The life I am seeking is often closer than I realise.
I intended to write this reflection a few days ago. Like many things in life, it had to wait while life itself carried on. Perhaps that is fitting, given what it is about.
Over the past few months, I have spent a great deal of time reflecting on possibilities.
The life I am building through M.A.L.I.
The articles I want to write, the workshops I might lead, the people I hope to help, the communities I would like to create, and the books that sit quietly in the background waiting to be written.
At times, my mind feels full of futures.
Future plans.
Future projects.
Future versions of myself.
Yet something has been shifting.
Not because those possibilities have disappeared. If anything, there seem to be more of them than ever. Teaching, writing, therapy, consultation, groups and new ideas often arrive faster than I can follow them.
And still, over recent weeks, I have found myself drawn back to something much simpler.
The life that is already here.
For half term, I did very little work.
No new articles.
No website updates.
No grand strategic planning.
Instead, there was life.
We baked together.
We celebrated Halloween.
We had a cinema day in our pyjamas.
We let the chickens out.
We went out and made memories.
Nothing extraordinary.
Yet somehow it felt deeply important.
I noticed something else too.
I was more present.
Not because I suddenly discovered the secret to mindfulness, but because life felt a little less rushed.
Partly because the house is becoming more organised.
Partly because I have accepted help with some of the housework.
Partly because routines are beginning to emerge.
I found myself trusting more.
Trusting that help could simply be help.
Trusting that messages could wait until after my swim.
Trusting that breakfast could come before emails.
Trusting that not everything needed my immediate attention.
Nothing fell apart.
Life carried on.
One morning, I went swimming before checking messages.
By the time I sat down to work, I had already done something kind for myself.
It was a small decision.
Yet it felt significant.
The emails were still there.
The work was still there.
The responsibilities were still there.
Yet I arrived differently.
For a long time, I have lived with the feeling that life exists just beyond the next task, the next achievement, the next qualification, the next article, the next idea or the next version of me.
There is always another possibility.
Perhaps that is why I am endlessly curious about the lives I might have lived.
The writer.
The teacher.
The speaker.
The community organiser.
The person running a farm filled with animals, fruit trees, children and visitors.
Not because I regret my choices.
But because I am fascinated by potential.
By what else might be possible.
Yet recently I have found myself asking a different question.
What if life is not waiting for me in the future?
What if it is already here?
Not the future book.
Not the future workshop.
Not the future community project.
Not the future version of me.
This morning.
This cup of coffee.
The swim before work.
The children laughing.
The chickens wandering around the garden.
The conversation that wasn't rushed.
The drawing lesson.
The allotment.
The ordinary moments I often walk past while looking towards something else.
I still want many things.
I want to write books.
I want to teach.
I want to create workshops.
I want to help people on a bigger scale.
I want to build community projects.
I want a beautiful home.
I want enough money to feel comfortable and enough space to breathe.
I want to be present with the children.
I want to be fully myself.
None of those desires have disappeared.
But they no longer feel separate from the life I have today.
Perhaps they are growing from it.
Life is already here.
In the children.
In the work.
In the garden.
In the friendships.
In the swimming pool.
In the ordinary Tuesday morning that will never come again.
Perhaps the future is not somewhere else.
Perhaps it is being quietly shaped by the way we are living today.
🌿💛
M.A.L.I. Neuro-Somatic Practice
Reflect. Reconnect. Grow.
