The Third Shoebox. Where The Good Stuff Lives.
It’s been peaceful around here recently.
In a bid to figure out what’s next, I gave myself the gift of August.
After a tumultuous time where whatever could go wrong, frankly did go wrong, the idea was to press pause on my life in that hope that the space would allow me to figure out a few things.
I needed to stop thinking and over-thinking.
I needed a break from fretting about who I am.
I needed to remember who I was when I was at my best.
I needed to work out where I was going.
Putting the brakes on was the only way I could do that.
It wasn’t easy because I’m so used to being busy. I set goals. I schedule. My brain is wired to plan, enact and achieve. And while those are the traits that often lead to success, they can also lead to your downfall.
They led to mine.
There’s a complexity of reasons as to why I was being so hard on myself; some out of my control and some most definitely of my own making.
My career, something that I had always been incredibly proud of, has seemingly shape-shifted. The financial fallout has been devastating. Many journalists, copywriters and creatives of my age have suffered the same fate.
And it’s baffling because I can’t express to you how sure I was of my younger self and my abilities. I’m now inordinately good at something nobody really needs any more. That was my July thinking, anyway.
As my perceived lack of achievements consumed me, my sense of self diminished along with the opportunities being offered. Or so it seemed.
I could think of nothing else except “Why am I getting it so wrong? What am I missing?”
Was it that I wasn’t evolving fast enough (down to me), or maybe I’m just too old (not down to me).
Is it the downturn in the global economy, post-Covid (not down to me), the speed at which technology is changing (not me again), or my lack of awareness about the ways I could have moved faster to repurpose my hard-won skills (very much down to me)?
Additionally, I also had to own that a significant chunk of disappointment centred around the lack of at least one child and a life partner. These were always vivid desires from a young age that have never materialised in real life.
I know someone will tell me (as they always do if I bring up this subject), that it’s better to be alone than with the wrong person, and yes, of course it is but there’s been a lot of alone. It’s okay for me to admit that I would have liked the other stuff too.
With too much time on my hands, I started to feel that I was less deserving than others. Less attractive and less of a woman. I’d wake up and my internal monologue would be nothing short of hate speech directed towards myself.
This hurts to write so you can imagine what it felt like to live with as a 24/7 loop of internal dialogue. But I kept moving forward as best I could.
There’s bravery in resilience but also it’s exhausting, especially when dealing with major life issues. However, I knew deep down that if I carried on doing things in the same way nothing would change.
But here’s the kicker; when you’re feeling depleted and terrified about the future, your inner warrior tends to goes awol. One day, your cape ends up in the wash and you can never find it again.
You go straight to fail.
In my mind, I was failing so hard I needed to punish myself (down to me). If you asked me a few months ago what I saw for my future, I’d hit the mute button. I honestly, couldn’t have told you. I just saw, heard and felt a giant slab of nothing.
Where was my beautiful, love-filled, creative, spectacular future? Where was my cosy home that was almost paid for after 40 years of toil? Where was the loving, supportive partner? The kids? The yoga bod, the gleaming smile and the TED Talk they begged me to give thanks to a career that was now hitting its zenith after decades of effort?
Too much?
Well, I come from a generation who were told we could have it all (snort/laughs), so no, not too much. This was always the endgame.
But…here I was, washed up, adrift, pretty much skint and finding it hard to get up in the morning. Because why the fuck bother when it’s all gone to shit, right?
I was desperate to get back to my old self but what I didn’t realise was that I was trying to get back to a past version of me, one that was long expired.
It was a huge disservice to the woman I have become.
But it’s all so much easier to write here in this moment as opposed to when I was at the start of the process. Then it was still impenetrable life algebra.
None of the above is healthy but all I can say is if you’ve been lucky enough to skate through life with all the pieces falling into place, then good for you. I hope you appreciate what you have and have savoured every minute. But when you’re in that dark place, there is no rational thought, or room for forgiveness.
And this is a horrible place to be especially when you know you have to change because often it’s the last thing you’re capable of. A complete life audit is not for the faint-hearted, fearful or weary.
Then something happened that wasn’t of my own doing. A friend threw me a lifeline, although at the time I didn’t know it.
A friend of hers was studying something called Solution Focused Clinical Hypnotherapy. She was looking for clients while she did her training and had a few more hours to fill.
Did I want to give it a go?
No, I didn’t. It sounded whack.
I put up a wall before I even thought it through because that’s what you do when you’re so shut down.
And also, why would anyone want to bother with me. Washed up, right?
But I was encouraged to at least speak to her and out of respect for my friend, I did. Something clicked in that first conversation and I said I’d give it a go (once I realised I wasn’t actually going to be hypnotised).
This was the start of me realising that my life was not a nothing that was over and done with but, was in fact, potentially fuller than ever and one that had every possibility to be a new thing.
That I could age well and be of use, light up a room with laughter and love, and still have the energy to roast a chicken. There’s an interesting mid-life movement happening right now and it can’t come soon enough. My generation - who are now realising that you can have it all is a giant bowl of BS - is now feeling utterly chagrined at being told we’re too old. We’re not ready to be written off and rightly so.
