Learning to Pack Light and Recognize Treasures

I've moved so many times I've lost count. And as I write this, we're planning another move from sunny California to sunny Portugal. There's lots of turmoil connected to a move, but one of the most challenging aspects is getting rid of belongings.

Over the years I've found it easier and easier to get rid of stuff, but real treasures are harder to part with.

Do you really need all that stuff?

The first time we left Los Angeles to relocate to Turkey it was an arduous task to decide what to take and what to leave behind. We'd spent a couple of decades feathering our nest, and so many of our belongings had sentiment attached that warped their value. 

We could only take so much, and spent months emptying cupboards and drawers of clutter. I was quite ruthless, and wrote this poem about our decluttering process. 

2 pans, 2 cups, 2 bowls, 2 plates, God forbid if one of the breaks.

The shelves are bare and drawers are empty. 

We’ve cleared a space, where once there was plenty. 

All that clutter that anchored us down. 

Was donated to others so we can leave town. 

How many shoes does one girl need? 

What’s truly sufficient, and what’s just pure greed? 

When’s enough just enough to keep you afloat. 

When’s more than enough, just a reason to gloat? 

Why do we hoard, and leave clutter untouched, 

When all that we need just isn’t that much. 

We’ve turned the corner, to flee with essentials. 

And the path before us, is paved with potential.  

It was a real struggle to let stuff go. I unearthed possessions I'd completely forgotten about, but as soon as I saw them again I felt that strong tug of ownership - "I can't possibly part with this!" Even though two minutes before it hadn't existed. 

Moments of compassion for inanimate objects were replaced with quasi-ruthlessness, and we managed to pair our lives down to 11 suitcases, a bike, a guitar, and a set of golf clubs.

Arriving in Turkey

Years later when we left Turkey, some of those suitcases still hadn't been unpacked! And now most of these belongings are sitting in a storage facility, waiting patiently for us to claim them. 

I can't honestly remember what's there. It's all stuff that hasn't been missed. 

A Treasure named Snowy

As we prepare to leave for Portugal, I could quite happily leave this apartment with just the clothes on my back, except for one item.. 

My Mum clutching Snowy

Snowy was my Mum's constant companion in her later years. She used to have a couple of West Highland Terriers, and I think there was an element of familiarity about Snowy. Or maybe she was attracted by his softness.

I have plenty of belongings, but it's just stuff. Whereas Snowy is intrinsically linked to memories. He's a tactile reminder of special moments.   

I've never been a cuddly-toy lover. But for Snowy I'm making an exception. He brought so much comfort to my Mum, and I'm hoping he'll continue to work his magic with me.

About Jay Artale

Jay Artale abandoned her corporate career to become a digital nomad and full-time writer. She’s an avid blogger, podcaster, and nonfiction author helping travel writers and travel bloggers achieve their self-publishing goals. She shares tips, advice, and inspiration to writers with an independent spirit at her website Birds of a Feather Press, and documents her travels and artistic endeavours at her blog Roving Jay. Follow her on Instagram or Facebook or Twitter.

Jay is the author of A Turbulent Mind: A Poetry Collection of a Mother's Journey with Alzheimer's.

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Will we get back to normal in 2022?

2021 was a turbulent year for many, and I'm personally hoping for a much more even-keel 2022.

Unable to Write

I've been writing obsessively since childhood. It's my passion. But I was taken by surprise by how my emotions so vehemently affected my output last year. I'm usually juggling multiple book projects and felt a day without writing was a day wasted. 

I just didn't feel in the mood to write. 

I tried, believe me. But my creativity had other ideas. My brain wouldn't let me grasp onto a thought long enough to turn it into a sentence, let alone a paragraph. It wasn't for a lack of ideas. I have more than a few partially-finished books that just need a few more chapters written to get them ready for the editing. I just couldn't summon enthusiasm to tackle any of them.

2021 was an emotional roller coaster ride of a year. Grief encased my brain like a vice and the only respite was when I opened my sketchbook. I was able to lose myself in the simplicity of an inked line, and wallow in the myriad of watercolours swimming in my palette.

So I put my computer aside and embraced the comfort of my art materials. Sometimes you just have to stop fighting against the tide and go with the flow.

Tonkin's Model of Grief

I've seen it mentioned multiple times online, that grief doesn't shrink (click to view a wonderful depiction of this), your life just grows around it. And less than half a year after my loss, I think this concept, originally defined by Tonkin, is the most palatable.

So as my life continues to expand around my grief, I'm hoping there's room enough in it to return to writing.

