#9: The sanity-saving magic of skychology
Why looking up is so great + a round up of my favourite shares, wares, reads and feeds
Hello, and welcome back to Copy & Cake, a newsletter whose point I am still trying to figure out (elevate your everyday = improve your creative practice?), but with these round-ups that are its only constant.
I started the first draft of this issue sitting outside in my bike shorts, exposing my legs for the first time since May and marvelling at how warm it was for August (24-28 degrees Celsius). I’ll admit that I have no idea if these way-warm winter days are an indication of a climate catastrophe, but hopefully not because they sure feel nice. My youngest is on the trampoline, my dog is lying down next to me, and the washing is drying on the line. Not too far away, the kids at the school up the road are out at lunch, and I swear I can hear my daughter’s voice yelling at my son amongst their chatter, but it’s also possible that I’m hearing things on account of how recurring that particular sound is in my day-to-day. In any case: I am loving this tiny sliver of a moment in my life.
Soon, I will go back inside and sit back at my desk to do some ‘proper’ work. I have to make some edits on an academic chapter and finish the draft of a children’s book, but I’m consumed with soaking up this week’s warmth and so my focus is a little wobbly. I find this strange because I have never really been an outdoors person, but these days, there’s a definite correlation between my mood and the weather: the more demands on my time, the more I have seen being outside as an antidote. Those moments in the sun, which are fleeting but frequent, are the little recharge I need to power through whatever comes my way. If you follow my Instagram stories you’ll see it in my pictures: a tiny patch of sky, the branches of a tree – proof that there is some part of me that is always looking up.
I wasn’t always into trees, but reading Kate Morton’s Homecoming made me strangely obsessed with the lands on which we have settled, and in particular, their trees. When we meet her, Mrs Turner, one of the book’s central characters, takes daily walks on her homestead, taking in walnuet trees, wattles, gums and willows. I began appreciating the huge gums in particular, pondering the connections the Traditional Owners of this land had to them. Now, everytime I pass one, I take it in. I look up at it, and it reminds me of how small I am. It’s wonderful.
I guess you could say that looking up is the thing I need to do to step outside of my brain a little bit. If I were to describe anxiety as I feel it, I would describe two hamsters on wheels in my brain keeping it going, except they’re not going in the same direction. In my brain, one hamster is on a wheel that moves forward (looking ahead) and the other is going backwards (looking back). If you’re an anxious person, you might relate: instead of being in the moment, you are preoccupied with what is to come and what has been, and all the things you could have done differently. Neither preoccupation benefits you, but you can’t help it. It’s like a button in your brain that you can’t reach, and no matter how much you try to rationalise with your feelings, they don’t just disappear.
Looking back and looking forward, as you can imagine, raises a lot of questions. Should I have said that? Trusted this person? Done this degree? At that university? Fought a little harder for X? Waited before I bought Y? Done this project a little differently? These are all questions we ask ourselves on the daily; part of a reflective practice that helps us grow, and make decisions in the now. But sometimes, those questions also affect the way we see the future: right now, it feels like the decisions I made in the past (pursuing a creative career, doing a thesis on a niche topic) weren’t all that beneficial to my future. The instability of my work in this cost-of-living crisis is a matter of great concern: none of what I do feels solid or dependable and I feel too old to start again.
And yet, the way that I am currently living feels untenable, but I don’t know precisely why and that’s affecting my decision making. It feels like I am a turning point, but it’s so foggy and unclear that I can’t see the road ahead; and I can’t move forward (or in any direction really) without that missing (and vital) piece of information. What I do know is that the code-switching between academia, creative writing and journalism feels like it’s slowly eating away at my brain; that the relentlessness of the Israeli war machine (and all the other issues plaguing suffering and persecuted peoples throughout the world) is eating away at my heart; that the busyness of working and having kids in schools that send a million notifications a week is eating away at my sanity; and that modern life and its accoutrements are eating away at my soul. I don’t think we were designed to live like we do, substituting digital connections for real ones, being bombarded with messages etc. Maybe it serves some purpose, but meditating on an app in a quiet corner of the office (as a former boss was prone to do) doesn’t seem like it’s the same as meditating outside. But I guess we can’t help it: these are the circumstances of our modern lives.
In some real talk with my therapist, we decided to work on my resilience, because the things causing the anxiety are not in my power to change. I use my time with her to reiterate things I already know: that I can look as far back as I want, or think about the future till I am blue in the face, but neither thing will benefit me in any way.
Looking up, savouring the moment I am in, grounding myself in the now, is a small step forward. I became so fascinated by my predilection to look up that I literally looked it up, and found that it was a legitimate form of self-care (though that term is complex in its own way). This is because looking up, or the science of skychology, sparks a meditative state, reduces stress and anxiety, promotes calm and gets you outside. In a study by Paul Conway and Dr. Kate Hefferon from the Department of Psychological Sciences at Birkbeck University of London, and the Department of Psychology at the University of East London respectively, looking up at the sky was found to be a “positive psychology intervention”: an “extraordinary experience” in an ordinary activity that made those who did it feel like life was better. The sudy’s participants felt that they were more “grounded” when seeking out time (and places) that enabled them to look up towards the sky.
I’ve found that taking time throughout my day to stop and look up has been instumental to bringing me back to the moment, so I am going to try and do more of it, at least as a small, active measure towards the way, whatever that way happens to be.