But I didn’t know that yet. July thinking.
So the weekly calls become a regular thing, and the work we’ve been doing is mostly about taking my negative thinking and replacing it with positives. Yes, we acknowledge the shitty stuff but we do not dwell.
This is by no means a professional definition of this type of therapy but boy, did I need to change the narrative.
It was painful in the beginning but we persisted. Well, she persisted with me and I’m so very thankful for that.
Somewhere around the beginning of July, after an exceptionally difficult episode with a family member, I doubled down on the process.
After the incident, as it shall be known, my hair fell out, my eyes took on a haunted glaze and my nervous system was shot to pieces. Coupled with the weight of trying to earn a living, things were going south and I realised I needed to take action fast.
Or rather, inaction.
I made the decision to step outside of my usual thought patterns, routines and expectations.
I needed to gift myself some peace and just be.
And that’s what I did in August.
Instead of pushing, I acquiesced.
I simply…stopped.
I gave in to whatever my body, soul, spirit and mind wanted.
One consistent element was the Happiness Log I’ve been keeping since the end of April, as a result of the therapy sessions.
This tiny palm-sized, spiral notebook is where I write down the small daily details that have given me joy.
These moments range from enjoying a cup of coffee in the garden to newly washed hair, the pattern of the sunlight on the walls, a dinner cooked from scratch, or a ‘conversation’ with Michael, the squirrel who lives in my garden, and who begs at the back door for nuts (100% down to me).
Reading the log makes for a peaceful moment and it’s interesting to see, in retrospect, how often we overlook the things that bring a smile to our faces.
I have entries that say things like “Good parking space. Pole position!”, “Took a photo of my shadow doing a v-sign”, “Found a copy of 1984 in the charity shop”, “Ate an Orange Twirl”, “Listened to records” and “Tidied desk at last”.
Nothing you’d splash across a front page but stuff I noted as bona fide flashes of joy and achievement. These small moments add up, like a piggy bank for the soul.
I love the longer days and warmer weather (realisation: I need to live somewhere hot), so I made the most of our watery UK summer by heading to the beach and swimming in the sea as often as I could.
I’d bob around in the water like a freestylin’ apple in a barrel, letting my mind rest, feeling the water envelop my body as I listened to the sounds of the gulls and the other swimmers chatting as they made for the blue barrel (the marker that stops the boats coming too close to shore).
Afterwards, I’d sit on the sea wall with my coffee in a flask, sometimes wrapped in my non-branded dry robe, other times just in my swimsuit depending on the temperature, watching the swimmers and paddle-boarders. Just sitting. Just being. Enjoying the fresh, salty air, the blue of the skies and warmth of the sun.
I’d fancy a croissant and instead of thinking “It’s far too many calories, I’ll just have a yoghurt”, I’d eat two and savour both.
I’d feel like a glass of wine in the evening and instead of saying to myself “I can’t possibly justify opening a bottle just for me.” I’d open the damn bottle.
Somedays, I wouldn’t get dressed, other days I would pull the best outfits out of my wardrobe, do my hair and make-up and strut around all day like I was Miranda from The Devil Wears Prada (or rather, The Devil Wears Primark). One day I wore my Kurt Geiger boots with a pair of pyjamas and really freaked out the cat.
I’d walk and listen to podcasts. Endless podcasts. Someone give me some new recommendations! Sometimes I’d keep walking just to binge whatever it was I was listening to. Other days, I took less than 100 steps.
I sat in the garden one night and worked out which three current female pop stars would headline at my imaginary music festival; I ended up with a bill that had Miley Cyrus headlining, with Chappell Roan and Meghan Trainor as support acts. Maybe at some point Stevie Nicks would duet with Miley? My festival was going to be called ‘Riot Grills’ because there’d be food trucks serving barbecue. Genius!
I played around with ideas for a novel but ended up putting it to one side as it was too serious. And I didn’t need serious.
Early one Sunday morning, my car wouldn’t start so I walked three miles just for a bag of fresh bagels from the bakery.
One day I watched Star Wars: A New Hope and enjoyed it so much I also watched The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi, too. Just because I could.
I’d wake up and feel sleepy but instead of jumping out of bed because “I need to be at my desk before 9am”, I’d roll over and go back to sleep.
If I had to, I’d work later into the evening.
I pulled out my long-retired laptops and curly-edged notebooks from days of yore, and spent time going through them. I needed to be reminded of my achievements and how far I had actually come.
I felt proud of the woman in the photos who lived in London, and Los Angeles for a few years, and made her mark on the world.
She looked like she was having a great time. I know that I have a lot of friends and here they all were in photos, with me, over the years, smiling and having fun. Thank you to all of you. My lifelines.
I unearthed my old call sheets, story briefs from commissioning editors, lists of questions for all the celebrities I’d interviewed over the years, and the pdf’s of the interviews I did. Hey, that girl can write!
I read my old film scripts almost in awe at the work and dedication that went into crafting them. I found old deal memos, contracts and emails from agents, managers and producers, which reminded me just how close I got.
I laughed at my old prose and angst-ridden teenage poetry, and that in turn made me realise how improved I am as a writer. I’ve studied the craft over the years and I have got so much better. In fact, I couldn’t believe I’d written half of it.
