slow and steady
An impatient, anxious person, trying to take it one step at a time
The clouds have hung thick over Béziers for days. It’s ironic, really – one of the main reasons I was so elated to be leaving the UK was to escape the dismal weather, yet it seems to have followed me. Glimpses of sunshine have been fleeting, made all the more difficult by sharp, chilly gales that have me sitting on the balcony in fleeces and jumpers, pensively chain-smoking cigarettes whilst gazing out at the grey skies.
I don’t know why I place so much certainty on the sunshine lifting my mood, but perhaps it’s because it works. As soon as I wake up and turn to see blue skies through the slats in our bedroom blinds, I’m filled with optimism – but if I crawl out of bed to the sound of pouring rain, or if it’s too overcast to watch the sea glistening on the horizon, I start to wallow. Imagine how downbeat I felt spending the past winter back at home, counteracting the misery of constant downpours with the joy of my mum’s cooking to try and stay afloat. A lyric from the new Taylor Swift album comes to mind: “All my mornings are Mondays / Stuck in an endless February”. She must have written that during a London winter.
So, I’m trying to find ways to better cope with this newfound dependency on the weather. For example, come rain or shine, I’ll throw on some clothes after lunch every day and take myself out on a walk. The rumours are true, it turns out. Just an hour of walking with nothing but the music blaring in my headphones helps me feel refreshed enough to carry on through the remainder of the day. I always take the same, unspectacular route through deserted industrial estates and quiet side roads, but it still beats London where, at any time of the day and in any corner of the city, you’d always have someone on your trail.
I wondered if the weather was the silly little reason for my attitude, as it bears such an uncanny resemblance to the dreary English climate. I must admit, I did feel a pang of sod’s law about the situation. It’s weirdly funny that I ranted and raved about how terrible the rain was in my last few months at home, constantly cursing the wind like an old man shaking his fist at the sky, and then relocated to a typically warm region just to be welcomed with even more of it.
For some reason, though, I can’t shake this downbeat feeling – nor can I diagnose the origin of it, only noticing as it gradually washed over me during the past week. I’m used to the ebbs and flows of depression, but this doesn’t feel like that. I don’t feel like I’m in a pit of despair, more so dancing with malaise.
So, I was struck by this piece from
’ , in which a reader says:“I seem to spend my life waiting. Waiting for things to get better, get easier, be more enjoyable… how do I just sit and enjoy the now, rather than always looking ahead, hoping things will improve?”
It hit me like a train, no less because I couldn’t express this feeling myself, and also because I rather naively thought I was the only one to feel like this. It’s rather selfish of me, I know, but it’s simultaneously comforting to learn there are others out there experiencing this at the very same time. Don’t get me wrong – I recognise how lucky I am to be where I am. I worked hard alongside my husband to get here, and I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d have the tenacity or maturity to move abroad. But I’m also chronically impatient, often to my own detriment.
Things take time, which couldn’t be more true for such a big life step. An apartment of our own is finally in arm’s reach and we have never had the luxury of living alone before, so we’re both itching to make it happen. However, that requires waiting to pass my probation period at my new job, registering as a French taxpayer so that the formalities are in order and countless other administrative tasks to get out of the way. The silver lining is the palpable excitement and relief when one of these tasks is ticked off, as it brings us even closer to what we’ve both been envisioning; summer nights on the balcony of our apartment, bottles of beer and cigarettes, hosting friends that hop on a flight down to this quiet paradise, cooking whatever we feel like eating in our own kitchen and living a life that’s just ours, and ours alone.
I guess it’s only natural for me to feel a slight frustration at not having reached the end goal, even though I knew it wouldn’t happen overnight. I’m just having a fleeting moment where I crave that vision more than ever. I’m on my way to something beautiful, but I merely hit a bump in the road this week.
I’d go as far as to say it’s a facet of my overarching anxiety over ageing, with which comes the comparisons against my peers and those I follow on social media, the people who seem to have it all together, are more cultured, more aware, more fashionable, more cool. I tend to forget how good I have it, and now even more so. It’s both healthy and helpful to consciously remind myself that I’m exactly where I should be and where I want to be. I’m married to a good man and we’re making a life together in a country I’ve long adored, and that’s something I’ll always be proud of, regardless of how long it takes to reach the ‘finish line’ and despite the emotional rollercoaster we’re still riding.
As I write this, though, the clouds are breaking – physically and metaphorically. I’m listening to Kacey Musgraves’ ‘Deeper Well’, the duck breast with gratin dauphinoise is being prepared for dinner, and I can feel the aforementioned malaise leaving me. Today in particular has been a productive one, and I cherish that feeling of pride you get when, at the end of the day, you can rest easy with a few less things on your plate. Long may it continue.
Here are a few things I’ve been consuming this week – leave a comment if you’re listening to, reading or watching any of it too, or shout out with some recommendations for me to dive into in time for next week!
🎧: Jessica Pratt, ‘Here in the Pitch’
I was late to the Jessica Pratt party, only finding out about the Los Angeles-based singer-songwriter after Troye Sivan sampled her track, ‘Back Baby’, on his 2023 album, ‘Something to Give Each Other’. I’m glad I finally arrived in time for her fourth studio album – ‘Here in the Pitch’ is typically sparse, yet arguably more dynamic than Pratt’s last records. I’ve been actively looking for more stripped-back production from whatever I listen to recently – perhaps because the outside world is so loud and overstimulating – and Jessica Pratt’s unique approach to folk music hits the spot. I’m a big fan and hope to hear her enchanting voice live one day soon.
🎧: Dua Lipa, ‘Radical Optimism’
There has been a lot of unfair criticism levelled at Dua Lipa after the release of her third studio album, ‘Radical Optimism’. Maybe it’s because I now live in France, or maybe it’s because I’m a radical optimist myself (wink wink), but I’m thoroughly enjoying this foray into a breezy, European-influenced sound. Coming off the back of her massive sophomore album, 2020’s ‘Future Nostalgia’, was never going to be an easy feat, and as is typical with the online stan sphere, emotions are running high with people believing this record doesn’t hit the same peaks as its predecessor. Let ‘Radical Optimism’ wash over you on a warm day – preferably with a cocktail – and I promise you’ll get it.
📺: Selling the OC, Netflix
I cannot in good faith say this is a recommendation – more so a warning. Season three of Selling the OC has unfortunately landed on Netflix, and I have decided to torture myself by watching alongside my husband, who inexplicably lives for reality shows in this vein (his prerogative). I do admittedly enjoy Selling Sunset as it gives us some charming characters, including Chrishell Stause who I would die for despite her faults. OC, however… I summed up my thoughts in a neatly-wrapped-up tweet earlier this week:
Every agent comes across as vacuous, uninterested or just plain nasty, and there aren’t even enough gargantuan houses to soften the blow. It’s a truly bizarre television show, in which the biggest storyline is the gay realtor accusing his straight ‘bro’ colleague of drunkenly flirting with him and asking for a threesome. Just kiss, for fuck’s sake!
📖:
For anyone discovering Substack for the first time,
’ Hung Up is the quintessential newsletter. She has long been one of my favourite people to follow on Twitter, with a deeply funny pen that she marries with sharp insights on pop culture, and I can lose myself in each piece she publishes. Hung Up was the first newsletter I paid to subscribe to, and for good reason – Harris is so fucking good at what she does.I’ll be back next week, ideally with something more positive as I’m in my radical optimism era. Leave a comment if you enjoyed this piece, subscribe if you really enjoyed this piece, and I’ll see you soon. Bonsoir!