WARES
This week I posted a reel of this $25 dress I got from Kmart that is really giving me Cos vibes. But with this pearl mesh top on top it, it’s also giving glam. I rarely buy clothes at Kmart because I am not up to date with all the ethical considerations of their clothing and really don’t have the mental capacity to get across it right now, but occasionally, I’ll come across a piece that is way too versatile to ignore, and this dress is it. I can imagine myself wearing it often in the summer but it can also be played around with during this trans-seasonal period. I buy pieces like this for trips away and writers festivals, because I like looking pulled together but hate overpacking.
I spotted this Deer Ruby hand-painted raffia bag in an Instagram ad and pondered it for ages before I bit the bullet and bought it. I don’t feel like it will hold a lot although it reviews really well, butI think it will still be on high rotation this summer.
Also loving my Clementine bag from The Horse, a local Australian label. I pre-ordered this some time ago when looking for a handbag that did not have any logos, and am super-impressed with the quality. It’s giving Loewe puzzle bag vibes, no?
A cushion cover I’ve had for about eight yeats fell apart a couple of months ago, and rather than throwing out the insert which was in good condition, I kept it in a box in my bedroom while thinking about the kind of cover I wanted for it (so deep like that). I love Elle Hervin’s instagram account and the way she mixes prints, so I drew inspiration from her guest bedroom and my love for Indian block prints, and found the most gorgeous covers on Etsy. I bought a couple and am using my second favourite on the bed right now (the favourite was the pink).
SHARES
Every few months I get an email or a message from someone who wants to publish a book and doesn’t know if the publisher they’re chatting to is someone they can rely on. 99% of the time the ‘publisher’ is someone who wants them to pay to have their own books printed, which often leaves people thousands of dollars out of pocket and unsure of the distribution channels and royalties associated with their sales. This piece from The Sydney Morning Herald looks at people’s experiences with Shawline publishing, and demonstrates the need for greater transparency around publishing.
I’ve just reserved a ticket to award-winning artist and writer Amani Haydar’s new exhibition, featuring old and new work, which is opening this month at Western Sydney University’s Parramatta campus. Titled Portraits of Women, the exhibition includes many of Haydar’s self-portraits, which Haydar says attach themselves “to new personal and political meanings”. Haydar’s lengthier artist statement reflects on Israel’s 2023 plans and intentions to occupy and settle parts of southern Lebanon, including Haydar’s ancestral village, amidst the genocide and ethnic cleansing of Gaza; and the Australian government’s intentions to criminalise Australians who go to southern Lebanon. She says: “…my recent works are acts of creative resistance against imperialist narratives. We Swear by the Olives (2024) and We Shall Inherit the Soil (2024) are both inspired by old photographs of my mother and grandmother. They are not intended to be strict depictions of either, but rather an attempt at capturing the relationship between these women and their land. In their expressions and stances, they reaffirm the certainty of their sense of belonging, a certainty which frustrates colonisers, a certainty that cannot be challenged by outsiders.” More information here.
One of my favourite writers, Emily Maguire, has a new book out soon and it’s been called all sorts of wonderful things by a bevvy of Australian authors. She’s got three events happening for it in Brisbane, Sydney and Melbourne, with the likes of Miranda Riwoe, Charlotte Wood and Kate Mildenhall respectively. I love listening to Emily speak just as much as I love reading her words, so I snapped my ticket up to her Sydney event here and if you act fast, you can too. Come say hello if you’re there!
I am a rewatcher rather than a new-watcher, but occasionally my husband convinces me to watch something new with him and this month it was the new season of The Bear (have not loved), and Hitman (felt anxious watching it, but enjoyed it in the end). I watched Anyone but you alone on a weeknight while folding laundry and while it wasn’t thrilling, the dance scene delivered.
READS
September is a great time for new releases, so I’ve spent so much money on books this month. I found The God of the Woods by Liz Moore absolutely riveting — the perfect book for those in a reading slump, or who want to read something fast. It’s set on an extensive property in the Adirondack mountains of upstate New York, and follows a well-to-do family through two time periods, the early 60s — when their son, Peter Van Laars IV (affectionately called Bear) goes missing while on a track near his home — and the mid 70s, when his replacement, their daughter Barbara, goes missing at the summer camp the family has run for years. The story is complicated by an escaped murderer on the loose, small-town small-talk, and the kind of power that rich, white families wield (and the things they can get away with because of it). It was truly gripping.
I’ve also recently finished The Forgotten Bookshop of Paris (three stars because I got through it and it wasn’t a nightmare, but for a plot-driven novel it was kind of flat) and am almost half-way through Samah Sabawi’s Cactus Pear For My Beloved, which is out later this month and which I am reviewing for The Age. I’m loving it, but in a tragic way: Sabawai is telling her family story, her family is from Gaza, and when we meet them, it’s during the British Mandate, so we know what’s coming for them. I have also recently acquired Girl Falling by Hayley Scrivenor, Slow Dance by Rainbow Rowell and Translations by Jumaana Abdu, which I look forward to sharing my thoughts on soon.
FEEDS
I felt so emotionally drained this last month that I cooked nothing new, ate nowhere new, and snacked on nothing worth writing home about. But I was lured in by these Sweet and Sour Twisties and a container of saltwater taffy at a lollyshop in Bowral (the first time I’ve seen saltwater taffy in Australia, having been curious about it since the Sex and the City episode where Carrie gets some in Atlantic city). Both were meh.
Speaking of feeds, a reminder that my friends Sivine and Karima are launching their debut cookbook, Sofra, this coming Saturday, so I heartily recommend you check it out for accessible but still mouth-watering Lebanese cooking.
Hope you have a wonderful September!