What would a life in Cornwall look like?

Slower pace, full heart

This week, I’m getting a glimpse of what our daily life would be like if we lived in Cornwall.

Now, before you get excited, we are not contemplating a move to Cornwall - we love our life in East Sussex. Our families and friends are there and we couldn’t be happier in our little cottage. But what would our lives look and feel like if we upped sticks to the north Cornish coast?

I imagine us waking up, yawning and stretching and rubbing sleep from our eyes, and after some self encouragement, forcing ourselves out of a warm bed and into our hats and scarves to walk down to the beach. Maybe we’ll grab a coffee from the local bakery along the way, because it’s the only place that’s open at 7:30 in the morning - there might be a hot cross bun or a pain au chocolat too, because why not, it’s Tuesday and life is good.

Coffee in one hand and paper bags full of pastries in the other, we make our way down the steep lane towards the beach, passing several houses adorned with daffodils and snowdrops on this early spring morning. The sun is just coming up, its warmth seeping into our bones as the cove comes into view.

The tide is in and the waves are crashing violently into the rocks as we wind our way up the cliffside, up and up and up until we reach our favourite spot to watch the sunrise. When it appears, golden and full of hope for the day ahead, it feels like no single moment could ever be more special than this one.

We make our way back down to the pathway that leads up into the village, chatting about what the day ahead looks like, how many meetings we’ve got in the diary, what we’re going to eat later (we decide to treat ourselves to dinner at a local restaurant that serves south Indian cuisine).

Back inside in the warm, it’s down to work for us both. By 9:30am, my stomach is rumbling and the hot cross bun I bought at the bakery is calling me, so I heat it up on the grill, add lashings of butter (always real butter, life is too short for butter imitations) and brew the kettle for a cup of tea.

The rest of the morning passes by in a blur of emails and meetings. When we’re both slightly running out of steam, we bundle ourselves up again for a quick lunchtime walk and end up at the bakery for the second time in one day. Frankly, who can resist a Cornish pasty or giant sausage roll? Not us.

We wander back to the cottage, arms laden with paper bags, crisps and fizzy drinks, and decide that it’s too lovely a day to eat hunched over our laptops - so we gorge ourselves on Cornwall’s finest baked goods at the garden table instead. It’s lovely to actually take a lunch break and spend it with each other, rather than hastily gobbling down food in front of a screen.

By 5pm, we’re ready for a post-work/pre-dinner drink at the tapas bar that sits just opposite the lane, where we end up mostly talking about air source heat pumps (romantic, I know). We’re currently in the process of commissioning someone to install a brand new eco heating system in our cottage and it’s taking up a lot of our time and headspace! Home ownership really is a rollercoaster.

There’s still time before our dinner reservation, so we walk down to the local pub by the beach for another beer (James) and a glass of wine (me). A fire roars in the hearth and despite a few wary looks from locals, we have a great time as always.

A leisurely walk through the village takes us to our chosen restaurant for this evening, the local takeaway that specialises in South Indian food. We order chicken biryani, beef curry, dhal, garlic naan and onion bhajis and we both conclude that it’s probably one of the best meals we’ve ever had.

We roll down the hill back to the cottage and collapse into bed with full tummies and very full hearts. Bliss.

A note from me…

Now, I know that posts like this one may sound fanciful and unrealistic when you’re up against the chaos and hectic nature of real life, and of course this is not your average Tuesday, but the sentiment of it always rings true. It isn’t about buying an expensive candle or jar of bath salts, or chasing the good life hundreds of miles away on the coast, because our real life problems will follow us wherever we go. No, it’s about realising that joy can always be found if we choose to notice it.

This trip has reinforced my long-held belief that happiness exists and thrives in the smallest of moments. The way James holds his hand out for mine when we’re crossing a busy road; butter melting tantalisingly on a hot cross bun; sunglasses and wooly hat weather; the first sip of a freshly made cup of tea.

I spend far too much time putting inordinate amounts of pressure on myself to do something extraordinary with my life, but simply being present and alive to witness it is probably the most extraordinary thing I could ever hope to do.

Maybe I’ll never write the book that hits the Sunday Times Bestseller’s List and stays there for weeks on end. Maybe I’ll end up back in a full time job because freelancing doesn’t work out. Maybe I’ll never pass my driving test. Maybe, maybe, maybe. There are so many maybes in life, but the constants, the people and places that keep us close and safe and loved: well, they are the ones that really, truly matter in the end.

Thanks so much for taking the time to read this :)

Do you ever wonder what life might look like in a different place, or with a different job? I’d love to know your thoughts on it.