind ourselves there's life behind walls and computers. We must begin rewilding ourselves."

I think the hair stood up on the back of my neck when I read that. It was just so precisely what I needed to read. I wanted to climb into my almanac, with its recipes for soup and natural cosmetics and gentle, earth-loving, wholesome advice, wrap myself up in its pages and live there. I immediately ordered the first of Salisbury's #WayBackBookClub books.

Very early in the year I felt myself flailing around a lot, bouncing from one social media app to another, neglecting my sit spot, forgetting about watching the sunset. But unusually for me, I wasn't shopping, or even browsing very much. I kept getting the old twinges of comparison if I spent too long online, but as soon as I closed the apps I seemed to come back to myself.

Oddly, I kept having this recurring image floating to the surface of my mind in quiet moments - just myself, meditating. But this image gave me such a strong sense of peacefulness and calm - a rootedness in my being. It felt like an invitation, a starting point. It kept drawing me back, over and over, to the concept of simplicity, of letting go of all the frantic nonsense of the overculture. It grounded me in the conviction that actually, not banning myself from shopping seemed to be the right approach at this time.

When my garden started to come alive again in spring, I approached it differently. Instead of immediately eradicating my weeds, I tried to learn about what was there. Dog's mercury is poisonous, so had to go, but possibly indicated that an established woodland may once have existed where my house now stands. I gathered cleavers - which like me you may know best as 'stickyweed' - and chopped it into my scrambled eggs for breakfast - eating my weeds made me feel like a bit of a badass, not going to lie. I've read (in Rewilding the Urban Soul) that wild foods are more nutrient-dense than cultivated foods, so I possibly gave my health a boost too.

However, this was the bright spot - over the winter I realised I had become almost completely disconnected from nature. Since the Spud started nursery and we moved away from the nature reserve we had less time for our walks, and for a while I had a bunch of mega stressful life stuff going on (at one point a section of my hair turned grey overnight, which I thought was just a TV trope). The weather was cold and horrible, and our new house lost so much heat through its ancient windows that I was loath to go out and get chilly knowing I'd struggle to get warm again. Our daily walks dwindled to a once-a-week adventure, but then after the Spud came down with one bug after another from nursery, these too faded away, and by March I felt less 'wild' than I had to begin with.

Shopping

So what you may now be wondering is, how's my shopping actually doing without those self-imposed limits and restrictions?

Well, it's been a mixed bag. At the beginning of January, I felt so uninterested in shopping that I thought I might fly through the year without buying a thing, that perhaps all these shopping bans had been a case of barking up the wrong tree. In mid-January, however, digging up old photos from my goth years reminded me that I used to have a lot more fun with style, and I felt some regret that in many cases I'd replaced beautiful items with prosaic ones. Acknowledging that I need my clothes to be somewhat practical, I started keeping an eye open for a few more items that were really stunning. However, I knew I had a trip to Glastonbury booked in April, so I didn't throw myself headlong into online shopping. Happily, I've stopped craving a quick fix to any perceived wardrobe dilemma - I'm more able to proceed slowly and build on what I already have rather than purging half my stuff and panic-buying a ton more every time I have a change of heart.

I've observed before that my urges to buy are often synced with certain times of the month; I noticed this time around that the moon also plays a part. At full moon I am more likely to feel dissatisfied with my appearance, and have a sense of restlessness which can lead quite easily to acquisition. Now that I'm not trying to eliminate purchases altogether I'm not demonizing these tendencies, but it's useful to have an understanding of when I might find it hardest to stick within my budget.

In February, one of my dear friends was taken shopping to celebrate a milestone birthday, and I was caught off guard by the nostalgia - and, I'll say it, envy - this provoked in me, remembering teenage trips to the mall, giggling in the changing rooms, the glory that was the sheer variety and affordability of cheap brands. I really wanted a 'proper' shopping trip, and I lamented to Dai that I kind of wished I could go back to a time when I didn't really know about the scale of the damage that fast fashion is doing. When it was just a pleasure. 