Both the photos and the words were a comfort. It’s amazing how much of your life you forget.
I went further and dug out actual physical photos from decades ago and gave myself a short internal bollocking for not thinking I was attractive in my twenties and thirties. (Honestly, we really have to do something about all that nonsense).
I realised that I fucking rocked for even daring to dream.
One warm afternoon, as I lounged on the sofa, I glanced over at the dusty stack of vinyl sitting in the corner of the living room.
Something told me that I needed to take a more forensic look at this forgotten pile of old memories. I found my tinny record player and spent a wonderful few hours playing old records, trying to remember where they came from and why I bought them in the first place.
A Top of the Pops album from 1974 was the first grown up record I owned and is the reason I know all the words to Billy, Don’t Be A Hero. Duran Duran’s Planet Earth reminded me of a concert at Wembley, where I virtually lost a lung screaming every time John Taylor breathed either in, or out. Fantastic, by Wham!, made me sad that I never got to interview George Michael (his schedule changed the day before I was due to meet him).
I played my old comedy records from legends including Marty Feldman, Mel Brooks, Sid Ceasar, Not The Nine O Clock News, Tony Hancock, Peter Sellers, and I laughed my little socks off.
I hadn’t done that in years. Years.
Laughter is in my bones but I think it had become fossilised or something because why I had not done this in such a long time?
Why had I cut myself off from the an element of me that was so important? And this is odd because 18 months ago I joined an local improv group and in March of this year, performed my first stand up set in 17 years. It went well but I don’t think I believed I could do it even as I was doing it.
And I’m tearful recalling this particular day in August because it was key. It more than anything demonstrated that my essence hadn’t been erased.
In my mind, I’d voided myself somehow. I’d been so anxious and stressed for so long I’d forgotten about all the joyous things that warmed my soul.
I thought my core had disappeared. In those few hours, hunched over a cheap record player, I realised that it hadn’t. It was still there. I’d just been ignoring it for a long, long time because I was sad that I didn’t have all the things I thought I would have by now.
And as I allowed myself the space to take this trip down memory lane I realised that it wasn’t over.
I wasn’t washed up.
I wasn’t too old.
I was just in a different stage of life.
Yes, I have acknowledged the hard times, the disappointments and the sadness (which can’t be erased overnight) but what danced to the fore was the urge to take all of these wonderful elements from my past and find a way to move forward. Forward into a new era where I could be essentially and exquisitely the youngest version of the older me. Chapters were still needing to be written.
After a month where I consciously threw off the desire to do, act or plan, and where I lived (as much as I could) without stress, anxiety and panic, I finally remembered that I’m okay.
More than that, I realised that it’s okay to not always be doing. Pushing isn’t always the right way to move forward.
Sometimes stopping is enough of an action.
And I think that with this new mindset, the power of the pause and of not doing will become, I suspect, the catalyst for all the new doing that awaits me.
The act of doing without knowing why is something new to me but I’m giving it a go. I’ve signed up to do a couple of courses. I don’t know what the endgame is as they are very different subjects but they both interest me. I’ve begun reaching out to people again and looking at ways to take a long career and turn it into something that can usefully serve me. So far, so good.
Unbelievably, given where I was such a short time ago, I have begun to visualise how I’d like to live out the next stage of my life. I just need to find the means to do it. There’s nothing concrete to add to that right now except to say that I have a sense of what it could be and that alone is a relief.
The realisation that I wasn’t completely losing it has been very important, and I can’t stress enough how huge these baby steps have been.
My aim during August was rest, renew and replenish.
More than anything, I’m amazed it actually worked.
I declared in my first post last month that I was fallow, not fallen. This was bravado. I had no idea but it turns out I was right. Ha!
On the surface, life may not seem very different from how it was a month ago. In fact, not much has changed. Yes, there are still bad days. Finances remain precarious, work is a worry, and my health could be better. I still get anxious and have negative thoughts but I’m better prepared and have a tool box now that I can reach into.
The pause has given me power.
And part of that is, I think, the ability to say that not only am I still a valid human but that I am worthwhile. That I have achieved and I have made my mark, and I don’t have to try so hard to be anything other that what I am right now. This in of itself is freeing.
I can bob around to my heart’s content, spend hours listening to old comedy records, drink wine, converse with a squirrel, rejoice in a good parking space and learn a new skill, because I have just one life and I deserve, as indeed we all do, to live it well and in the moment and without being so damn hard on myself.
Crucially, I’m not about to write myself off in the way that I was doing up to a month ago. No more July thinking.
Instead, I’m going to write myself a new story. And yes, that’s down to me and I’m more than ready for it.
Lisa x
The Third Shoebox is my attempt to answer the question, how do we thrive as the youngest older version of ourselves?
The name of the newsletter is explained here.
Those 'almost the singer' vocals on TOTP compilations haunt me still! We should move to Spain and set up a little chiringuito on the beach - we'd make a fortune serving everyone who always take August off!
Wow Lisa, this so beautifully written. I’m glad you’ve seen all the things in yourself that I always see. Love you Sista xxx