The Mollusc

Slow, watery, soft and hard, varied, resourceful.

I have been tired for years.

God, for years. Long before we were talking about rest and slowness.

Well before I had ‘excuses’ like you know, a baby, a big job, the bleak news cycle, social media habits, relentless ambition, and exhausting personal expectations.

Ask one of my best friends about a trip we took to the UK when we were in our early 20s. Her memory of our friction: “I think you just wanted to read magazines and I wanted to drink.”

Meaning: I wanted to lie around and not do much.

I am a deep contradiction.

I would say I’m a people person. Probably, previously I would have said I’m a deep extrovert. I would have said, ‘oh yes I most definitely get my energy from other people’. I still do love to be out and amongst the people but then, very suddenly I do not.

In an instant I lose my wit. I have nothing left to say. My eyes glaze. Every bone in my body needs to be horizontal. I can think of nothing else. I think, upon reflection, I’ve never been any different.

Do you know what my favourite thing to do on a Friday night is? Drink natural wine, eat food made in a smoky roaring fire, sit up at the best bars in town chatting to the bartender. I live in Melbourne after all.

Do you know what else is my favourite thing to do on a Friday night? Put my son to bed and lie on the couch, under a blanket, watching Gardening Australia. Preferably eating a Digestive biscuit with a square of Lindt chocolate on top.

I come from a long line of couch dwellers.

See us on holidays: A series of lanky-limbed folks lying on couches reading books.

Truly nothing is more blissful than that first moment of sliding onto a comfy couch (with a blanket no matter the weather).

My small son (affectionately named ‘small fry’ to protect his newly forming identity) has inherited this trait too. At three and half he already appreciates the couch.

See him there: under a rug staring at a book. Staring and staring, willing the words to make sense.

Here’s the thing. I’m a person with limited energy.

I burn bright. SO BRIGHT when I’m in flow, when I’m excited, when I’m with people I love.

Watch me facilitate a workshop, speak on a panel, run a meeting full of execs, squash some power playing dude with a withering glance (my #1 fave). I am all in. I don’t really know another way.

But gosh do I need to recover. I need slug times. Naps, couches, nothing time.

I have only just learnt this properly.

I have only just started to accept that maybe there is ‘nothing wrong with me’ because I can’t ‘keep up with the pace’.

What if. What IF the pace is wrong?

What if we aren’t meant to shine bright all the time. What if it makes sense that I feel exceptionally tired in some deep-soul way afterwards?

What if I just need so much space to be a slug in between the sparkle?

I’ve worked in corporate law firms almost my whole working life. Since I worked out I didn’t actually wanted to be a lawyer anymore I have thrived. I’ve built a job and career for myself, in a niche I had no idea existed a few years ago. I have, in one sense, hacked the system to make it work as best I can for me.

Still, this has been a tiring ride. Going from career strength to strength – while for many of us is the ultimate goal – also requires so much energy. And minimal opportunity to be a slug.

Throw in a small child and bam. The slug has been squashed. It has been eaten by a cat. (A disgusting but current reference – I unfortunately witnessed our cat do this a few weeks ago).

In the new world order coming from me I intend to have regular slug space. So much slug space. Some people are appalled. I’m delighted.  It seems like I’ve bumped right into the ‘snail girl era’ without knowing it. It’s me – I am the snail.

You know what? I don’t believe in busy culture anymore.

I don’t believe in ‘just pushing through’. I believe in vibrant work and rich rest. I believe it is possible to feel GOOD. To accept our particular energy rhythms.

Hey, maybe you too need slug time? Maybe we all need our own particular version of slug time.

But how many of us really access this in the way we need? How exhausted are we by the relentless expectations on us (many of these being our own). By the pace, the pressure, the appearance of falling behind, the messages social media gives us about success.

To be clear, this isn’t about not working.

Or not working ‘hard’. It is about working well, for you. Without being constantly exhausted and drained of our sparkle. I am a new optimist (I think it’s all the rest I’m having), so I do believe this is possible and I’m pretty interested in exploring how we can get there.

So, consider this a place to explore and challenge busy culture and also a big soft couch for you. You are good as you are. You very likely need to do less, care less, feel more.

Here we are then, talking about what it means to be humans working functionally. About what it means to be well. What we can ask from this short precious life. What we can hope to feel in a chaotic, beautiful, difficult world.

So molluscs…

Snails are molluscs. A coincidence I assure you.

There are over 76,000 known species of molluscs.

An octopus is a mollusc. An oyster (with its little baby pearl) is a mollusc. A sea slug is a mollusc.

Molluscs are often soft bodies covered in hard shells.

They are mostly found in water (seawater or freshwater).

Cool mollusc fact: Did you know that the colour Tyrian Purple come from the desiccated glands of sea snails?

So: read what you want into it all. It just seems right. It seems good. Slow, watery, soft and hard, varied, resourceful. I like it.

Welcome to the slug space. The soft and the hard. I’m so glad you are here. xx