After a few days of feeling really deprived, isolated from my friends (I know there's some sexism behind the suggestion that shopping is a women's pastime and that's a whole can of worms I haven't really even peeked into yet, but in my circle there are only one or two others who are cutting down on their consumption for environmental or ethical reasons and it's definitely considered a bit niche and eccentric), and demotivated (I hadn't really considered that it takes energy to keep setting yourself apart from what everyone around you and society-at-large considers 'normal'), I compromised. I took a trip to TK Maxx, which I had previously considered off-limits. 

Since reading Consumed by Aja Barber I learned that discount stores, while not ideal and, in an ideal world, unnecessary, perform a sensible function in that they sell end-of-the-line items that would otherwise be destined for landfill. I tried on anything and everything that caught my eye. I really made a day of it. I exhausted myself and had to stop for a protein bar. And I bought two items - a summer dress (I only owned one other at this point) and a smart top made from recycled polyester. Perfectly anticonsumerist? Definitely not. An improvement over years previous? I think so.

I noticed that Instagram use definitely corresponds with increased shopping, or at least an increased desire to shop, which is a bit unfortunate. Perhaps I'll have to give serious consideration to putting my account back into hibernation, as by April I was kind of hammering through the clothing and cosmetics budgets I'd laid out for myself this year, although it's not critical yet.

Inspirational reads this season:

The Way Back Almanac 2022 by Melinda Salisbury

Rooted: Life at the Crossroads of Science, Nature and Spirit by Lyanda Lynn Haupt

The Wheel: A Witch's Path Back To the Ancient Self by Jennifer Lane

The Outrun by Amy Liptrot

The Way Home: Tales from a Life Without Technology by Mark Boyle

Consumed by Aja Barber

The Guide to Eco-Anxiety by Anouchka Grose

Afloat by Danie Couchman 

Change, Not Sacrifice

In late December, since my finances were going to hell in a handbasket for reasons largely beyond my control, I decided to stop tracking my daily spends for a while, as it seemed like beating myself up more than anything. Although I'd conceived of this as a temporary break whilst I waited for life to get back on an even keel, I found it quite difficult to get on board with, as though not writing down my purchases would trigger some kind of enormous supermarket sweep that I wouldn't be able to stop. It seemed like giving up.

And in many ways, I think I was giving something up. It had become an almost subconscious belief that if I could just sacrifice enough, my individual actions would counterbalance fossil fuels, banks, governments, the entire underpinnings of capitalist society. As if one person's abstinence from air-freighted asparagus might tip the system.

It isn't that I don't believe individual actions are necessary or valuable. Quite the opposite! I believe that we each need to do what we can in our own lives and in our communities to build resilience, protect and repair our ecosystems, vote with our wallets, and otherwise gently but firmly wrest power from the corporations that hold it. 

However, my family, friends and peace of mind were telling me that since I can't singlehandedly perform miracles, I had to stop looking for the amount of personal inconvenience that would magically fix the climate. I have this kind of romantic ideal of the person I'll be when one day I don't want to shop any more and can afford an organic veg box again, when I live in a fictional idealised community that has a food co-op and a tool library and I can get everywhere I need to go by foot or bike.

The thing is, that's not where I live now, nor is it the life I'm living. Nor does making myself feel guilty about every choice, purchase or action get me there any faster.

I don't really accept the prioritising of personal luxuries over global issues. I'm not going to be cranking the heating up in January so I don't have to wear a jumper or sit with a blanket. It's still my intention to reduce my meat and dairy consumption and try to avoid air-freighted foods. But I do want to feel generally happy and comfortable, so I did finally fill a Thrift+ bag with the clothes I don't wear (or that I force myself to wear) and sent it off. I also finally decided that I'm not doing a shopping ban this year, although my intention is still to reduce my overall spend, especially on clothing, and choose wisely. The way I describe this change in the privacy of my own head is, "I want to dress in a way that makes my heart happy," and I'm working towards that.

