There’s a sense for many that September is buzzing with that ‘back to work’ feeling. After a summer of maybe good, quite possibly bad, weather and legitimate holidays, people are itching to get back to it and do so with a new enthusiasm and energy. Not me.
I’ve just come back from my first holiday in five years, like an actual holiday where I didn’t work. Every time I take time off from my job as a writer, it’s more and more challenging to get back into the swing of things. I have no post holiday back-to-school energy because it never appealed to me, but also because the way we work now is probably not what any of us signed up for.
But the books that I read on holiday will be reviewed for my newsletter (of course) and every restaurant we enjoyed will also make an appearance on my platform at some point. The monetisation of all actions as work is something synonymous with the life of having an internet presence. But it is only my internet presence that has allowed me the life I lead as a writer, you see. And while that always seemed like a pipeline dream, it can definitely quickly become a nightmare in our rapidly changing world.
Because the thing is, I want a soft life. By which I mean I want to prioritise my joy and rest above all and I want enough money to live off of to be able to do that. For people with generational wealth (enough to buy houses outright and such) the soft life comes easily: we know privilege provides a zippy little elevator for career gains and that, for those who have inherited wealth, work/life decisions come with little of the worry about how to pay rent or mortgage.
I’ve explained in this very magazine that extreme wealth is not at all something I seek. But I’m coming to see how it’s a sort of soft life I desire the most. And to clarify before anyone gets carried away, I love what I do: I’m proud I became a writer after decades of trying and not having much luck. But in this era of permalancer we live in, for myself and many of my friends, work life balance has simply all but slipped out the window.
The trend itself of the soft life came from the Nigerian content creator community as shorthand for living a life low in stress and high in comfort; the hashtag on social media often showing images of relaxation, sometimes wrapped in luxury (fancy meals and holidays), sometimes within most people’s reach like taking a little extra time to do a face mask. The hashtag has been viewed 1 billion times on TikTok.
For many Black women, the trend is aspiring to a life of softness that often isn’t provided or rewarded to us through the society we live in. For me it simply means I want a life of ease and comfort where my joy and calm is moved to the top of the priority list. Currently working almost every weekend to provide content and do freelance projects as well as personal projects isn’t exactly it. I can’t help but to feel that my ancestors didn’t survive centuries of slavery and oppression for me to spend my entire life in a rat race I didn’t sign up for.
When I think about the soft life, I think mostly about the life I envisioned as a writer. Having one or two writing projects max and not having to maintain and manage social media platforms at the same time (which is so time consuming). That life looks like frequent coffee breaks and time to wander, maybe visit a museum during the day and read. Lots and lots of reading. Because the truth is, without those moments, your creativity goes straight out the window. I want to feel like I have time for research projects and to do the things to nurture my creativity. When I was on holiday recently I was reading books at a much quicker pace than I had since my platform reached 50,000 on Instagram.
A soft life for me is spending a lot more time offline because that constant switched on-ness isn’t actually good for us or our creative output. The soft life I dream of is one where I earn enough money that I never worry about paying my bills and therefore I can take more risks on creative projects because I know that even if what I write or do isn’t a commercial success, sometimes it just isn’t about that. I believe that when you have fewer financial obligations, your creative output can change drastically because you’re no longer working with the same constraints.
Ultimately I’d like to get to a point where I feel enough financial security that I’m not constantly preparing for winter like a squirrel gathering nuts because I’m pretty sure when that happens some of my best writing will emerge. So for now I don’t want to work for any reason more than a future where there is more rest involved for me. I’m working towards my soft life, slowly but surely. The little engine that could one day prioritise rest and creativity. I want mornings where I don’t rush out of bed, afternoons of coffee and museum breaks and the feeling that my value is inherently tied to my productivity, to melt away.
