On retreating and returning with intention.
I’m writing to you sprawled out on my living room floor, a candle flickering softly nearby, a pot of lemon balm tea steeping, THIS playlist flowing, and rain tapping at the windows (a welcome reprieve from the high summer heat). It’s one of those rare, cocooned moments — the kind that invites a pause, a breath, a question: What am I carrying forward into this next season?
The turn of the year has become a sacred rhythm for me. Each December, I step intentionally into a “homecoming” — a suspended time of retreat, not of absence but of deep presence. I let go of the noise, the doing, the endless churn, and instead anchor into the quiet hum of being. I pour my energy into what nourishes me most: my cherished relationships, juicy reads, soul-sustaining rituals, ocean dips and plenty of naps.
This year, that pause unfolded gently, like a gift.
It’s here, in these moments of stillness, that I’ve come to understand creativity differently. Creation is not always about making something new. Often, it’s about noticing what’s already here, waiting patiently for us to give it our attention. It’s about reclaiming presence, over and over again. And sometimes, that reclamation requires retreat. It asks us to wait, to listen, to trust the cycles of life to work their magic.
The time away reminds me of something profound: we are always creating and being created, whether we realise it or not.
Living a life — and creating work — that feels deeply alive is a true north for me. And so, in this unencumbered spaciousness, I sit with questions that reorient me to what feels true:
What virtues will guide me this year, like lighthouses on the path?
What needs to be embedded into my days?
What needs to be composted, cleared away to make room for the longings waiting to germinate?
This year, my grounding virtues feel especially clear:
Nourishing the hearth. Cultivating the warmth of my inner and outer home. This means more books, shared meals, deep conversations, healing work, and tending to the fires of creation and activism.
Stewardship. Fostering a deeper connection to the land and to my body through rituals, attention, and care.
Plentifulness. Flourishing savings, resourcefulness, and a commitment to sufficiency.
Risk and surrender. Opening to new paths, trusting the leaps, and embracing growth.
From here, I’ve asked myself what must be embedded and what must be composted.
Embedding looks like: More books. More writing. More listening. More making and mending. More wonder in the everyday.
Composting looks like: Less screens. Less immediacy. Less convenience. Less chatter. Less scrolling. Less judgment.
Out of this spacious void, something new has emerged — something I can’t wait to share with you.
Next week, I’ll be returning with an intimate, spacious offering: a 12-week journey into creativity as a living mythic process.
Each week will draw from the universal rhythms that echo through us all: the spark of beginnings, the descent into unknowns, the gifts of surrender, and the return home with something more whole, more true.
This isn’t a course, not in the traditional sense. It’s an invitation. A call to reclaim your relationship with your inner artist, imagination, and the sacred — whatever form that takes in your life.
I can’t wait to share more soon. For now, I’ll leave you with this:
What gifts from this season of spaciousness will you carry forward with you?
With love,
Rach x