I'm also trying to accept that at the moment I am skint, and so I can't always afford - for example - the Ecover washing up liquid instead of the supermarket basic. (I hate knowing it's damaging to aquatic life every time I do the dishes, but I also need to eat. Instead of blaming individuals, I'm learning to blame a) the companies who make these things, and b) the system that makes it more expensive to not harm the planet and imagines that trickledown economics is a viable way to sustain a fair and just society.)

One change I will be making is a move away from Amazon. I know, ironic for an author whose book will be sold there, but I don't like their approach to either resources or people, and I feel there are better places to put my money than in the pockets of billionaires. Honestly, it's something I've been thinking about but putting off for ages now, because the selection is so vast and the prices are so cheap. One of my survey sites pays in Amazon vouchers, which I used as a shopping ban loophole for a time. When they temporarily changed their vouchers, I found myself having to admit that I didn't want to spend actual money on some of the things on my wishlist. Because things were so cheap and plentiful, I was beginning to make poor choices.

Equally, in the same way I don't buy clothes from fast fashion retailers any more, so too do I want to move away from the 'pile it high, sell it cheap' mentality with regards to books. There's still the library, book swaps, charity shops and - for a real treat, as it was when I was growing up - independent book sellers.

Buying an item of clothing has become a more special occasion for me now that I do it less often, and usually in person, from a small retailer, often combined with a visit to an interesting place or event. I'd like to see this same shift with regards to buying other things. It feels like an improvement to my life rather than a sacrifice.

A complete Amazon boycott would be difficult - an awful lot of sites are hosted through their web services, for example. But I can move my custom to other booksellers, at least. 

So my plan at the moment is to change and improve the way I shop and what I spend money on, rather than to stop shopping entirely. Is this a step backwards or forwards? I guess I won't know until I try.

The Feral Gardener

Sitting in my garden this morning with my fleece over my dressing gown and a lovely, steaming mug of coffee, I smiled to myself wondering what my neighbours must think of my approach to gardening. My method can be described as a combination of thrift, ecological-mindedness, a fair amount of total ignorance about gardening, and a bit of laziness too. I like that the most ecological approach to gardening often seems to also be the easiest.

I did work hard last summer getting a lawn area seeded for the little one to play on, and planting our first vegetables. Then I was a tad disheartened when the lawn grew in patchy and we lost most of our radish crop to pests. The weeds, however, grow with abundance - I kept meaning to borrow a hoe and tackle them, after a few afternoons spent digging out each and every one with a trowel. Then I discovered books like The Forager's Garden (Anna Locke) and Letting in the Wild Edges (Glennie Kindred) and realised I could be digging out plants that were useful or beneficial. I decided to stop weeding indiscriminately and instead to learn what exactly I had growing. I also choose not to use chemical weedkillers or fertilisers, which sometimes feels like I'm stacking the odds against myself, but I'm adamant it's the right thing to do. 

One of the few things we bought new when we moved in was a compost bin, which is happily doing its thing. Dai's dad has offered us his old water butt, and we've made pathways out of rubble we found in the garden when we moved in, and planters for herbs out of whatever we could find, such as an old sink and a beer keg. Currently I'm saving up Amazon vouchers (one of the survey sites I use pays in Amazon vouchers rather than cash) for a bokashi bin set, so that we can turn our kitchen scraps - including those that can't be composted in a standard compost bin, like meat and dairy - into fertiliser.

The first frosts came around before I was ready, and we lost many strawberries and a couple of tomato plants. At first the colder weather drove me indoors, but after deciding to resume my morning sit spot regardless of the weather, I began to spot more and more wildlife in our weedy, scraggly patch. Robins are apparently partial to the three tangled elder trees that I had gingerly separated and gently pruned in the hopes of helping them avoid disease. There were blue tits in the bare-branched apple tree that reached over our fence from nextdoor. Once or twice we spotted a squirrel racing through the yew trees just behind our fence.