About Jay Artale

Jay Artale abandoned her corporate career to become a digital nomad and full-time writer. She’s an avid blogger, podcaster, and nonfiction author helping travel writers and travel bloggers achieve their self-publishing goals. She shares tips, advice, and inspiration to writers with an independent spirit at her website Birds of a Feather Press, and documents her travels and artistic endeavours at her blog Roving Jay. Follow her on Instagram or Facebook or Twitter.

Jay is the author of A Turbulent Mind: A Poetry Collection of a Mother's Journey with Alzheimer's.

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What do you hold sacred?

I'm somebody who has lived a transitory existence, moving locations, changing jobs, and always on the look out for a new adventure. I don't place too high a regard on stability or the acquisition of possessions. So this month as I pondered what I held sacred I realised it boiled down to karma. 

But what does karma mean to me?

Cause and Effect

When most people talk about karma, they’re usually referring to the concept of cause and effect. And the belief that whatever thoughts, energy or actions you give out—is what you attract. In religious terms that can be coined as you reap what you sow. 

I can still hear my mother's voice prompting "treat others like you want to be treated". I was disappointed when some people I encountered didn't have the same set of values—but have always tried to follow my mother's example.

Take Action

Another key concept of karma is that you're not a passenger in your own life. You're the driver. 

If you want to make things happen in your life, you have to take action. You can't just sit around waiting for your dreams to magically appear. 

My mother always told me that I could be anything I wanted in life, I just had to want it bad enough, and work hard enough to achieve it. 

Despite not having the opportunity of going to college, I eventually landed a lucrative job, with a corner office and generous expense account. I worked on international projects that relocated me to London, Sao Paulo, and Stockholm. 

I got promoted countless times, and lost count of the number of times I sat behind my large corporate desk, pinching myself, and wondering how long it would be until I was discovered as a fraud. In actuality, I got there because of long hours, a passion for what I was working on, and compassion for my team mates.

One day I realised that the life I was living, was not the one I wanted. Instead of bemoaning the fact that I was unhappy with the life I was living, I took action. 

I abandoned my corporate job; became a freelance writer; and moved to Turkey.

Own Your Happiness

Karma is a belief that we own what happens in our lives. We are the product of the actions we take and the decisions we make. It's easy to blame others and outside forces for the situations we find ourselves in. But that's abdicating responsibility for your own happiness. You have the choice of accepting your current situation with gratitude, or changing your circumstances. 

My glass is always half-full. I take responsibility for my actions and believe we have one life to live. So have to make the most of it. 

Karma is sacred and at the core of my belief system. I value it enough to let it accompany me along the path I'm heading down. What's surprising is that it's taken me until now to realise it!

About Jay Artale

Jay Artale abandoned her corporate career to become a digital nomad and full-time writer. She’s an avid blogger, podcaster, and nonfiction author helping travel writers and travel bloggers achieve their self-publishing goals. She shares tips, advice, and inspiration to writers with an independent spirit at her website Birds of a Feather Press, and documents her travels and artistic endeavours at her blog Roving Jay. Follow her on Instagram or Facebook or Twitter.

Jay is the author of A Turbulent Mind: A Poetry Collection of a Mother's Journey with Alzheimer's.

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 “Karma is a philosophy of how to live our lives so we can truly become the best version of ourselves and live the most fulfilling life we desire,” she says. 

Abundance at Harvest Festival Time

When I was a kid we spent many of our school holidays on a farm in rural Lincolnshine (UK). After a busy summer helping my grandparents harvest the crops, I couldn't wait for the next school holiday so I could return for The Harvest Festival. This important annual festival is tied to the seasons, and dates back to the pagan times in Britain.

Once the last of the crops has been harvested, farming communities give thanks for the bounty of crops and food from the land, and attend a harvest festival at the local church to celebrate a successful growing season. 

It's typically celebrated on the Sunday nearest the harvest moon, and occurs close to the autumn equinox at the end of September or beginning of October. It's the closest festival to the US Thanksgiving, but has many of the same elements.

Traditionally the last sheath of the harvest was used to make a symbolic corn dolly that was created to ensure the continuation of the good crop the following year. The Saxons (5th to the 11th centuries) believed that this last sheath contained the Corn Spirit, and they would harvest around it until it was the last one standing, and it would be dried and woven into a dolly.

Different rural areas around the country would weave different symbols out of the corn, and this tradition continues to this day. 

Corn Dolly Ear-rings

I still have the pair of corn dolly ear-rings I received as a teenager from my grandmother. I don't think I've ever worn them, but I love the idea of traditional crafts commemorating beliefs from earlier generations, and the magical idea that one of mother nature's spirits was trapped inside.

