Deb Brandon is the author of “But My Brain Had Other Ideas: A Memoir of Recovery from Brain Injury” and “Threads Around the World: From Arabian Weaving to Batik in Zimbabwe.” Here, she talks to us about her work and what inspires her.

Jessica : I’d love for you to start by telling us more about you and your story, who you are and what it is you do?

Deb : I was born in England and grew up in Israel. I came to the U.S. to pursue a Ph.D. in mathematics. I have been a professor in the Mathematical Sciences Department at Carnegie Mellon University since 1991.

I learned to knit from my mother when I was seven. Knitting was followed by needlepoint, crocheting, felting, and spinning, all fun and interesting. Learning to weave when I was 35 was different. It felt as if I'd come home, as if I'd been a weaver in a previous life. At the loom, I felt connected to weavers everywhere, through space and time. (I still do!)

With weaving, my love for textile arts soared. I wanted to see (and feel) it all: scrumptious raw cashmere, hand-spun silk, gorgeous hand-wovens, an amazing range of ethnic textiles—silk scarves from Laos, felted slippers from Turkey.

I am a member of WARP (Weave A Real Peace), a networking organisation whose mission is to foster a global network of enthusiasts who value the importance of textiles to grassroots economies.

More than a decade ago, I suffered a severe brain injury. In its wake, feeling lost, I started to write about my recovery to help me through it. As I wrote, I realised that I wanted to reach a broader audience. I am now the proud author of two books: an award-winning memoir, “But My Brain Had Other Ideas,” and the recently released, “Threads Around the World: From Arabian Weaving to Batik in Zimbabwe,” about textile techniques from around the world.

Jessica : Can you tell me about where you find your inspiration?

Deb : Writing about textiles is a natural extension of my lifelong interest in handmade textiles and, especially, ethnic textiles, enriched by the changes that resulted from my brain injury.

My brain injury damaged some of my filters. In particular, all outside data flows into my brain with equal value, causing traffic jams in my neural pathways. On the flip side, I now notice more details in the world around me, details that I was unaware of prior to the injury. For example, I can now enjoy the gradual changes in the colours of sunset and the many shades of blue in the water.

My newfound ability to note such details influenced my work as a textile artist. Shortly after I returned home from hospital, I wove a piece of yardage I entitled “The Reflection of Sunset on the Water.” I painted warp in varying shades of blue and orange. I also painted the weft to produce the effect of waves rolling down the yardage. The yarn I used was a shimmering silk to give the effect of reflections of light on the ripples. I chose to weave in a variety of twills to give the fabric drape. I also supplemented the warp with sewing thread to add a wavy texture. I could not have produced such a piece prior to the injury.

Other influences stem from traditional textiles. I’ve used patterns reminiscent of motifs from batik from Zimbabwe, I’ve woven in colours similar to those prevalent in Palestinian embroidery, and I’ve embellished textiles with a variation of Japanese fish printing.

Jessica : I am also interested in knowing more about how you view creativity; is it something you can now rely on every day? How do you balance your varied interests?

Deb : I have become much more creative since the brain injury. I attribute that partly to my increased awareness of and attention to detail, but I also believe that it has something to do with the rewiring of my brain as it healed.

Pre-injury, I was primarily a linear thinker, and my thought process usually took me directly from point A to point B. My brain injury damaged my ability to think sequentially, in this linear fashion. As my brain learned to work around the damage, I found myself thinking more visually and using more intuition, so I now have access to a broader range of thinking styles.

Between the different thinking styles I now employ, my brain injury-induced short attention span, and my need to live at a slower pace, I often find myself straying off the path, leading me in interesting directions, guiding me towards new ideas.

Whenever I sit down to create, whether it is to write, knit, spin, or weave, I frequently find myself changing directions, changing the story line, manipulating colours, playing with patterns.

