letters of our lives: to the book that changed me

This is my second letter in the Letters of our Lives project. Isabel’s is here.

"Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested." - Renaissance author Sir Francis Bacon

In a situation where you have a million and one choices, the standard advice is to go with the first one that comes to mind.

I am a writer, PhD student, historian, lover of words and speed reader so it follows that books are a necessary and joyful part of my life. Enter my home and you will see piles of them, everywhere. In every city I have lived, I have been a dedicated library user and patron of bookstores.

I can be fairly minimalist in other areas of life - happy to pare back to necessities in the kitchen, in my wardrobe - but with books? Never.

I honestly cannot remember a time when I could not read, and my activity of choice was not sitting somewhere with a book, or going to the library for more books, or writing my own books. Some books are like old friends, like houses I've lived in, like conversations I've had. There are memories and happiness associated with them. They are a wonderful way of showing you how you've changed, or how you haven't.

But to the book that changed me? That was a question. The answer came to me immediately, but I dismissed it at first. Surely there was another choice? Less….earnest? Something that hadn’t sold millions and millions of copies?

Every book I’ve read has changed me, made me a better writer, a more informed and curious human being. But when I really thought about it, I know that had I not read this book at the time that I did, I don’t know if I would have had the courage to keep going, to listen to my heart and to have learned that you have to make sacrifices to make your dreams come true.

Who knows where I might be right now, had anything been different.

So, this is the book that changed me.

See if you can spot the tile we had to Photoshop in because there are only two of them in a Scrabble set!

To The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho,

You came into my life, as I imagine you do with many others, in the midst of pain and bewilderment. It was a dark, cold winter, the darkest I had ever known.

I don’t recall how I came across you - perhaps a blog reader recommended you? Or perhaps I came across you in the bargain bin at Borders Melbourne Central, where I would go most days after work, prolonging my return home for as long as possible. My first marriage was over but it was early days and we were still living together, which was excruciating. Everything was so raw. I felt like I didn’t have any skin.

Or perhaps I saw you mentioned on a message board that I’d started trawling late at night, where other confused and heartbroken people holding pieces of their marriages in their hands gathered to vent and console. I never posted anything, I just read.

Wherever I found you, you ended up with me.

By the time I started reading you, however, things had changed a little. I had finally moved out and was getting used to a new home and identity. Everything was still in boxes. I had a different train, to the other side of Melbourne, to catch every evening after work. One particular evening, a freezing wet July night, I collapsed into a seat on the train and pulled you out of my bag.

It had been a long, low day. The feelings of grief and brokenness over my marriage ending had not dissipated, much to my confusion and disappointment. And they wouldn’t for some time. I was beginning to wonder whether ending things had been the right thing to do, given how much pain I was in. Should I have tried harder to work things out? Was he right, had it all been my fault? Had I been incredibly selfish, wanting to follow my heart and my dreams after so many years of putting them aside…for him?

As the train left the underground and out into the dark night, these lines pounced up from the page:

“Love never keeps you from pursuing your destiny. If it does, it isn’t true love.”

It was exactly what I needed to hear at that moment. My mouth fell open, my eyes filled with tears, and everything around me froze in time, I didn’t notice anyone else on the train, I just stared into space in relief, tears rolling down my face. At that moment I realised that I had done the right thing. I was free. The life I had always wanted could finally begin. I had abandoned my dreams during my marriage and now it was over there were no more excuses.

Of course, things weren’t that simple - as you warned me they wouldn’t be.

“The secret of life, though, is to fall seven times and to get up eight.”

Other relationships I fell into were over as soon as I mentioned I had plans to travel and live overseas. I couldn’t seem to find anyone to just have a bit of fun with! I fought my habitual urges to suppress my own longings and needs to make other people happy - a pattern that had flourished in my marriage until its last few months (which was of course why it ended). Soon it became clear that I was never going to find what I was looking for where I was. I needed to pack my bags and go.

