Embracing Slow Living: Lessons from A Year of Nothing

I recently finished reading A Year of Nothing by Emma Gannon and I’ve never felt so seen and understood. This slim memoir documents a year of Emma’s life after going through chronic burnout. During this year she presses pause on work and on the idea of constantly being productive. She slows everything down, practices self-care, creates and sticks to her boundaries, listens to her body, and rediscovers the joy of everyday activities.

“…the world was dark at times, but it was also extremely magical, and it was possible to hold both together in one palm.”

As someone who feels the pressure of always being on, relevant, and productive, I deeply resonated with Emma’s anxiety and burnout. Reading this memoir was like holding up a mirror to myself, a reminder that life is happening and we need to be mindful of how we spend and share our time. Sure, not everyone has the luxury of taking a year off (something that Emma acknowledges in her book), but I can definitely slow down and find the magic in every day life.

A Year of Nothing also made me think about what I want for my life and who I want beside me. I’m turning thirty-seven this year and it feels important to care less about what people think and just live. It feels important to pay attention to the world around me and use my time in a way that feels authentic to ME.

“Learning to give less of a shit. It made me excited for the future again. There’s so much more to come, life was saying.”

I found this book when I needed it most and I can’t recommend it enough.

xo Vanessa

The PEI Diary

In my twenties, all I wanted was a literary agent, a book deal, and to live in a condo where I could see the CN Tower. Now, in my mid-thirties all I want is a literary agent, a book deal, and to live in a quieter, less crowded place where the hustle has a lot less bustle. It’s a thought that I find myself having more often, especially since visiting PEI.

After spending four glorious, sun and natured filled days in Prince Edward Island where we explored Charlottetown, Stratford, North Rustico and Montague, I looked at my husband with an innocent smile and told him that we needed to move there immediately. His response was simply, You say that every time we go away.

True enough, but this time it felt a bit different. I felt different. Being so close to the water that I could taste the salt with every inhale did something to my nervous system. The quiet streets and kind people soothed me. It couldn’t just be that we were on vacation because I’ve had my fair share of panic attacks while traveling. But I digress…

During our trip, we visited the Anne of Green Gables Museum (a book that I read for the first time in preparation for this trip), climbed to the top of Point Prim Lighthouse, and ate the freshest seafood anyone could hope to have.

We stumbled on a gallery for Phoebe Gilman, author of The Balloon Tree, Something from Nothing, and Jillian Jiggs. There I met the author’s daughter of who told stories of her childhood and how she posed for the artwork for The Balloon Tree. The princess in the story was based on her! I’ll admit that I got a little teary-eyed, The Balloon Tree was my favourite book growing up and it made me want to be a writer (and a princess).

After visiting the Anne of Green Gables Museum, I bought the biography of Lucy Maud Montgomery and as I lugged it around the island, reading bits and pieces whenever I could, I felt I had found a kindred spirit.

“The impulse to shape narratives about herself and her environment provided enormous comfort to this sensitive and needy child. It gave her a sense of having some control over her own environment and destiny.” (Page 41 of Lucy Maud Montgomery – The Gift of Wings)

Everywhere I turned on this trip I saw something that had to do with Anne Shirley, Maud Montgomery, or a writer I admired. It reminded me that words can have an everlasting effect on people, that books can change the trajectory of someone’s life. It reminded me to keep going, continue querying, and to collect rejections letters with a smile until they stop coming altogether.

xo Vanessa

A Nostalgic Long Weekend

It’s the first “long weekend” of summer and I’m sitting in my parents’ backyard enjoying the cool breeze and warm sunshine. I’m with my mom, dad, grandmother (Avó), and my husband. My brother is taking a nap inside. We’re all feeling a little nostalgic thanks to me. I was looking for a photo to show one of my cousins and ended up going through hundreds of our family photos.

There were snapshots of our trips to someone’s cottage, pool days at my aunt and uncle’s house, a day at the African Lion Safari, and birthday celebrations. Each photo bringing a memory to the front of my brain. I hadn’t realized that we were always out and about, always with our family. My favourite photos are the sepia-toned ones of my mom, dad, aunts and uncles when they were younger than I am now. With their big hair, bigger smiles, and insanely smooth faces, they look like movie stars to me. Just a few kids with dreams of their own and their whole lives ahead of them.