My full time job as a mathematician takes up a lot of my time. In the past it was one of my top priorities. After a day of teaching, I’d come home to work on other aspects of mathematics. Now, prone to fatigue, I spend less time at the office and play catch-up at home. However, I spend much of my time at home on creating. Writing is very much a priority, and textile arts are next on the list. I try to write every day, in the morning before I go to work and in the afternoon after I come home. When it comes to the textile arts, I go in phases, spending more time on them when I have met math- and writing-related deadlines.

Jessica : Where do you work? What’s important about your work space?

Deb : When my son left home, I transformed his room into an office, which is where I write. The first piece of furniture I lugged there (with my son’s help) was a wooden desk I bought more than two decades ago. Much cherished, it has accompanied me through four moves. Until it found a home in my office, I had to share it with my now ex-husband and my kids. Finally, it is all mine, everything on it arranged the way I like.

The entire space is arranged to be aesthetically pleasing and to serve my needs as a writer: my laptop perched on a pile of books so the screen is at eye level, a separate keyboard positioned such that I can type with elbows bent at a good angle, a bookcase filled with books that aid me in my writing (sources of information about ethnic textiles and about writing techniques), a printer to the right of my desk, and a bed for my dog to lie on beside me when I write. 

The floor loom I weave on most frequently sits in a living room corner, angled to give me the feeling of space around me. To the right of it I have a bookcase filled with books about practicing fiber arts, knitting, crochet, spinning yarn, felting, and surface design. To the left of the loom, I have a comfortable seat I can sink into when I knit or spin yarn. It faces the interior of room so I can be part of the activities around me, watching TV or chatting with family and friends—I can knit and spin by feel, so I can divide my attention.

Jessica : What impact would you like to create with your work?

Deb : I give most of the textile pieces I create as gifts, to family and friends. To me, the most important part of fibre arts is the process. I also enjoy the design side of the projects, but I love the rhythm and meditative nature of the making. The end result often plays a more peripheral role—I take pride in my work, but once the project is completed, I’m already thinking about the next.

In addition to getting a lot of satisfaction from giving textile pieces as gifts, I hope that by doing so, I am helping to educate the public about the value of handmade products, and to appreciate the effort, beauty, and stories so inherent to them. When I write about ethnic textiles, I hope to pass on that same appreciation. I believe that by doing so, I am sending an important message: Textiles help us create ties with each other. We are a part of a whole; there is no us and them, there is only us. Textiles prevent us from losing our humanity.

On the other hand, my original intention when I started writing my memoir was personal. I hoped it would help me understand my new world as a brain injury survivor, and to cope with the enormity of it all. I also wanted my loved ones to understand the effect of this invisible disability.

Shortly after I started writing about my recovery, I realised that other brain injury survivors might benefit from my experience. In time, as I began to reclaim my place in the world, I realised that I wanted to raise awareness among the general public about the struggles I and other brain injury survivors face every day. In order to reach such a broad audience, I knew I needed to improve my writing skills, so I hired a writing coach, who transformed me from a mediocre (at best) writer to an award winning author.

In the process, I became passionate about my writing—writing daily became the norm. Not only was I now writing to convey a universal message, but also for the love of writing itself.

Jessica : And lastly, if someone reading your story were inspired to follow their own creative dream, what advice would you give them?

Deb : I would tell them to make time to follow their dream. Life is too short not to. At the very least it’ll bring them joy and a sense of fulfilment, something we all need to help us through the rough stuff in life.

They should try to ignore that inner voice that tells them to stay within their comfort zone. It’ll play on fears of change, coming up with excuses—“You don’t have time,” “The wash can’t wait,” “It’s not productive,” “I’m too tired,”  “I’m not good enough.” Everyone needs to take time for themselves, and that goes double for creative endeavours.

The end result shouldn't be the primary goal. Take the time to enjoy the process, even if that glass paperweight is wonky, you can’t afford a top-of-the-line bicycle, your embroidery stitches aren’t even, or your first (or fiftieth) draft doesn't work the way you want it to. Slow down and enjoy the scenery—the process of creating.