We Plough the Fields

One hymn that is always sung around Harvest Time is We Plough the Fields and Scatter. It brings back such wonderful childhood memories of this time of year, and reminds me of my Mum. I used it as a basis for one of my poems that honours her battle with Alzheimer's during the time she was losing her ability to speak.

We plough the fields as wordsmiths scatter letters on the land.

You hope to grow a sentence up that isn’t weak or bland.

Watering your Ps and Qs coaxing them to sprout.

Grow gentle words to whisper or raise your voice to shout.

The barren earth dry in the sun a runway for the birds.

They peck at all the seedlings that never will be heard.

If they fly away up high and soar upon their wing,

We’ll never hear the song they stole or words you failed to sing.

About Jay Artale

Jay Artale abandoned her corporate career to become a digital nomad and full-time writer. She’s an avid blogger, podcaster, and nonfiction author helping travel writers and travel bloggers achieve their self-publishing goals. She shares tips, advice, and inspiration to writers with an independent spirit at her website Birds of a Feather Press, and documents her travels and artistic endeavours at her blog Roving Jay. Follow her on Instagram or Facebook or Twitter.

Jay is the author of A Turbulent Mind: A Poetry Collection of a Mother's Journey with Alzheimer's.

Freedom to Grieve

Freedom is a word that resonates deeply with me, and I'd planned to write a very different post this month. 

I'm a digital nomad, which means I travel and work from wherever I lay my hat. I love that freedom to roam. Freedom to change my surrounding. Freedom to explore. Freedom to embrace new experiences.

Freedom represents joy. It's my happy place... but ... with the recent death of my Mum, freedom has taken on a new slant. Instead of looking outwards, at what traveling can add to my life, I'm looking inwards at what is missing from it.

Grief is Personal

Everyone grieves differently. That's what friends, family, and the experts say. There's no one-size fits all. There's no normal way to grieve.

There's no timetable for grief. I've got my ticket for the grief train—but I don't know how long this journey will last.

How Long Does Grief Last?

My grief is still fresh, but unfortunately it doesn't have an Best Before date. 

Wouldn't it be great if grief expired? Then you could just throw it away when it started to smell bad or grow whiskers!

Grief Milestones

It was my birthday this month. The first milestone I experienced in a year of firsts. 

When I'm asked my age, I usually have to calculate the years to figure it out. It's an unimportant number I don't have to hand. But this year was special. It was the first birthday without a mum. The tight grip I'd had on my emotions disintegrated. I slipped into a black hole of grief that knew no bounds.

To be honest, it's been a few years since my Mum was aware enough to celebrate my birthday, and more recently, her dementia caused her to forgot she even had a daughter. But rather than lament the loss of this annual tradition, I used my birthday as an opportunity to create a new tradition. I'd give her a birthday card and present, and thank her for being my Mum. After all, she's the one who did all the hard work back then. She deserved a special celebration. 

This year, she wasn't there to thank, and it was the beginning of a new solo tradition. This caused such a huge tidal wave of grief, I thought I was going to drown.

Will I ever be able to ride that big wave of grief?

Now all I can think about are the future milestones lying in wait to ambush me. I hope they're easier to manage than this first one.

The Birth of Sylvie Sunshine

Part of how I'm managing my grief is through creative exploits. I've been obsessed with watercolour, and on the days when I feel motivated enough to get off the sofa and open the curtains, all I want to do is sit at my art table to sketch and paint.

One morning at 3am I started doodling. I have no idea why, or where it came from. It was a mindless activity. I was in the zone. I didn't know where my ideas were heading, or why I was doodling. But by the end of my sketching session I'd created a character.

Sylvie Sunshine is born

Over the next few days I kept reviewing this sketchbook page. I was strangely drawn to her. I had no idea why I'd given her a Christmas Pudding tummy and dressed her in a bikini—but I just felt she was here to help me.

By the end of the week, I'd developed my doodles into a comic strip idea called "Life's a Beach (until it's a Bitch)", and dubbed my character Sylvie Sunshine. Suddenly the bikini made sense, and she became part of the family. She was here to navigate me out of that black hole, and lead be back into the sunshine.

I'm fine in here!

I have a close affinity to Sylvie Sunshine. My Mum's name was Sylvia and she used to call me her little Sunshine. So those two halves have culminated into a new whole. I also like the play on words and it's similarity to that well-known term Susie Sunshine. Plus the irony that Sylvie is anything but a little ray of sunshine.

I've sketched many scenarios based on my first-hand experience with grief, and some of them have that interesting dynamic of being funny and sad at the same time. 

I've learnt that joy and sadness can co-exist, and Sylvie is here to help rebalance the ratio between both ends of that spectrum.