A wave of nostalgia for a time when I wasn’t even alive in washed over me, followed by a feeling of sadness and loss for the amount of years that have gone by. I mean, there’s photos of my grandmother and in them, she’s younger than my parents are right now! I understand the concept of time and aging but it goes by so fast. Even my dad is starting to notice. He mentioned that he feels it most when he goes up to bed at night and sees the three bedrooms that once housed each of his children, completely empty.

My grandmother is 92-years-old and although she still dyes her hair, wears make up, has her nails painted, and is always dressed up, I can see her slowing down. The last few times she was in the hospital definitely took a toll on her. She’s a little unstable on her feet, she can barely hear unless you’re yelling at her, and she speaks slowly, sometimes losing her train of thought. Even still, when she talks, you want to listen to what she has to say.

That evening as she sat up in her chair she said, When you’re young you have to enjoy your life. If you wait until you’re older or when you have lots of money, you’ll never do anything. You’ll get old and can’t move.

I think she was talking about herself. Maybe she has some regrets or maybe she just wants to see her children and grandchildren make the most of their lives. All I know for sure is that she’s right.

xo Vanessa

You, Me, and the Library

I went to the library the other day and picked up some of the books I had on hold. The night was warm, bright, and sprinkled with possibilities. I’ll admit that I’m new to the library scene. I used to go all the time as a kid but after I got my first job, I started spending most of the money on books.

I’d forgotten what if felt like to walk into a library, all of this preloved books just waiting for someone to check them out. I’d forgotten about the quiet, the cleanliness, and all of the other book lovers congregating in a place made for them. Best of all, they’re FREE!!

As I checked out my latest haul (see below), I heard a soft, shy voice ask the librarian Do you have any books on how to write a novel? My head shot up immediately as I locked eyes with the woman who asked the question. We shared a smile before I got back to checking out my books. I was still eavesdropping and heard her tell the librarian that she was going to wait until she retired to start writing but couldn’t see the point in waiting to do something she knew she wanted to do. Again, I smiled.

Before I left, I walked over to her and began listing off some of my favourite books on writing. She reached into her overstuffed tote bag, filled with her laptop, notebooks, pens, and charger to grab her phone and type out all of the books that spewed from my mouth. She thanked me and I wished her the best of luck on her writing journey. I nearly sashayed out of the library – excited for this stranger to be starting her writing journey and excited to continue my own. I realized that I need more writers in my life, more people who understand the craft, fear, self-doubt, and sheer joy that putting a pen to paper can provide.

So, if there are any other writers out there, let’s connect.

xo Vanessa

Not on my 2025 Bingo Card

I went for bloodwork the other day and overheard a conversation between two women who must have been around my mom’s age. They were chatting about their grandchildren, retirement, and their husbands. One woman retired recently, while the other was wearing her work uniform.

“I like my job. I like talking to people and getting out of the house. What would I do if I retired?” she said.

“Oh you’ll find things do to. You’ll have grandchildren or travel,” the other woman replied.

“Travel? Ha! We work all our lives so that we can travel when we retire and look.” She pointed at herself, “Who is going to travel when they’re old like this.”

The women laughed as my heart sunk into my stomach.

Since my last post, I’ve had one existential crisis after another. Unsure what I want to do next with my life. When we went to Old Montreal at the end of April, I seriously contemplated upending our lives and moving there. I know that I want to try living somewhere else for a while, working in a new city, traveling (even though I am not a great traveller). There’s so much I want to see in this world and my beige cubicle is starting to get to me.

I’m still doing my 5 AM writing sprints and getting nowhere with this new novel, or so it seems. More than once in the last few months, I sat at the island in my kitchen and wondered if there was any point in putting these words on paper. I’ve debated sleeping in, giving myself a break, giving up writing altogether. How does anyone with a full time job have time or energy to write? What are your secrets? How do you keep going? It’s too hard, it’s too lonely, and novels take too long. I’ve been plugging away for years and I don’t know what I have to show for it. Even the rejections from the novel I’ve been querying have dried up. And as much as they hurt, they also made me feel like I was DOING the thing. I was trying.

Mother’s Day was tough for me this year (that was not on my 2025 bingo card either). I guess it’s just social media in general but watching all of the Mother’s Day posts made wonder what the heck I’m going to do with my life if I’m not going to have children. I still have no desire to have them but the older I get, the more aware I am of it one day not being a choice anymore.

I feel like I’m running a race I don’t care to win and yet, I don’t know what else I should be doing.

xo Vanessa

Back in my Blogging Era ?