If possible, find kindred spirits who share your dream—it’ll open up your world in wonderful ways.

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Find out more about Deb and her work here or follow her on Instagram, Twitter and Facebook.

Today we're introducing you to Jane, the owner of freelance embroidery business, Snapdragon. Find out more about her journey from cut flowers to building a community.

Nicola: Tell us about Snapdragon and the journey you took to starting your own business?  

Jane: My first proper job was curator of British Art at the University of Glasgow – it was a fabulous job but I worked in a basement office and in the winter I rarely seemed to see any daylight.  I gradually got more and more unhappy there until I took the plunge, left and retrained in horticulture.

The thing that I wanted most by this point was to be outside, so I started a cut flower business and named it Snapdragon, because that was one of the few flowers that escaped the slugs that first year.  I grew garden flowers and sold them from a green van from my garden gate and at markets.

Growing flowers in Scotland turned out to be a barmy idea – the climate is cold and wet, giving a very short growing season and, when I had masses of flowers, my regular customers tended to be away on holiday.

In 2005 I was asked to put together a show stand at the Country Living Magazine Christmas Fair in Glasgow and that gave me the opportunity to pivot the business and move into sewing.  I had been making things to bring in an income during the months that there were no flowers, but this moved my freehand machine embroidery onto a different level and formed the basis of the business as it exists today.

Nicola: I know your work is inspired by nature. Can you tell us why nature is so important to you, and how it influences the way you live and work?

Jane: Being in nature is absolutely at the centre of my life.  I have an auto immune disease which becomes worse with stress and I find that time outside in nature, noticing the seasonal changes, getting muddy, is the way that I can manage stress most easily.  My garden and the amazing scenery around us are also the inspiration for most of my designs and I am fascinated by the way forms and colours change week to week.

Nicola: I’d love to know what has been the biggest challenge, and the best surprise in running your own business?

Jane: The biggest challenge for me has been staying true to my style.  Over a period of about 8 years I gradually lost track of what was unique about Snapdragon.  I had begun to respond to what sold, what shops wanted more of, what was commercial.  Each little step, each compromise, took me a little bit further away from the core of my creativity until I became very bored with what I was making.  About 18 months ago I decided to completely change the business and go back to my design roots, changing not only the products that we sell but also the way we sell them.  I started a membership where people support the business with a monthly fee of £10 and in return get all the perks of ‘having shares in a studio’ – they can buy at cost price, there are members freebies, they get first dibs on limited editions.  

The biggest surprise has been how changing the way we sell has transformed the feel of the business – this isn’t just with members, it has completely changed the way other people interact with me on social media too.  Going for radical transparency on pricing and behind the scenes decisions seems to have changed the way people see us.  I was very worried that it could be an incredibly stupid act of self sabotage.

Nicola: I know you moved to the countryside about fifteen years ago and now live in Loch Lomond National Park.  Can you tell us more about your home, your workspace, and what a typical day for you looks like? 

Jane: We bought our home because of a small bluebell wood.  We spent hours in the wood, about 15 minutes in the house.  The house itself is a 1980s bungalow – nothing special; when we bought it, it was fully of tiny rooms and we knocked 5 of these together to create a big open plan living space and put in big windows to give lots of light.  I work in a wooden cabin built in a field behind the house, and in a vintage Airstream Caravan (which we are restoring).  I have a team of helpers who print, pack and dispatch orders, allowing me to concentrate on designing and writing.

A typical day starts slowly – I am not a morning person.  I have coffee in bed and catch up on Instagram or read.  I start work at about 9 and tend to work until 4. Two days a week I am in the workshop, two days I am designing/writing and, ideally, I walk to the nearest village to work in a coffee shop once a week – this is a way of getting the things I procrastinate about actually done and the exercise is balanced by the cake. I switch the Internet off at 6pm and, though I may work after that, it is analogue things – designing, reading, journaling.  I have found that has made a big difference to my daily stress and also made me more productive.

