Searching for The Big Calm

In our speed, in our need to do more things, more quickly, what have we been missing? What value does life give to us when purely living has been forgotten? Taking time to speak to a neighbour, to admire and smell summer’s flowers, to pick a fruit and eat it - to look up at the sky.

We are hooked on our phones and other screens, and are forgetting to live. This is the big digital reset that has taken over our lives - and in some sense, taken some of our life away. Is it worth the trade? I would argue not.

When I got my first smartphone, it was so exciting to join this new world! I spent hours during that first night downloading all the apps I could find and learning how to use them. I felt part of a new technological movement.

Now, 14 years later, I can’t wait to turn off my phone at the end of the day. I bought one of the ‘dumb phones’ lauded by anti-tech media such as the wonderful Idler magazine, and thought that this could bring me some relief. And yet it’s so hard to cut off from all the apps - WhatsApp, camera for cute family moments, capture every beautiful meal - and there are many. It’s so difficult - and that’s without even going into the power and threat of AI (no, I don’t plan to go there for the time being).

We need to reclaim our lives back from these devices. We need to feel, think, and connect again. Whether it’s taking the time to make some sourdough bread, or eating a meal with friends and family, stopping all the digital chaos to live - that is what brings us the quality so many of us seek. In fact, that is the source of the name of this Substack. The full story can wait for another time, but just to mention now that ‘root bread’ is how sourdough is described in Finnish - ‘juuri leipä.’ That takes time, of course; the precise thing we don’t seem to have much of these days.

Walking through my village, I look up at the sky above. There are no high buildings here to block out the sky with their reflective glass faces a symbol of new eco-modern high-density dwelling. There are no shops, only a garden centre and two pubs, one of which is a community pub, the other is part of a local restaurant chain.

Heading down the high street, I see someone I know and we have a short chat. It’s a small village of around 330 people, and although we don’t know everyone as yet and some we’ll never know, we’ve got to know quite a few. It’s nice to check in with folks, see how they’re doing, hear how they’re doing. I continue down the street and admire all of the flowers outside the rows of cottages on the high street, many of which are thatched. It’s beautiful and some of the roses smell fantastic.

Along the way, posters on the fences advertise local events, in our village and in neighbouring ones.

Someone has a table set up with ears of corn they’ve grown, selling a couple for a pound. I see what change I have (which I keep on me for exactly this purpose) and pick up a few, putting them in my book bag advertising some previous event myself or my partner have attended. Heading further down the street I turn at the gastro-pub towards the village church. A local villager is walking his dog and we have a short chat, and catch-up about their recent holiday.

Continuing my walk I head down to the river and observe its movements today. How clear is the water? How many ducks can I count? Are there any swans? I admire the weeping willow sweeping over the slightly hazy green water and pause.

Above the natural line of trees I have a lovely view of the sky, and I look up again, sighing about how I just don’t do this enough. Why do we no longer look up at the sky? Are screens that attractive, that boundless, that beautiful, that creative in terms of the movement of the clouds and the shapes they make as they slowly whittle their way by?

This, my new friends and readers, is my life. I am blessed - and you can be too. How do I know? I grew up in the suburbs of a big city in Canada, I’ve lived in London and a few more capitals in other countries, in Europe and in Asia. And I can blissfully say that there are few things in life that bring me more pleasure than what the world’s population have been fleeing for centuries, since the enclosures in England and the industrial revolution. I have flipped the trend on its back by moving back to the countryside - something no one from my background, in my family, usually does.

Looking forward to sharing more with you.