My neighbours on the left have the most velvety and pristine lawn you can imagine, which is nursed by sprinklers dawn till dusk, April till October (I've never seen their children in the garden - though I've seen them gaping at us from the bedroom window!). Comparatively, last year I decided not to mow my lawn, to help it establish itself, and since I haven't weeded it either what I have now is a small and bedraggled meadow (I will mow it in the spring!). I also didn't rake up the leaves from the neighbouring sycamore - I can't quite get behind the idea of raking a biodegradable, soil-nourishing product into plastic bags, so I'm hoping it will work as a kind of free mulch.

The result of all this is that right now, my garden looks a terrible mess. The clematis at the bottom of the garden has evidently been left unmanaged for several years, and has swarmed up the nearest yew tree with parasitical fervour to form a green wall between us and the cemetery. I'm not sure what I can do about that - I tried hacking it back last year but it has simply shot straight back up with undiminished enthusiasm. But in the spring we will have nettles for tea and soup, and in the summer we have blackberries - though Dai would rather plant a thornless variety. We were able to decorate our house for the winter solstice with holly and ivy from our own garden. 

As well as our three elders and nextdoor's apple we have a beech tree, a conifer and a small aster of some description. We've also tried planting a cutting from a friend's fig tree, and should soon find out whether or not that has been successful. So the ingredients for a forager's forest garden (and a small, handy grove) do seem to be in place, and I'm hoping that my job this year will amount to steering it in the right direction, and adding more and more edible plants. 

First Steps on the Path to Rewilding

Once I allowed that hopeful word 'rewilding' to take up space in my head, I had to start thinking about what, exactly, that was going to entail for me. A quick brainstorm threw up ideas like:

- being aware of the moon's phases

- having a 'sit spot' 

- writing poetry

- making something with my hands

- foraging

- permaculture

- going barefoot

It also meshed well with some of my other positive habits, like celebrating the seasons, decorating my altar with nature finds, going for daily walks, reading and journalling, as well as those habits that are always the first to go when my mental health takes a hit and my phone use goes up, like doing yoga, meditating, practicing my pennywhistle, and cooking from scratch.

It fit with the positive habits I wanted to create too, like eating locally and seasonally, getting more sleep, and shopping considerably less - and shopping second-hand or small when I do shop. It also kind of answered a conundrum that had arisen for me whilst I was trying to tackle my shopping habit - what do I do with my time, headspace and energy if I'm not constantly spending money on my image? Creativity, magic, activism - a triple-pronged answer that to me felt just the right kind of wild.

In short, the more I thought about it, the more rewilding myself seemed like the logical next step on my mission to re-enchant my life.

The first steps onto this path then became really obvious. I had to make space in my life to begin making these changes, and that meant my technology use had to get under control. Since reinstating my social media accounts to help promote my book, I'd gone from an average of twenty minutes a day phone usage to an average of three hours. It was a bit of a shock to me how little control I seemed to have over it and how quickly the hooks of addiction got under my skin. 

This time around I couldn't take the easy step of deleting my social media apps. Firstly, I didn't think my publisher would be hugely impressed, and secondly, I have a new (to me) phone which has the apps built in. I tried disabling the apps, but once I figured out I could re-enable them in about four seconds, it quickly became a pointless exercise. I started re-reading How To Break Up With Your Phone by Catherine Price, with the aim in mind of learning moderation. I wanted to be able to make a post every few days, respond to a few comments, emails or messages at a time, and then - crucially - put the phone down and get on with my life. It's eternally frustrating to me that I find this so difficult! I'll let you know how progress goes on this.

Next, I wanted to double down on my outdoor time. Whilst reading Rewilding the Urban Soul by Claire Dunn back in late summer, I'd gotten into the habit of taking my first hot drink of the day outside to the garden, and sitting on the patio to watch the wildlife in the trees and the clouds roving across the sky. Kind of a very domesticated version of a sit spot. And I noticed that it seemed to lift the mood of the whole day - not just for me but for the Spud too, who would charge around with his toy trucks in wellies and dressing gown. One morning he spotted a squirrel and was thrilled with his discovery for hours.