Nicola: When you aren’t working on Snapdragon, how do you enjoy spending your time?

Jane: Gardening and walking.  When I stopped growing flowers commercially I had a few years where I didn’t really garden much – I think I was a bit burned out.  Now though I am back spending hours in the garden, growing flowers and vegetables.  I have big plans.

Nicola: And lastly, if someone reading your story were inspired to follow their own creative dream, what advice would you give them?

Jane: Build a community of people who love your style.  This is the major advantage that the small creative business has now – there is the world of social media full of people who are interested in what you are doing.  

When I was starting out I wrote a blog, a terrible, ugly, embarrassing blog – but the people who read that 15 years ago still remembered me and, when I wanted to go back to the roots of the business last year, they were the people cheering me on.  Building that community was the best investment in the business I ever made.

Head over here to get Jane's free guide to getting the best from cut flowers, visit her website, or follow her progress on Instagram.

First Row (L-R): @hanbullivant; @geoffreyandgrace; @c_colli. Second Row (L-R): @featherandwild; @niki.at.the.cottage; @peonyandpraxis. Third Row (L-R): @simpleandseason; @a_season_in_thyme; @littlegreenshed.

Back at the start of December, I started a new hashtag on Instagram - #aseasonaldecember. It started with a longing to curate a set of images that embodied the natural changes in the month, images that celebrated seasonal outings and inspired others to live more wholeheartedly; it worked perfected. If you haven't seen the hashtag, there are some wonderful images to explore, and I've featured some of my favourites above.

To continue into the new year, I've decided to use a new hashtag with similar grounding - #aseasonalyear. Think documenting changes in the seasons in a very personal way, by telling stories through images and words that inspire and cheer others as we wander through the next twelve months.

I'd love for you to join in, if you like? In the mean time, wishing you a wonderful start to 2017.

Say hello to our new home! Last night marked the first of many evenings spent under canvas in our quest to simplify our lives, live more sustainably and save money. After having spent all of Saturday packing, cleaning, moving and organising, Sunday was designated as our official moving day. Dan finished making some adjustments to our Frontier stove, which did smoke a little when we did a trial run; after working his magic, it now seems to be running much more smoothly (thank goodness). I spent the day at the house, trying to get on top of the mountain of packing, and while I ploughed through a lot, there's still much to be done. 

We finished the day rather more happily, and with the faint hum of carols, we decorated the Christmas tree and settled in for the winter. It was a night of mixed emotions: happiness and exhiliration at finally having reached this point, but also trepidation for the months to come.

Our first morning was frantic to say the least, as I had to leave for work by 8am. We have decided against lighting the stove if I have to be at work, so instead I stole quietly into my grandparents' house (they live next door and we're going to be showering there and occasionally using their cooking facilities), grabbed something suitably smart to wear and got on with the day as normal. Except it didn't really feel like normal; always in the back of my mind was the knowledge that something significant had altered, and that when I returned, it wouldn't be to a home in the conventional sense.

Tonight, Dan has gone out for the evening to his Christmas meal with work colleagues, which leaves me in charge of the stove and of the tent. So far, so warm. I've managed to keep it alight and have enjoyed a cup of scalding hot tea, with water straight from our new boiler. I've also managed to find a smidgen of Wi-Fi, hence the post. I'm not sure yet what I make of it all, as I keep oscillating between emotions, but now I'm out of my work environment, things do seem more positive. 

The house is really the biggest cause of stress at the moment. Tomorrow, the landlord is coming around to do an inventory, and then we officially have to be out by the 31st. I'm hopeful that all of the boxes will be in storage long before then, and ideally by early next week, so that we can actually enjoy the festive period, but that seems a long way off at this point. It's strange how we all collect so many things, yet actually need very little. We have given away and recycled so many of these things, yet it still astounds me how much we have left. When we do eventually move back into a house, there will definitely be a few changes.

