i’m not going anywhere.
figuratively, literally.
At the beginning of the year, my car exploded. Not the cinematic flames-in-the-rearview-mirror kind, more of a slow-motion mechanical meltdown that ended with me handing over £8,000 i didn’t have, for a replacement i didn’t trust.
i wrote a list back then. Folks seemed to like it. Maybe because it was deeply relatable, or maybe because it made my misfortune feel lightly curated. Eventually, the car was replaced and life carried on. i skipped forward pretending everything was fine.
Everything is fine (except when it isn’t).
Less than two months later, i quit my job.
Corporate job. Steady salary. Low-level existential rot. i walked away with the calm certainty of a woman who had seen the inside of too many spreadsheets and knew she would rather risk financial precariousness than attend one more quick sync. i was royally burned out but also weirdly hopeful. i felt strongly that the next chapter in my story would unfold with grace and all the things that lit me up.**
Instead, my new (to me) car has just developed what can only be described as a nervous system disorder 🙄
The windscreen wipers suddenly refuse to turn off. i am now haunted by the soft squeak of rubber blades swooshing across glass, reminding me i’m not in charge. Trust me, screen wash has swiftly become my lubricating friend.
i’m getting it fixed, obviously. Not because i want to, but because modern life insists on getting around and i’m not quite ready to become a full-time hermit. Almost, but not quite.
Still, i’m continuing to embrace this new economic era i like to call intentional financial stillness. Not because i’m broke, but because i’m tired (of capitalism tbh). And because i’d like, for once, to choose when and how money leaves my bank account.
Financial abstinence (but make it sexy).
Things i’d buy if i had an unproblematic car, or just felt fancy:
an outfit that says “i have my shit together” not “i just rolled out of bed and into my day.”
a bone china lamp that clips onto my bed, glows softly, and makes me think i’m the kind of person who irons linen napkins on Sundays.*
windscreen wipers that respond to environmental cues not existential crises.
speedcats, for walking fast nowhere in particular but looking like i date someone who drives a manual.
a coffee cup i can carry around like an accessory, then drink from dramatically.
a bottle of anti-ageing skin serum with no discernible effect but an exquisite pipette (i need recs on this one, help a girl out and drop your swear-by-it skincare discoveries in the comments?).
an oversized sweater that feels like a hug on the crappiest of days.
a standing desk to feel like i’m both working and pretending to care about my health.
a weekend with poor signal and a cute beardy boy. Possibly here, or here.
socks, nice ones, the kind that say, “things are under control.”
a therapist who takes me seriously but also laughs at my jokes.
People often talk about stillness as if it’s some kind of achievement, some kind of badge of honour. Mine is less whimsical, more practical. The kind of deliberate pause where buying nothing becomes a quiet act of rebellion.
i’m learning to live somewhere between doing nothing and figuring out what’s next. The wish list is back but i’m not stressing over it. It just bubbles away in the background, like a soft melodic hum behind the relentless squeak of windscreen wipers that refuse to turn off for no good reason.
If you hear them in the distance, that’s just me, still figuring it all out.
Love,
Lyss. x
p.s. pretty sure Kasper’s Land Rover would never treat me this way.
*confession: i often iron linen, though not always on Sundays 🤭
**i also still believe this.
"knew she would rather risk financial precariousness than attend one more quick sync." - THIS!
Sadly I must continue to toil in my spreadsheets. Though actually.. it's not the spreadsheets that bother me so much as the quick syncing and circling back.