As I work to deepen my self-care practice, I’m thinking beyond scented candles, warm tea, and getaways – all of which I love. I’m also thinking about my friends.
One of the best gifts my mother gave me was going on a getaway. I was a junior or senior in high school when she cut off her nearly waist-length locs, fluffed her fro, and packed her bags. She waved goodbye to me and my father and took off in a plane to South Africa. It was the first time I had seen her go on a trip by herself that wasn’t to visit family or travel for work. I decided to take note.
I’ll admit that the title of this blog post is a little presumptuous. I haven’t figured out the meaning of life. But what these stories, and my own story, are teaching me is that life is for more than busyness and regret.
Since falling down the stairs, hitting my head, getting concussed, and experiencing a panic attack, I’ve found I’ve had to be diligent about rest to heal my brain, body, and spirit. It has been a humbling experience.
Minimalism isn’t just about white walls and sparsely furnished rooms, says Christine Platt of the Afrominimalist. It’s about living with intention. Her new book explores her vibrant take on minimalism and delves into the emotional and cultural reasons behind why we hang to so much stuff.