But for now, we move forward with hope. Hope that Bella doesn't wake us up in the middle of the night again. Hope that the house will soon stop being the burden that it currently is. Hope that despite all the stresses, strains and changes, this adventure will be everything we planned and more.

My mind feels mangled. It's been one of those slightly surreal weekends where nothing fits with reality, and yet at the same time everything feels very real and chaotic. Hours passed by in a blur, and frantic conversations dwelt on plans for the future. Somehow, when events in the wider world occur that shock us, we begin to consider our own approach to living, and whether we've got it right. Striving for a simpler lifestyle has been at the forefront of our minds for some time, but now more than ever there's the desire to hide away and live segregated from a harsh reality. Of course, that's neither possible nor practical, yet this urge is, for us at least, indicative of a disconnect with the masses that has been building for a while. It seemed only apt, then, that this weekend - despite being the windiest of the year so far - was earmarked for putting up the bell tent.

We picked up our new Frontier stove first thing on Saturday morning, and I felt a thrill of excitement knowing it would soon be our source of warmth and our sole method of cooking. After setting it alight outside to make sure all was as it should be, we set to work trying to decipher the instructions for the tent. Thankfully, it was relatively straightforward, and before we knew it our new home was formed. We peeked our noses in through the doorway and exchanged bewildered glances; on first inspection it looked very small. But once we got inside it felt quite spacious - helped, to a large extent, by the ability to stand up in the centre.

We left it overnight to battle the elements; unsurprisingly the guy ropes were flapping wildly in the wind when we returned the following morning to check if it had survived the night. The pegs that came with the tent are evidently not designed to withstand such conditions, and although disappointing, Dan is convinced that the new pegs he has ordered will do the job. I shall wait with bated breath. It's important with canvas tents to allow them to stand for a while and shrink slightly before moving in (this happens when it rains), as this allows any spots for leakage to close up - or at least that's the idea. So stand it will without occupants for a little while yet.

Meanwhile, packing is becoming a hellish process. There are boxes everywhere, and Bella doesn't know what to make of it all. I'm lighting candles and keeping the kitchen box-free in a desperate attempt to still regain some sense of calm, but I doubt it will last long. I find myself hoping not to hear a knock at the door for fear our pyramids of cardboard boxes and piles of packing material will engulf the visitor; so far we've been lucky. 

The wedding seems aeons ago. After the initial flurry of photographs and cards the dust has settled and we're almost back to normal. It's strange though; I do feel as though we're more of a team now, as if we can face anything together, and on evenings when everything gets a bit much, we think back to the memories and everything shines just that little bit brighter. 

In many ways we're starting afresh, taking our first steps as a married couple, taking those first steps to begin a new adventure, walking hesitantly and with trepidation, and while I'd hardly recommend doing everything at once as we seem to do frequently in our lives, it's invigorating nevertheless. 

When the winds of change blow, some people build walls and others build windmills.
Chinese Proverb

They say that procrastination is the thief of time, but I'm not sure if that's the right term for my absence from this space over the past few months. I've found myself delaying this post, not because I don't enjoy writing on here, but because I've been scared. One week's absence turned into two, two into a month, then suddenly a month became nearly three. I lost what it was that drew me to write here, but I wasn't quite sure what that elusive lure was, or how to find it again.

At some point in those hazy summer months, this space became an all-consuming escape from my normal working life, and I'd cling to the idea that one day it would be my get-out-of-jail-free card from the monotony of my 9-5, despite not being sure about what it was I wanted to offer or if I even felt comfortable with the concept of making money from this blog. At the time I didn't stop to wonder, because when you are engrossed in a new venture everything gets caught up in the spider webs of the plan. 

But now I've had over twelve weeks to wonder, and finally I feel ready to move on and leave behind some of those ideas that never really came to fruition.  It is with relief that I write these words, having toyed for a time with what to do with the mess of ideas from those few frantic weeks. And so to the future: some parts of this online space have remained constant from the start - my passion for countryside living, the links with seasonal change, and a focus on a simple lifestyle - and these things will, assuredly, remain. There will, however, be a few changes, the simplest being my last name.