Last week I turned thirty-six, and although it’s not traditionally considered one of the BIG birthdays, isn’t every birthday big and important? A few days leading up to my birthday, a wave of nostalgia hits me. I look at photos from past 365 days and try to remember all that I accomplished, all of the good times, and all of the rotten ones. I sit down at the island in my kitchen and write about it in my notebook. I set up goals for the next year and try to honest with myself about my wants and needs.

Year thirty-five was a hard reset for my mental and physical health, for getting rid of ideas that no longer served me, and for figuring out what and who actually mattered to me. I worked with a therapist on my OCD (Exposure Therapy is not for the weak), put a lot of my energy into my day job while trying to write, edit, and query my manuscript. The rejections hurt, and several times I became so overwhelmed that I wanted to quit.

Instead of quitting I tried a bunch of other things. I created Wattpad and Substack accounts and eventually deleted both since neither felt like the right space for me. I tried to be more active on social media and spent too much time on Instagram and Threads comparing my writing journey to others. I almost deleted my website and blog but then remembered how happy it made me to post on here. I remembered how little pressure I felt because no one really reads it and I thought, should I go back to my blogging era?

If you’re reading this, the answer is yes. I have no idea what year thirty-six will bring or if I’ll accomplish any of my goals. I didn’t even make a wish when I blew out my candles. I put too much pressure on myself with these goals and wishes and lists, and I’ve decided that the best thing for me to do is take it day by day.

xo Vanessa

A New Year

In 2024, I wanted to read 50 books, finish and query my novel, go to Italy, buy a house, buy a new car, get promoted, quit my job and become a career novelist, move to Lisbon, learn Portuguese, get a handle on my OCD through therapy, and set intentional boundaries that would benefit my mental health.

I had big goals, most of which were not fulfilled. I did not get promoted, buy a house, or quit my job to become a full-time novelist. I did not go to Italy or buy a new car. I read 32 books instead of 50 and don’t remember the details for many of them. I finished and queried my novel. I’ve had three full manuscript requests and plenty of rejections. I am working with a therapist to get a handle on my OCD through Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. I set boundaries with people and situations that only make my OCD worse. I travelled to Montreal and then to the Dominican (where I came back with a wicked virus that wiped me out). I found joy in moving my body again. 

I learned so much about myself, my family, my marriage, and my friendships in 2024. I’m looking forward to nourishing these relationships and showing up in the ways that I can for the people that I love.

I don’t have any big goals or resolutions for 2025, no plans of moving (homes or countries), quitting my job, or buying a new car. No plans at all. I would like to travel, continue my 5 AM writing mornings, start and finish my next novel, spend less time on Instagram, and keep querying One More Truth until I find a champion of an agent. 

I would like to slow down, take up space, speak out instead of holding it in, be less afraid, and stop worrying that people are going to leave me. I want to be bright, bold, and unapologetic about who I am. I want to let go of all the plans I made and live, as my husband always says, day by day. 

xo Vanessa

*Previously posted on Substack DEC 31, 2024*

When Rejection Lights a Fire

I woke up last week ready to give it all up. Delete Instagram, delete my website, throw out my notebooks, and remove any indication from life that I was an aspiring writer. I was ready to call in sick, take a mental health day, to drive past the office until I found somewhere I wanted to be. I wrote about this feeling after my last trip; where I felt unfulfilled, small and unsure of what to do with my life. Normally this feeling disappears once I’m settled into my routine, busy at work, or have a writing project to distract myself. 

I haven’t been able to pull myself out of this funk. Therapy hasn’t helped (yet), pep talks from my husband haven’t helped, putting up my Christmas decorations hasn’t helped, nor has watching endless hours of my new favourite TV show (Abbott Elementary). The only thing that has pulled me a little above water is the rejection letter I received from a literary agent. 

Don’t give up. Be open to opportunities when they present themselves. Keep trying. Keep searching for the story, job, and people that ignite your soul. They’re all out there. Don’t give up.

xo Vanessa

*Previously posted on Substack NOV 16, 2024*

On Motherhood

We’re on our first-ever family vacation at an all-inclusive in the Dominican Republic. It’s a few days before my stomach betrays me, and I’m having a great time. The evening is cool with its soft breeze butterfly-kissing my cheeks, the perfect break from a hot and humid day. I’ve had exactly one glass of Prosecco, which makes me feel light and relaxed. I’m sitting on a swing chair watching the nightly show while my husband dances and sings with our cousins’ two-year-old. He puts her down, and she immediately lifts her little hand for him to hold. They stand there for a few minutes, mesmerized by the lights and loud music, before she wants to be picked up again. Instinctively, I think He would make an amazing dad. Maybe we should have a baby. The last time I had a thought like that was during the second COVID lockdown.