One Day at a Time

You can follow Sylvie Sunshine on Instagram.

About Jay Artale

Jay Artale abandoned her corporate career to become a digital nomad and full-time writer. She’s an avid blogger, podcaster, and nonfiction author helping travel writers and travel bloggers achieve their self-publishing goals. She shares tips, advice, and inspiration to writers with an independent spirit at her website Birds of a Feather Press, and documents her travels and artistic endeavours at her blog Roving Jay. Follow her on Instagram or Facebook or Twitter.

Jay is the author of A Turbulent Mind: A Poetry Collection of a Mother's Journey with Alzheimer's.

Thriving on Change

As an air force brat, change was constant and continuous. We moved around every few years, and I got to experience a change of scenery from my bedroom window, and a revolving door of schools and friends. The one constant in my life (besides my parents) was my older brother.

Me and my Brother

We didn't know what it was like to be settled, and if we stayed in one place for too long, we became unsettled by being so settled. 

I had the fear of missing out, before FOMO was even a thing.

I abhorred the mundane. I wanted excitement. I wanted new. I wanted that feeling of trepidation you get from venturing into the unknown.

As I approached adulthood, I could have embraced security. Put down roots. Wallowed in familiarity. 

Instead, I chose the alternative.

Quotes to Live By

I've been carrying a laminated quote card around with me for over forty years... when I read it, I thought that Germaine Greer was looking into my soul.

Security is when everything is settled, when nothing can happen to you; security is the denial of life. Germaine Greer 

I've never read anything else by her—but those 18 words have been powerful enough to propel me towards the life I knew I wanted. She made it ok for me to embrace who I wanted to be. 

I've carried that quote card through the multitude of changes in my life. I've relocated to different countries, started new jobs, and I've lost count of the number of apartments and houses I've called home. 

Sometimes I forget about this quote, but then I'll find it tucked into the inside pocket of my passport holder, and it brings a wry smile to my face. It's a reminder that my transitory lifestyle fits me like a glove and I wouldn't have it any other way.

On The Move ... Again

Covid temporarily put a halt to our travel plans, but armed with a vaccine and facemark, I'm ready to embrace more change. Earlier this year we sold our house in Turkey, relocated to Los Angeles, and now we're in the process of applying for Portuguese residency. 

New life—here I come.

What inspirational quotes do you live by?

About Jay Artale

Jay Artale abandoned her corporate career to become a digital nomad and full-time writer. She’s an avid blogger, podcaster, and nonfiction author helping travel writers and travel bloggers achieve their self-publishing goals. She shares tips, advice, and inspiration to writers with an independent spirit at her website Birds of a Feather Press, and documents her travels and artistic endeavours at her blog Roving Jay. Follow her on Instagram or Facebook or Twitter.

Jay is the author of A Turbulent Mind: A Poetry Collection of a Mother's Journey with Alzheimer's.

Thankful for the Covid Pandemic

The pandemic had devastating worldwide implications. But I will forever be thankful that because of Covid-19, I was able to create memories in what turned out to be the last year of my mother's life.

If Covid hadn't escalated I wouldn't have got marooned in Britain and spent five quality months living with my Mum. Alzheimer's is known as the long goodbye. You lose the person you love, one piece at a time. Each stage feels like the worst you'll experience, but it's just one more step along a deteriorating road.

The carers said she knew who I was. They were just being kind. There was no flicker of recognition when I walked into the room. She'd forgotten she had a daughter, but she let me cuddle and kiss her—and that was enough.

She had an eye for a younger man, and took a special interest in my husband. She'd slip her hand into his and trot by his side. Her eyes sparkled and the corner of her lips twitched upwards. She was the cat who got the cream. It was a heart-warming to see her experience a moment of joy. 

There were many of these small moments during the height of the pandemic. Simple, but memorable. Etched in my mind. 

Sketch I drew of my Mum and brother for the Order of Service

When she passed, my brother and I were sitting at her bedside. We knew it was going to be the day. Her breathing pattern changed multiple times. We took it in turns to play songs from our past. Shared childhood memories. Waiting for the inevitable. My Mum took a sharp intake of breath and grimaced. Then just incase we'd missed it, she did it again. Then she was gone. 

I hugged her. She was still warm and the back of her neck radiated heat. For a brief moment I could imagine I was tucking her in and sharing a goodnight kiss. But this was a forever sleep. I caressed her mottled hand and said my goodbyes.

A Mother Remembered

I wrote a poem for the order of service, told from my mother's perspective:

I lived my life, full speed ahead.

Got up early—escaped my bed.

My days were full, of things I loved.

I weeded hard, with both hands gloved.