Last month I got married to the most wonderful man who has supported me every step of the way with the blog, and it he who should really take the credit for my return. I'm not the easiest of folk to live with (although he would readily admit, neither is he), and my multiple passions and dreams for the future can often be difficult to keep up with. Luckily, he sees this as a positive, and encourages whatever I set out to achieve. Our wedding day was truly the best of my life, though our honeymoon in the wilderness of the Scottish highlands gave it a run for its money. There's something about waking up to rolling fog, the sort that envelops you the moment you step out of the door, but still hearing the water of the loch crash against the rocks and pebbles, and knowing that if nothing else, nature will remain a constant. Whatever else is occupying your headspace, reconnecting with this evolution of the natural world can be very comforting. 

Our return from the north heralds the start of a new life in more ways than one. Not only are we now husband and wife, but we plan to move out of our rented accommodation in December / January to live temporarily in our most recent purchase: a bell tent. At five metres in diameter, it's not the biggest of spaces, and it certainly won't be the luxurious lifestyle many newly-married couples desire, but honestly, we can't wait.

We're moving to live on my parents' land during the time it takes to build our new home (something which has been ongoing for a little while now). We can't afford to employ builders, so will be doing most of the work ourselves, hence the move to be close to the build and to save a little in the process. Most people we have spoken to think we're crazy. Some have even offered us a room instead. Yet what many fail to understand is that we are genuinely excited about the prospect of living right on nature's doorstep, experiencing all that she has to offer, no matter how miserable that offering may seem. Of course, the rose-tinted glasses of newly-married life are certain to have misted the view slightly, but we remain - at the moment, at least - optimistic about what lies in store.

This lifestyle change will be reflected in the content of this blog, and I hope to document the (inevitable) trials and moments of joy that this will bring. So expect more of a personal feel to posts, something that has probably been missing of late, and don't be surprised if a few family photos make their way into the mix. My husband has so far only been referred to as Mr CC, and although he never asked me to protect his identity I felt as though I should in those early days. Now however, I feel that sharing his name is appropriate - it's Dan, and you'll see him popping up here and there in future posts. You might hear of other family members, in particular my parents, who inspire us daily with their resolve and passion to live a simple, sustainable lifestyle. It is these people that will form the backbone of future content on Creative Countryside. I do hope you'll join us for the journey.

One of my favourite things to do is read and learn more about the things I'm passionate about. I've always had a voracious mind and as an adult I'm no different; if there's a course or article that appeals I'll sign up and take part straight away, and I think by doing this I make sure I'm always evolving as a person. Finding a video or book that speaks directly to you is such a wonderful feeling, and in my quest to live life a little more slowly I've found some fantastic resources just like this, so today I'm sharing them with you...

First up, if you're still a little unsure what slow living really entails, you should watch this video - In Praise of Slowness - with Carl Honore, who is often seen as the first true advocate of the slow living movement. There's also an interview with him here on Kinfolk which is definitely worth a read.

For anyone involved in business (and particularly for those running their own businesses), The Happy Startup School is an incredibly heart-warming and inspiring space that offers a free e-book and helpful videos alongside blog posts and more. The Happy Startup Summer Camp is definitely something you should check out too - particularly these videos.

Ever heard of microadventures? Alastair Humphreys is an adventurer who experiences the wild in a way that easily fits in with your everyday life. Think wild camping, alfresco dining and truly embracing the elements. You can take part in Your Year of Microadventures right now, and summer is the perfect time to begin!

Looking for a slow living must-read list for your next trip to a bookshop? London Review Bookshop has one for you right here.

Create the Good Life is a comprehensive online space for all things slow living. Each month a new article goes live about topics such as the power of understanding the choices we make, personal sustainability and the sacred everyday. Small, Ordinary and Deeply Fulfilling is a good place to start.

