Confessions of a Capitalist Hippy

Letters From Morningside

If you’re a certain age you will remember that according to Gordon Gecko, ‘lunch is for whimps’ and if you watched the film Glengarry Glen Ross, then you’ll also know that coffee is for closers. This was my era. I absorbed these mantras like a giant nylon sponge. I had the shoulder pads, the three inch stiletto heels, the bright red lipstick and the hunger for mega bucks. In my developing brain, Melanie Griffith in Working Girl was the ultimate in cool.

Roll on thirty five years……someone wrote a post on LinkedIn about me, describing me as a business coach, NLP expert, forest bathing practitioner and novelist. ‘Heck!’, I thought, I sound schizophrenic at worst and indecisive at best. It’s a good job I hadn’t told her about my Tarot reading, gardening, Substacking, amateur share trading, learning Italian and meditating.

I have spectacularly failed to niche, become the CEO of a blue chip company or earn mega bucks. In a world where niching has become an Olympic sport and growing a Unicorn from your parent’s garage, I am a total failure. What I have done though is explore some very interesting things in my life, including NLP, hypnosis, meditation, coaching and now forest bathing. Yes, I’m a professional tree-hugger on top of everything else.

There is method in my madness. I’m not sure Mr B would agree with me on that one, since he’s been able to keep the same job running the same business at the same location without so much as a whiff of a website since he was sixteen. He looks at me with despair when I announce my latest exciting adventure into something he’s never heard of, which always involves a residential course somewhere lovely, more books than the British Library and podcasts with strange titles like ‘The Telepathy Tapes’. I often feel sorry for him, although, in my defence, when we got together, the very first thing I told him was that it would never be dull. I gave him the opportunity to walk away unscathed, but he opted to stay so he only has himself to blame.

I like business. I like the freedom that money gives me and I enjoy things like strategic thinking, just as much as I enjoy standing barefoot on the grass in my back garden thanking Mother Nature for the advent of May. It was Beltane last night (I’m writing this on the 1st May) and I couldn’t make it to the huge festival that takes place on the 30th April every year atop Carlton Hill due to work commitments. The organisers have been running the Beltane Festival since the 80’s, reclaiming Carlton Hill as a safe, wholesome place, rather than the renowned drug-fuelled, cottaging venue it once was. So, instead of flapping about in a floaty dress last night with a bunch of other hippies, watching fire-eaters perform, I opted to stand barefoot in my garden and do my own little Beltane festival. I couldn’t be arsed lighting a fire, it had been a long day full of board meetings, three year strategic plan reviews (we met most of our year one targets!), interviewing senior people and generally soothing the brows of people who run a great business, feeling the wet grass between my toes, using the earth to recharge my batteries and closing my eyes to focus on Mother Nature was the best I could muster. It felt amazing. There’s a ton of science behind why it feels amazing to go barefoot on grass and sand, and why it does literally re-charge you.

I had suits with shoulder pads and a red suit dress with gold buttons!

My dogs looked at me with their usual mixture of pity and hope as I silently observed the incredible sunset, absorbing the last warmth of the sun. The moon rose early last night, shining brightly in the bright, blue sky. She was huge, preparing herself for the full moon tonight, on the 1st May. How splendid that we’re welcoming the long days alongside the full moon?

Once upon a time, I thought all of this stuff was akin to believing in fairies and God. I considered it the ultimate in whooo whooo nonsense with no place in my world. Many mysterious viruses, burn outs, skin cancer and odd aches and pains later, I am now utterly convinced that the further we move away from nature, the sicker we become. Time and time again, my body has knocked me down flat to stop me from working myself into an early grave. It’s terribly trendy to have burn out these days, but as a past master of falling over with exhaustion since I was about thirteen, I can attest to its real life consequences. You see, I’ve always equated working hard, having goals, achieving those goals and earning lots of cash with my self-worth. It took me until the age of fifty four to realise this was utter nonsense.

The ‘nervous exhaustion’ at university, panic attacks in Tescos, right up until the four flu like viruses I had last year, culminating in a chest infection in August etc were all indicators that I studiously ignored. You see, I thought I was a tough cookie and that lunch was indeed for whimps. I thought I could rest a while and then continue the way I had been and that my mind and body would simply obey my every command. Luckily for me, both my mind and body took control, whacked me into submission until I began to listen very carefully to what they were actually telling me; “Stop! You daft bat, otherwise we’re going to make you stop for a very long time and you won’t like that.”

I did stop. I announced, last August to the ever patient Mr B that I was entering semi-retirement, picking up my creative writing and spending lots more time doing precisely bugger all. It took him a while to realise I was serious, but he’s now got the message. He sometimes comes home to find me lounging about in the garden room staring into space or sitting in my big blue velvet chair, contemplating the universe. When asked what I’m doing, I reply ‘nothing.’ I don’t feel guilty, I feel free.

Now, when I walk the dogs, I do it at a very leisurely pace, in fact when I do anything these days, my pace is about half of what it used to be.

Here’s the interesting bit; I’m not only happier, sleep better and feel healthier, I’m much more productive, I actually do more, by doing less. It goes to show that Gordon Gecko and his ilk know nothing about living a fulfilled life.

I’m showing others the way with my new adventure www.forestbathingscotland.com

You’re very welcome to join me.