Life in Melbourne grew strange and lonely as I packed up my life and prepared to leave for my big adventure. Previously supportive friends turned nasty and distant. It was a strange cocktail of excitement, guilt and fear - that I was giving up everything in pursuit of the life I felt I was destined for, and it would all turn out to be a terrible mistake.

“The fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself… no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams.”

You were right about that.

I was put to the test so much during that time - my safety net was gone, any predictability and security my life had previously had were over, and I headed out into the unknown.

“It is the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting.”

It’s been 13 years and I think about my solo travels across the USA, Canada, Europe and Asia nearly every day. Everything pursuing my destiny had cost me was worth every exhilarating second of that trip. I stayed with friends and blog readers everywhere I went, who welcomed me with open arms and became my family for however long I was in their city, be it two days or two weeks. I saw amazing things and did things I could never have even dreamed of. Every day was a new adventure. It was the happiest time of my life (up to that point at least!).

I must admit, I haven’t read you from start to finish for a while but maybe now, after finding a love that hasn’t made me compromise my dreams and returning home to Australia, is the perfect time for a reread.

I’m on a different kind of quest now but the lessons and wisdom I gleaned from you all those years ago remain the same.

That I must remain courageous, persistent and assertive in pursuit of my dreams, especially when I am tested. Being tested is part of the journey.

If I back down out of fear, I’ll be back where I started.

That my heart is alive and I must always listen to what it has to say.

But most importantly:

“Never stop dreaming.”

Thank you for the consolation and the wisdom, old friend. I don’t know where I might be now without you.

Love, Phil xx

What is the book that changed you?

my mum's shortbread

With Christmas not that far away now (I know, I can’t believe it either), my thoughts have turned to which festive treats to make as gifts this year. Naturally, there will be my usual chutneys and preserves, but I liked to do a baked good or two as well.

These shortbreads my Mum makes are always a winner. They are absolutely delightful biscuits - one or two with a cup of tea is a lovely sweet treat.  If you can stop at that many, of course!

Mum's shortbread

250 g unsalted butter
3/4 cup icing sugar
1 tsp vanilla essence or extract
2 cups self-raising flour
1/2 cup cornflour
Pinch of salt

Preheat the oven to 180 C (or 160 C fan-forced) and then grease and line two baking trays. Beat the butter and icing sugar together until creamy, then add the vanilla.

Sift the self-raising flour, cornflour and salt together and then add gently to the butter mixture.  Use a knife to mix it in, as if you were making scones.

Roll the dough into walnut-sized balls and place on to the prepared trays, about 5cm apart.  Flatten the balls gently with a fork.

Bake in the preheated oven for about 8-10 minutes or until just starting to colour underneath.  The biscuits are meant to be pale on top.  Leave them on the trays for about 15 minutes to firm up, and then transfer to a rack to cool completely before storing in an airtight container.  

These are buttery and gorgeous and very moreish!  We love eating them plain, but we’ve also sandwiched them together with some passionfruit curd in the past, which went down an absolute treat.

spicy ethiopian lentil stew

Tasmania is clearly not ready to welcome summer just yet, based on the cold, wet and windy days we’ve been having in Hobart recently. I am beginning to think I took the winter sheets off the bed too soon!

But on the plus side, it means all the lovely comforting and warming dishes we’ve been enjoying over the autumn and winter can stay on the menu a little longer.

Ethiopian Berbere spice is one of my absolute favourites to cook with - when the spice hits the hot pan and combines with browning onions and oil, the smell is just incredible. And, bizarrely, it triggered a memory for me - it took a while for me to realise that the dominant spices (cumin, fenugreek, pepper and cardamom) remind me of my grandparents home when I was a child. They had lived in southeastern Africa for a time and so often cooked meals like this one. It’s lovely to have my kitchen smelling like theirs did!

You can buy Berbere at any specialist spice store - my favourite is by Gewürzhaus.

This delicious stew would traditionally be served with that wonderful spongy Ethiopian bread injera, but if you can’t get that, any other flatbread is a fine accompaniment (I like chappati). Just make sure there’s plenty of it, because you’ll want to soak up that sauce!