So as well as my daily walk, I wanted to take up this practice again. I'd been driven indoors by bad weather, but just as with walking, when I made the effort to wrap up warm and get out there it was always worth it.

In similar vein, my third resolution was to restart my practice of watching the sunset every day. This was something I'd stopped doing after we moved, simply because there was no longer a window conveniently facing in the right direction. But it wasn't exactly a hardship to take the time to sit on the doorstep for a little while. I was surprised by how much I missed those few daily moments of beauty. And surprised that I'd just let the practice slip.

Three things seems like enough to aim for, for now, although I do have some more ideas once I've managed to incorporate these habits successfully. Wish me luck!

The Year of Rewilding

Life has a way of happening whether one likes it or not, and just as I decided to give myself permission to shop, a lot of it happened all at once. 

One night a stone came through our bedroom window (the previous resident of our house is apparently not a popular man locally). As well as being a bit of a shock, this was an unwanted expense as we had to have the glass replaced. Then I had to have my dad's car moved by a recovery firm. Then the deposit came due for the little one to start nursery in the new term. Then the Department of Work and Pensions made an error with Dai's taxes. A car veered too close to Dai's vehicle and scraped the wing mirror off. Again and again we had to dip into our piggy bank and watch the balance go down. 

It felt frustrating and unfair. Our finances had taken a battering several months prior when Dai's former employer decided not to pay him what he'd earned, and they'd never really recovered. Friends and family offered support, but it's hard to take money from loved ones when you don't know when or if you'll be able to return the favour. We'd gone from feeling not exactly well-off but able to afford some luxuries, to doing the food shop with vouchers and barely being able to afford the heating. 

Between being suddenly skint and the loss of my father, it was really hard to stay focused. I found that I could sit in my armchair, fall into Facebook or Instagram and still be there a couple of hours later. I was forgetful and slow - jobs that used to take ten minutes might now take whole days. It was getting more and more difficult to face the wind and rain to get out for our daily walks. Sometimes we didn't leave the house until evening. The to-do list was getting so long it made me nauseous just thinking about it.

The bright spots were few. Lighting candles on my altar and casting a warm cosy glow throughout the kitchen. Curling up with the Spud to listen to a local folklore podcast, as the rain drummed softly against the windows. Reading strange, mournful, viscerally beautiful poetry. 

I hadn't yet settled on a word for 2022. I prefer choosing a word to setting a resolution. It's like setting a heading to steer by, whereas traditional resolutions can be rather like selecting a personal failing to beat yourself up about for a few months. Much like trying to do a year-long shopping ban, I suppose. 

The word arose almost spontaneously, just a whisper at first, slinking out of the shadows around the edges of my mind.

Rewilding.

I tried to dismiss it at first - I have a three year old, a mortgage, and a business account on Instagram, what chance do I have to be wild? Wild is for the carefree, the unencumbered, the privileged, the courageous. Artists, artisans, nomads, small farmers, bush-crafters, van dwellers, communal-living-people, people who don't need at least one member of the household holding down a nine-to-five to keep the roof over. People I admire and follow on the socials, but am too comfortably domesticated to become.

Maybe that was the challenge. Maybe that's what I needed.

I saw a meme one day about feral housewives, and it made me laugh, but it also made me think (and not just me either). The next day I stumbled across a book entitled The Modern Peasant. Then I met a woman at a craft market selling baskets and decorations woven by hand from willow. My IG feed was filling up with foragers, home brewers, people weaving their own clothes from linen and dyeing them with leaves and berries, people who found happiness and empowerment in living simply and close to nature.

[Image text: The term "domestic housewife" implies that there are feral housewives, and now I have a new goal.]

Fair enough, I can't pack up our household into a caravan or narrowboat (yet). But being a feral housewife? That, I could probably manage. Or at least have fun setting out in that direction. Rewilding in baby steps. 

