it can wait

on stepping outside when the list says stay, and trusting i will return

Hello, let’s go on a stroll.

Having worked all weekend, my goal for Monday was to catch up on everything. The vacuuming, the laundry, the meal prepping, the writing, the admin. The to-do list grew quickly and quietly, until I sat on the sofa and the sunshine warmed my face through the window.

Looking up, the sky was blue, not a cloud on the horizon. It felt like a shame to stay cooped up inside when I had barely been outdoors all week, just the short commute between home and work and back again. A quick check of the weather app told me the sun would only last for a few hours. By noon, clouds would make their entrance.

That settled it. I quickly got ready, poured my freshly brewed coffee into my to-go tumbler, and picked up my camera. Off I went.

I arrived at the Botanic Gardens as it opened at 10 am. Coffee in hand and the vague plan of just a short walk. I gave myself an hour. I had launched a load of laundry after all. It was meant to be an in-between moment, something gentle to ease into the day. The plan? To walk, to notice, to take a few pictures. But somewhere between the scent of rhododendrons and the hum of a lawn mower in the distance, time loosened its grip.

Without really noticing, my pace softened. There was no clear decision to stay longer, just a quiet drifting further in. The morning unfolded at its own pace.

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Each season, I routinely head to the Royal Botanic Garden of Edinburgh. It’s a short 15-minute walk from my place. The visit is familiar, and yet it never quite feels the same. I go to see the change in nature, from the orange canopy in autumn to the vibrant green in spring. Visiting the gardens in spring offers an even more spectacular experience as nature wakes up. It’s so sensory. You can see it, touch it, smell it, even hear it as the gardeners busy themselves like little bees.

I often follow the same path, turning left after the entrance, on my way to the cottage, the vegetable and fruit garden. That is usually how it starts, but it rarely stays that way. I often step off the path and let my senses lead the way, stopping to smell the flowers, crouching to appreciate the texture of the moss.

can you spot the squirrel?

I captured spring colours as I made my way through the gardens, making mental notes of the ones I hadn’t seen yet. It almost felt like a scavenger hunt, collecting flowers, collecting moments, colours, pauses, nothing tangible at all. Alright, I will admit it, I may have collected a few flowers that fell on the ground. I didn’t pluck them, they had already fallen. I carefully pressed them into my book. Like little mementos of the day to return to later.

The Woodland Garden drew me in, as it always does, with its cluster of sequoias. Standing beside those towering trees, all my worries feel small and quietly wash away. Have you ever touched a sequoia? You’d think the bark would feel rough, but it’s actually soft and smooth. It’s the kind of small surprise that makes you pause for a moment longer.

A few steps on, a familiar bench came into view. I sat down. I reached for my book. I’m currently reading Minbak by Ela Lee. I have been on a historical fiction, family saga kick lately. I observed the squirrels and magpies from afar. By that time, the one hour had largely passed, and my laundry was probably over. But leaving did not feel urgent, so I stayed put, I lingered just a little longer.

I had thought I’d quickly circle the gardens once and head back, but my feet kept moving, pausing here and there. Being surrounded by nature brings a kind of stillness, a gentle reminder to pause, reflect, and listen. On my way towards the exit, something tickled my nose. There was one fragrant tree I passed by, and from afar, it didn’t capture my attention much, but as I walked past, its fragrance pulled me further in.

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Lately, things have felt slightly out of sync, like being one step behind. I missed a publication last Sunday. I know it is no big deal, and yet I’m feeling a little guilty about it. At the same time, I have also been a little more present in my day-to-day life. I think there’s always going to be this pull between the two sides of me, one that wants to create and do more, and another that wants to be spontaneous and prioritise life as it happens.

This week, I found a lot of solace in hannah bay’s article Why the internet’s definition of consistency quietly burns creatives out. Her words reminded me that consistency fluctuates. It doesn’t answer to one definition. It isn’t necessarily a daily thing. It isn’t about giving it the same input again and again. Energy shifts. Some weeks, creativity and energy meet easily, feeding into each other and allowing for more output. Other weeks ask for something different. Those weeks, I just have to put things aside, and go on a walk in the botanic gardens.

Hannah questions the internet definition of consistency, and I think she is onto something. As she puts it, consistency is about returning. That idea stayed with me. Because no matter the pace, the pauses, or the detours, I know I will always return to writing and to photography.

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Not everything needs to be done straight away. Some things can wait without disappearing.

That morning wasn’t about getting through the list, but about stepping outside while the sun was still there, letting time stretch a little, and trusting that what matters isn’t lost in the pause.

It will still be there when I come back to it.

Until next time,

Amandine

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