For a brief foray into the micropolitics of slow living this journal article is for you. 

The International Institute of Not Doing Much offers a tongue-in-cheek checklist of how to slow down.

For more news articles, The Huffington Post has a whole section on slow living - my favourite article is Unplug and Recharge, offering the secrets of a simple life.

Next on my to-read list are Slow Family Living: 75 Simple Ways to Slow Down, Connect, and Create More Joy and The Happiness Project. I'm always on the lookout for books like this, so if you have any you particularly love let me know!

Do you enjoy learning new things? What have you been inspired by lately?

I’m a big believer in planning out your week, and I’m proof that approaching life in this way can allow you to create a life you love filled with everything you currently can’t seem to make time for. Today's post takes you through how to design your week, and is actually part of one of the lessons featured in 7 Steps to Slow Things Down (a free email course you can sign up for now!).
 
To start on your personalised planning process you’ll actually need a planner. Or, if you’re anything like me, you’ll need 2. The first will be an electronic calendar for you to plan ahead by months rather than weeks, and the second will be a either an electronic or hand-written weekly planner (call me old-fashioned but for this I definitely prefer a hand-written version, and having a hard copy to stick on my fridge is a great reminder for the days when I’m not glued to the laptop screen).
 

I use Google Calendar for my long-term planning (not sponsored - I just like using it): it’s easy and free to use, syncs seamlessly with my phone (and therefore reminders pop up should I need them) and allows me to colour-code my appointments / tasks – and I love a bit of colour-coding. When I first set it up I added all birthdays for family and friends and any long-term plans for the year (weddings, baby showers etc.), plus I blocked off my working hours to prevent any scheduling clashes – this will work if you work for a company or for yourself, but just might take a little more time to organise if your working hours are often sporadic.
 
Once your long-term calendar is up and running, designing your week is ridiculously easy. I created my own planner, and if you think it might work for you too then simply sign up to download it right away. Each week print off a copy and transfer over anything in your long-term calendar. What you’ll be left with is time to mould and shape into whatever you wish.

I like to set aside evenings in the week for specific activities, and of course remember this can change every week, and it might even change mid-week – but THAT’S OK! This is your plan and it should work for you. Adopting this approach is not necessarily going back in time, but it does utilise some of the same notions and ideals from history: Monday was wash day, Thursday was cleaning day and everyone shopped on a Friday. They might have been on to a thing a two.
 
To give you some ideas, here’s my evening plan for a typical week (I work in the day):

• Monday: my other half is at work so I blog and sort out bills, admin etc.
• Tuesday: a bit of housework, but mostly I set aside time to read.
• Wednesday: usually set aside for plans with friends.
• Thursday: sometimes I have a course / club to attend, but otherwise I try to get outside or work on the blog if it’s too miserable.
• Friday: date night!
• Saturday: wash day, then set aside for plans with family.
• Sunday: meal planning and time to fill out my weekly planner followed by a bit of self-care (think bath, book and nail polish).

Yes, my time is still full. No, I don’t have children, and I know that this sort of plan won’t work for everyone. What you can do, though, is adapt and mould to your own personal specification. Maybe evenings aren’t the best time for you to create weekly rituals – maybe mornings or lunch breaks or just weekends are all you can manage right now – but whatever time you do have, following a process like this allows you to make the most of every ounce of that ‘free’ time.
 
Let’s recap with how you can design your week:

• Set up a calendar and make sure to include birthdays, anniversaries and long-term plans.
• Use a weekly planner and transfer everything over from the calendar before adding in daily rituals and plans.
• Make sure you add in time to fulfil your goals and plan out meals.

How do you design your week? 

While living a slow lifestyle is usually associated with a lack of ‘things’ it is perhaps inevitable in our modern society that certain tools will be required for any way of life. For me, it’s all about choosing the right tools so that I’m not left with things I don’t need or really want.

