Ruts...
... for Knots in the String
In a life context, a “rut” is a state of feeling stuck in a monotonous, repetitive routine where every day feels exactly the same. It is a period of stagnation and emotional flatness where motivation drops, excitement fades, and you feel as if you aren’t making any progress. Google AI
But…
…are ruts really a bad thing? The problem with social media is how much we might compare our lives with the rampant lives of others – the grass-is-always-greener phenomenon. Oh, they’re in Europe? I’m only on the east coast of Tasmania. And they’re watching the Tour de France in real life? I’m only watching it on TV.
But…
…daily I’m watching fish glide through ribbons of undulating weeds or the ocean sparkling with white light, wombats wandering along the beach on Maria Island, heavenly skies alive with glitter and a moon so clear and close that I can almost touch the dimples with my finger.
I’ve learned ‘each to their own.’ What floats my boat won’t particularly float yours and whilst some might say, ‘She seems in such a rut’, my rut has full-length windows and a door and when I want, I simply walk out into my garden or onto the beach and breathe what’s purported to be the cleanest air in the world (I’m on the east coast of this tiny island and Cape Grim is the northwest corner of our very small dot in the ocean).
I love my rut, if that’s what I’m in. It’s filled with comfort curated for our monk-like tastes, filled also with creative endeavour, gardens bursting to grow food when it warms, and I’m forever learning more about the vast number of things that draw my interest, even in my seventies. I never tire of walking on beaches or amongst the native bushland and when my body slows, there’s always the cold ocean to heal and revive. I feel vindicated by David Michie’s most recent post about the joy of living in a rut
and about the chances it gives for inner improvement.
Rut-living allows one the space to quietly observe, be that of nature or of people, and it nurtures wonder. From that, I hope a kind of gentle humility develops, and gratitude to be a part of the extraordinary process that is life.
Sometimes I think others judge unkindly. It’s not for them to declare that we’re in any kind of stagnant situation and in any case, if one is happy, creative, active and not over-reacting to life’s varied offerings, isn’t that all that matters?
And by the way, no one has said to me that I’m in a rut. I merely gave it some thought when David’s post arrived.
Other things:
‘Held by the earth…
moved by the moon…
sparked by the sun…
Swayed by the sea.
She was a force to be reckoned with.’ from Rise Sister Rise by Rebecca Campbell
A beautiful quote from Kathleen Hart’s substack
and I thought how well the first four lines exemplify my own life. In addition, perhaps the family could use the last line to describe me as they scatter my ashes at sea. Of course I’ll never know, but the thought’s rather nice…
An extraordinarily lovely post from Claire Kinton
this week. Glittering like the firmament above us as we walk in the freezing winter night.
(My husband took this on this particular night. Just from an ordinary i-phone 13 Mini)
My nose chills and I blow breaths upward to thaw it. The waves are as still as the night air, with only the shrill pipe of oyster catchers on the beach. Our little dog pit-pats along in his yeti-coat, so hairy you’d barely know he was a Jack Russell. Pity the poor fellow then as he attends the groomer. Soft coat, divine fragrance, long hair trimmed. I have tartan polar fleece jackets and the Late Terrier’s quilted paddock rug to keep him warm, but he does tend to give us the look when so garbed.
But gosh, he looks and smells so nice! Next visit, he’ll be given the show-clip and will look just like his dad and grandad when they were in the show ring. And no, I doubt we’ll ever show this chap, although his credentials are fine and he could do quite well. I just have a feeling he’s likely to hump the judge’s leg…
Lucky boy though, to have such nice outerwear, so we decide we’ll join him. I order new Puffa jackets (burned red for me, royal navy for him), a Puffa vest (denim blue for me) and merino wool sweaters (mid blue for us both, and I promise we won’t wear them on the same day!). I hope they arrive before we begin our holiday as we intend taking a few days soon, to indulge in hikes, walks, coddiwomples and picnics. Golly, even another boating trip if there’s a glassy day. The cold is part of the thrill. Take thermoses of soup and tea, fresh bread, cheeses, fruit, some gooey, high-energy cake and chocolate and wear the right clothes and it’s more remarkable sometimes than summer days.
We visited the coldest place in Tasmania once, Liawenee, in the highlands and I stripped off my boots and socks and plunged my feet into the ice-frilled stream (whilst the sweetest wombat waddled over the bridge above me, his coat dense with alpine fur). I do these things because life is short. At nearly 75, how many days, weeks, months, years does one have left? Best to enjoy it all whilst one can.
I’m noticing that more and more Substackians are soliciting for paid subscriptions. Not only that, they’re becoming savvy online sellers, and a lot of posts have links to this and that product that will give them a small return. Fair enough I suppose. One has to make a living. But I’ll never direct readers to purchase anything but my books and even then, I’m bashful about it. And not very good at it, into the bargain. Often forgetting to put up the author link that will direct any interested readers to points of sale. I guess I just hope that if a reader is interested, they will go to my website and be directed from there.
Somehow it seems cleaner to keep Knots in the String what it is meant to be - a momentary escape for readers, not a pressure-to-buy moment. In any case, Knots in the String has been free for 3 years and hopefully it will remain so, unless Substack changes the rules. Ah there! I’ve got that off my chest!
It’s been decided to complete the fantasy series, The Chronicles of Eirie, in print. Thus far, since the rebranding some years ago, all five have only been available as e-books.
I was surprised by the copyright date of 2011 for The Stumpwork Robe and The Last Stitch, and 2012 for The Shifu Cloth. So long ago that I can barely remember them! I’ve written 15 books (and sundry short stories for various anthologies with other hist.fict writers) and I think my brain self-empties so that I can get on with the next one.
It’ll be a busy few months. I hope to finish Phoebe’s Prime (the third contemporary) and go partway to finishing the second in The Peregrinus Series (The Oblate, the eighth historical fiction). Additionally, each of the fantasies will have to be proof-read, once formatted for print.
Will there be space for the things I love amongst all of that? Golly yes. The only way I can keep writing is to infuse desk-time with either nature or other creative endeavour. It clears the head, smooths out any narrative glitches … and gives a vital break from the screen.
I have no complaint with this rut, this groove. So how did I spend the evening? Stitching Bloch elastics onto the first new ballet shoes for 10 years while watching Stage 5 of the Tour de France. It’s my sort of perfect, really. Boring? Never…
Music this week? A song that has no relevance to ruts, but maybe to joy and having fun, and besides, it reminds me of the first year of our fifty year marriage! What’s not to love?
Lee, hi! My postal address is Hobart although I'm mostly on the east coast. How lovely to know I have a fellow Tasmanian reading Knots! And what synchronicity that you read David and Posh. I've just seen your Substack (subscribed!) and have seen another quote I rather like to go in the journal.
Thank you for commenting, and here's to more chats.
I don't know if a rut is a cousin of routine, but I'm devoted to the latter. I don't get rut vibes from you, Prue, more a sense of someone who knows what she loves.
Highlights: Claire Kinton's piece, the *look* from the dog, and this: "At nearly 75, how many days, weeks, months, years does one have left? Best to enjoy it all whilst one can."