Spicy Ethiopian lentil stew (berber)

Serves 4

Olive or coconut oil
1 large onion, chopped
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped or 2 teaspoons ready-minced garlic
2 teaspoons ready-minced ginger
4 medium potatoes (roughly 145 g each), chopped into chunks or 600 g baby potatoes, halved or left whole
2 tablespoons Berbere spice blend (reduce to 1 tablespoon if you prefer it milder)
Pinch of cayenne pepper (optional, but I like the extra spiciness)
250 g red lentils
1 x 420 g can plum tomatoes
Vegetable stock powder
Water to cover (roughly four cans worth)
A few handfuls of fresh spinach, to finish
Salt and pepper, to taste

Put the kettle on to boil.

In a large stockpot, heat the oil over medium then saute the onion, garlic and ginger until starting to soften. Add the potatoes and spices, and a little water if you need it, then stir everything so the potatoes are well coated in the spices, and allow to cook and release the aromas for a minute or two. Don’t let the spices burn, add water if it’s getting a bit dry.

Add the lentils and tomatoes, then rinse out the can with water from the kettle and add that too. I then usually use the can to make up the vegetable stock that I need to cover the dry ingredients. Be careful, because adding boiling water to a tin can makes the sides very hot. I have asbestos hands from years of cooking but even I find the heat a bit intense at times! If you’re a bit more sensible than I, make up your vegetable stock in a jug with water from the kettle (around 3 cups). Add this to the pot.

Stir, breaking up the tomatoes a bit, and ensure there is sufficient liquid to cook the potatoes and lentils in. Then bring to a boil, reduce the heat, place a lid on top and simmer for around 20 minutes or until the potatoes and lentils are cooked. I like to cook them until you can break the lentils are creamy and the potatoes break easily with the spoon.

When everything is cooked, add the spinach, turn off the heat and replace the lid on the pot. Leave for a few minutes until the spinach has wilted. Add salt and pepper to taste. Sometimes I add a squeeze of lemon juice too (not traditional, just to aid with iron absorption from the spinach!)

Serve in bowls with some warm flatbread or chappatis on the side. I find I don’t need rice with this but it would be a delicious alternative to flatbreads if you don’t have them.

No matter the temperature outside, this scrumptious stew will warm your insides a treat! And once you’ve tried it, I’m sure you'll find any excuse to make it again….and, like me, ensure you have Berbere in your pantry at all times.

don't worry about art

Source

We live in an era of enormous cynicism. Do not be fooled.

Don’t act for money. You’ll start to feel dead and bitter.

Don’t act for glory. You’ll start to feel dead, fat, and fearful.

We live in an era of enormous cynicism. Do not be fooled.

You can’t avoid all the pitfalls. There are lies you must tell. But experience the lie. See it as something dead and unconnected you clutch. And let it go.

Act from the depth of your feeling imagination. Act for celebration, for search, for grieving, for worship, to express that desolate sensation of wandering through the howling wilderness.

Don’t worry about Art.

Do these things, and it will be Art.

– John Patrick Shanley, preface to The Big Funk

learn to be hurt

“Oh God, those wasted years! If this is ever read by posterity, let posterity ponder on this: You cannot run away from life. If you try, life will only catch you in the end, and the longer you’ve been running the more it will hurt. Learn to be hurt as early as possible, welcome being hurt; face pain, humiliation and defeat in your teens; accept them, let them go through you, so that you cease to be afraid of them.”

A few years ago I read the diaries of Jean Lucey Pratt, a lifelong diarist who also contributed to the Mass Observation project. She was my age during the Second World War and her diaries, of course, focus on those events but also her daily life and concerns, her dreams, anxieties and longings which for the most part remained unchanged by the war and all its dramas and hardships.

Despite all the upheaval of wartime, Jean was still figuring out who she was and what she wanted, and was starting to panic about all the what-ifs, missed chances and the might-have-beens.

I absolutely loved this book but this passage particularly, because I too have learned this lesson from life. It’s not an easy lesson, but an essential one. Don't run from pain, humiliation or defeat. Face them. Persevere. You're stronger than you think.