My cottage garden in full bloom

A piece of art to tend and groom.

I strode across the countryside.

A pair of Westies as my guide.

I loved the freedom. Loved to roam.

The green landscape would lead me home.

I had so many things to do. 

I’d juggle them the whole day through.

My coffee cakes and Bakewell tarts.

A hit in Mary Berry’s charts.

I’d knit and crochet, do some crafts.

Share’with my kids, through photographs.

I couldn’t bear to sit and waste,

Remaining time, so I would chase.

The hours to fill my day ahead

To dodge the thief within my head.

About Jay Artale

Jay Artale abandoned her corporate career to become a digital nomad and full-time writer. She’s an avid blogger, podcaster, and nonfiction author helping travel writers and travel bloggers achieve their self-publishing goals. She shares tips, advice, and inspiration to writers with an independent spirit at her website Birds of a Feather Press, and documents her travels and artistic endeavours at her blog Roving Jay. Follow her on Instagram or Facebook or Twitter.

Jay is the author of A Turbulent Mind: A Poetry Collection of a Mother's Journey with Alzheimer's.

If You Love Something Set it Free

Now my close friends with grown daughters are bidding them farewell, I'm realising what we put our mothers through in our rush to leave home and explore the world.

I was brought up with a "can-do, don't-complain" attitude. I was told I could be whatever I wanted to be. It was this belief their prompted me to leave home at seventeen to start working full-time. I only looked back long enough to see the tears running down my mother's cheeks as my train pulled out of the station. I was too excited by the unknown to cry, but I did feel selfish for leaving her behind. 

Her life had revolved around me and my brother for so long, I couldn't imagine what she'd do with her time now that she was an empty-nester. I had the rest of my life ahead of me—her life was over! (wry smile)

Mum around the time I left home

 

Of course, both of our lives changed at that point.

The norm in the rural town I spent my teen years was to marry a local boy and move a few streets away from your parents. You were born, lived, and died in the same community, and while there's nothing wrong with this cycle, it wasn't a ride I wanted to take. I wanted more. I didn't know what, but I knew it couldn't be found where I lived. It was time to leave.

Although my departure made me feel like a grown up, I realised many years later that it was just the start of my apprenticeship into adulthood. An apprenticeship that continues to this day. For my mother though, it was just the continuation of a lifetime of worry. No matter how old I got, I'd always be her little girl.

I’ll always be your little girl.

But now amid this foggy day.

Our past floats by on beads of loss.

And our shared memories drift away.

Excerpt from: A Turbulent Mind

Over the years I moved around continuously. A familiar pattern started during a childhood hopscotching around different Air Force bases. Moving and starting again didn't bother me. But the further I moved away from my mother, the more guilty and selfish I felt. It didn't stop me, but it did hang around my neck like a millstone. I travelled back to visit as often as I could, but I always left.

In my late-twenties I went on holiday to the States for a month. But ended up cancelling my return ticket and settling in New York. 

Jay in NYC 1989

The call to my mother letting her know I wasn't coming back from holiday was really difficult. I didn't handle it well. I went out and got drunk on Absolut and Cranberry, and waited until I knew she would be out at work. When she got home, she was greeted with a slurred answerphone message telling her I was never coming home. My hangover the next morning paled in comparison to the guilt and shame I felt for the cowardly way I'd shared my news about my move.

It took me a couple of weeks to summon the courage to call her and apologise. My stomach was in knots. I dialled her number. I told her how guilty I felt for leaving her that message, and how guilty I felt about my impromptu decision to move to America. 

I braced for a telling off, or at the very least, a guilt trip—instead, she knocked the wind out of my sails. "It reflects well on me that you have the confidence to do something that most people would be too scared to do" she said. "I'm so proud of you," Now it was my time to cry.

I'll never forget that conversation, and the support and selfless love my mother showed me during that call. Over the years it had helped me to manage the guilt of being away from her for long periods of time. Her words became the beacon that spurred me onto bigger and bigger adventures. She is now at the stage of her dementia that she longer knows that I'm her daughter. But my relationship with my Mum will always be my most precious relationship.

About Jay Artale

Jay Artale abandoned her corporate career to become a digital nomad and full-time writer. She’s an avid blogger, podcaster, and nonfiction author helping travel writers and travel bloggers achieve their self-publishing goals. She shares tips, advice, and inspiration to writers with an independent spirit at her website Birds of a Feather Press, and documents her travels and artistic endeavours at her blog Roving Jay. Follow her on Instagram or Facebook or Twitter.

Jay is the author of A Turbulent Mind: A Poetry Collection of a Mother's Journey with Alzheimer's.