Since I turned thirty, motherhood has been buzzing in the back of my mind. I’ve written about it a lot, a short story collection and a blog post on She Does the City, to name a few. I’ve read many books and blogs about womanhood and motherhood (Motherhood by Sheila Heti and The Women I Think About at Night: Traveling the Paths of My Heroes by Mia Kankimäki are my favourites). I’ve read stories of women who had children and ones who didn’t. I’ve read about women who followed their dreams (with or without kids). I’ve read about women whose biggest dream was to have children.

I interviewed the mothers in my life with the idea that I would write my second novel about motherhood. It was going to be about one woman and what her life looked like with children and then without (I outlined 13 chapters and gave up). In truth, I wasn’t researching for a character; I was trying to see if anything I heard would make it click for me. I was trying to see if I was missing out or if there was something inherently wrong with me. I have all the parts, so why don’t I want to do the job that my body was made for?

Even after all of the books and spending time with our nieces, cousins’ kids, and friends’ kids, I don’t have an answer. I don’t know why. I just know. I heard one woman on Instagram say that maybe she was meant to be there for the parents of the children in her life, to help them rather than have children of her own. Babysitting, dropping off dinner, or simply playing with the kids while the parents do what they need to do. That idea resonated with me more than any books I’ve read about motherhood. 

Since my husband and I check in with each other often, I told him about the thoughts that crossed my mind while we were on vacation. We agreed that making life-altering decisions while on vacation or during a global pandemic isn’t a good idea for us. Once reality sinks in, we land on the same answer every time: it’s just not for us. We love being Tia and Zio, and we’re pretty good at it. 

xo Vanessa

*Previously posted on Substack OCT 27, 2024*

On Constipation – in all its forms – PART 2

I can’t do this anymore. I can’t allow my anxiety to wreak havoc on my body or my life. On vacation, I had several panic attacks; my arms, legs, and chest burning from the inside yet cool to the touch. Each time it happened, my cousin had to remind me to take deep breaths or he’d grab a cold water bottle and place it on the inside of my wrist, which calmed me a little. 

The panic attacks came during high-stress moments:

  • hours before the flight, I nearly didn’t board
  • when my traveller’s diarrhea kicked in the day before we left to come home (that’s what I get for writing about constipation)
  • sitting on the runway, next in line to take off, the Captain comes on the speaker and informs us that they heard a crash and we need to go back to the gate 
  • 8 hours later, back on the same runway, in a different (emergency) airplane, hoping that nothing would stop us this time 

I had a few other panic attacks, although they weren’t as intense. Mild heart palpitations and moderate burning. They happened whenever I would think about work – what was I missing? What will I be coming back to? Is it going to be busy? Did I lose my job while I was away? You know, normal stuff (for me). Those thoughts lead to questioning my life as a whole (see, On Constipation – in all its forms). 

As I sat back on the lounge chair waiting for the rest of the family to join me, I asked myself When was the last time you were happy and fulfilled by your work? By your job? With my writing, just getting the words on the page makes me feel satisfied and fulfilled. If it didn’t make me happy, there’s no way I could live through the rejections. 

As far as a job, I worked part-time in my early twenties as a tutor for Oxford Learning. Being a tutor was challenging and rewarding in a way I didn’t know work could be. I got along with all my students and beamed with pride when they succeeded. I wasnt the best tutor on staff but I took the job seriously and enjoyed every shift I had. 

Back on the lounge chair, my thoughts turned to Should I have been a teacher? Is it too late to make a change? Should I volunteer? Thankfully, before those thoughts could spiral, my cousin’s daughter pulled me out of my head and into the pool, “Where Tia? Swimming? Tia, swimming!” 

It’s been over a week and thankfully my TD is calming down, I haven’t had a panic attack since we got home, and I’m feeling more like myself than I have in days. However, those thoughts are still ruminating in the background and there’s no pool to jump into when they become too much. 

xo Vanessa

*Previously posted on Substack OCT 14, 2024*