A wilder life was also a different way of looking at living frugally, which can be a fun challenge when your coffers are full but a stressful grind when they're nearing empty. One of my favourite reads in the last few years was Radical Homemakers by Shannon Hayes, which seemed like a pretty good jumping-off point for further disconnecting my life from consumer culture - which right then seemed to be doing its damnedest to reel me back in, because sometimes it's harder than others to resist the endless scroll and the easy fix.

Maybe I could choose foraging over Facebook, take up reading poetry by candlelight, make things with my hands, get dirt under my nails and stars in my eyes, and in so doing become a little stranger and a little wilder over the course of the year. It definitely seemed worth a try.

Change Isn't Linear

Changing habits is difficult. At two and a half years into my shopping ban journey, I often feel frustrated that I still want so much. But I find it interesting to note how my desires have changed. At the moment, for example, I really want a steel tongue drum (preferably purple) and a particular poetry collection from Hedgespoken Press (I used to love reading poetry but have drifted away from it in recent years; now I seem to be drifting back again, which is enjoyable). I don't feel like the same person who wanted Louboutin shoes and lip fillers for her 21st birthday.

Thinking back, that age was a time of change for me as well. I was moving away from my goth style, and making a determined effort to put disordered eating behind me. Whilst I still had a lot of mistakes to make and a lot of personas to try on in the intervening years, I can see the seeds of the person I'm growing into in the confused, frustrated person I was then as I tentatively explored veganism, body positivity, feminism, meditation and magic.

Change isn't linear. Backsliding happens, not just in my spending as I have previously documented, but in other areas too. Recently, I've been using Facebook after about a year without it. I still don't like it much, but it has its uses - I've found out about a local repair cafe and a plastic-free activism group. Same with Instagram - it's really useful to be able to connect with people and see what's out there. I found a group trying to fund a local community garden. So many great things around me that I knew nothing about! But I still find it super hard to restrict my usage to a healthy, comfortable level, and I have to keep reminding myself that online connection, no matter how beneficial, is not actually the work.

It's frustrating to feel like I'm back at the beginning of trying to control my phone use. In many ways it was easier not to have the apps at all - it certainly helped with trying to keep my life simple, and I didn't have FOMO about exciting online events that conflict with the Spud's bedtime, or feel disappointed that I can't justify driving around the country each weekend to get to every interesting festival or market. Joining a lot of groups on Facebook hasn't actually made that much difference to my activities offline - I just feel as if my life has gotten more hectic. 

I feel happier and more content when I have time for good books, long walks, a yoga session, a homemade sugar scrub in the shower. I like myself better when I'm not trying to promote myself as a brand.

Sometimes I worry that 'simple' means 'safe', and that actually I'm just wearing a comfortable groove for myself, but in fact I think some of my biggest steps recently have been taken from this foundation of calm, such as the fulfilment of my dream to write a book and see it in print, my return to an active Pagan practise, the purchase of our first home, my forays into activism, and also I think it's had a positive effect on the way I parent. The nature of social media puts the self front and centre, and that's not a headspace from which I find it easy to do my best parenting. 

When I backslide or slip up, whether in my physical consumption or in my consumption of junk media, it's easy to convince myself that I haven't really changed at all. Imposter syndrome sets in, and I break out in a cold sweat thinking about my upcoming book. What can I possibly have to say about anticonsumerism, when I still want so much?

I have to remember that I'm not trying to present myself as 'an expert' or as the perfect example of anticonsumerist living. What I am trying to do is to be honest, to say "I struggle with this," or "I feel better when I do that," to tell my story and show how my life has changed, and in so doing to hopefully promote discussion about different ways we could live. If we can all encourage each other through the changes we need to make in this Tower Time, and hold space for each other's stories, perhaps we can find different ways of connecting socially, without the frenetic pace, deleterious effects and time-sucking tendencies of current media platforms.

It's interesting to me that my social media use and my constant craving for More Things seem to be so intertwined. But I have changed. I know I have. I might slip up from time to time, but this is not square one.

Further Reading:

Why I've Left Social Media and The Tyranny of Machine Meaning by Rhyd Wildermuth

And on that note, a merry Christmas to you.