This decision making process didn’t happen overnight, and even today I can still be tempted when I see new and exciting products on the market that profess to cure all sorts of ailments or solve your problems. A few years ago, temptation proved too difficult to withstand and after university I ended up carting to my new home an exercise bike, bread maker and electronic keyboard, with plans for a new car, laptop and more exercise equipment. I thought that choosing these ‘things’ would help me to achieve a way of life that I thought I desired: a life where I’d cycle for an hour a day (in my living room) and use gadgets to avoid spending any length of time in the kitchen. And for what? Solitary indoor exercise made me miserable, gadgets were expensive space fillers and I’d spent far too much money on things I thought were what I needed. Sound familiar?

My ‘everything-clicked’ moment of realisation that this wasn’t what I wanted at all was when we were preparing to move house. I looked at the piles of ‘things’ ready to be shipped to our new home and didn’t feel connected to any of it. In my quest to fit in with what everyone else was doing I’d lost any concept of what I loved and what made me unique. I think sometimes it can be a scary and intimidating process to admit that what you want to do with your life, and how you want to live your life, is so very different to those people around you. I didn’t want any of what they had, but I didn’t know how to escape it.

Aptly, I started slowly and gradually reduced my reliance and acceptance of the way things were. I ditched the gadgets and got rid of anything that I didn’t love and that didn’t make me happy. Although initially daunting, it became a liberating process. Don’t be misled into thinking that I fully embraced the maxims of minimalism: there was no way I’d ever get rid of my piles of books, but that was the whole point – instead of finding no time to read the books (the things that actually did make me happy) I’d created a new lifestyle in which books took centre stage and I had prioritised the ‘tools’ that I found both useful and joyful.

Without further ado, then, here are my essential tools for slow living:

1. A calendar and weekly planner. “What?” I hear you cry, “isn’t this supposed to be slow living, you know, without complications and extra work?” You’re right, it is, but the crux of living more slowly is using your time efficiently. Time isn’t endless, and we will always desire more of it, so making sure to prioritise and schedule in time for doing what you love is essential. My job could take up twelve hours a day if I let it, so using a planner to ensure this doesn’t happen is a vital part of being able to live life in this way.
2. Preserving jars and freezer containers. You don't have to turn into Delia Smith overnight to reap the rewards of eating with the seasons and thinking ahead to prolong the enjoyment of certain foods. Since slowing my life down I've made jams, jellies, chutnies and cordials, despite having no prior experience, and aiming to have a fully-stocked larder (ideally with homemade produce) makes it so much easier to enjoy the process of cooking and eating food. Making huge batches of midweek favourites is also a good idea; spend an afternoon over a hot stove and you'll be able to fill your freezer for those days when cooking is the last thing on your mind.
3. Inspiring books and magazines. There are days when I feel like everything is slipping. A lost list here, a panic over plans there and slow living can fly out of the window. Whilst I aspire to live slowly, seasonally and positively, there are inevitably moments when things start to crumble and it can be hard to pick yourself up. It's on those days that I find picking up an inspiring book or magazine can do wonders for my soul.
4. Outdoor space (even if it’s just a windowsill) and a few pots. Slow living is all about taking the time to appreciate the natural world and all it has to offer, but that doesn't mean you have to live in the countryside. When I first started living more slowly my home was a tiny flat with no outside space whatsoever. But I still grew my own herbs (on the windowsill) and picked wildflowers for my bedside table. If you've got a tiny balcony or patio there's plenty of space for a few pots, and over the summer months a few seeds and the odd splash water will ensure you are self-sufficient in salad leaves. 

Of course, there are many more tools that you could use on your path to living more slowly. We now own a polytunnel, for example, and I have vases and wreath bases and so on to allow me to bring nature into the home. Your creative outlet might require specific materials and products, or maybe owning a journal is an essential part of your routine. But if you don't have these 4 things, I've found from past experience that slow living can get a little caught up in everyday life and become impossible.