Romanticising life; silly little scented candles and rioting.
Finding myself in my 30's, unlearning and unbecoming.
I love that you’re making cleaning the house more bearable by listening to a good podcast and that you’re eating dinner by candle light on a week night and that you’re indulging in expensive bubble bath on a more than weekly basis. And I really sincerely mean it when I say that if that brings you joy then I love that for you.
There was once a time when I would romanticise the hell out of my week nights. I would do little things for myself like arranging my pyjamas on the radiator so they were warm when I put them on. I’d clean my space and grab a cosy blanket and light candles and put ambient music on whilst I read. I would live by the mantra ‘my future self will thank me for that’ as I put a load of washing on before work. These little things and mantras and promises of something good to come really kept me going, but as I near my mid thirties it’s kind of wearing off and here’s why.
Romanticising life has become so embedded in my day to day that it just feels normal. It’s normal for me to treat myself to a bunch of flowers, buy myself a little treat or light a candle in the evenings. And I know that comes from a place of privilege, although I am in no way a big spender (I buy my flowers in Aldi) I also know that I am fortunate to be in a position where I can have even those small treats.
Romanticising life is so much easier when you’re younger and figuring things out. Partly because, and I am talking very generally here, you have less expendable income and live in some of the worst places you’ll ever live in so those small things like treating yourself to steak for dinner or buying a leather bound notebook feel particularly luxurious.
Once you pass those glorious years of trying on different personalities and aesthetics and partners and friends and you finally figure out what truly brings you joy the little things just don’t matter. I don’t care about flowers and scented candles and steak and notebooks. I care about spending time with my children, making time for writing and being in nature as much as possible.
I’ve had a taste of what I want and now the small things pale in significance. I want to live surrounded by mountains and lakes and go for sunset swims and spend my days reading weird girl books and writing poetry and tending to my garden. No amount of romanticising life will dull the ache in my heart for those things.
Finally, it feels like putting a band-aid on a broken leg. There are racists rioting up the road and women are fighting for abortion rights, and domestic violence rates are rocketing and children are being killed in wars and I’m just here with my silly little scented candle in my cosy house with my silly tkmaxx cushions that I treated myself to.
And with all of that said I do not blame anyone for romanticising their lives, for trying to find pockets of joy in a world that’s falling apart, I mean I even subscribe to a Substack that centre’s around just that. So until I get my house in the mountains by a lake I will carry on buying my silly little scented candles because I am nothing if I am not just a girl.
Everyday romance 🩷 I love your energy, I can feel it in your writing ☺️
Laura I loved this ❤️ I need to begin romanising moments more. I’m also very sad with what is happening in our country at the minute but I think it’s important like you said to have those moments that bring us joy and contentment in amongst very sad times ❤️❤️