Goodbyes 🗞️ Slow News Day #8

Hey,

Coliving has been a wonderful experience so far. At the time of sending this email, we’ve got nine days left at Château and have watched 33 fly by. (We’ve also booked five weeks in Tenerife’s Cactus for October/November, if anyone fancies joining…)

Most weekends, a few people leave. It could be two, it could be five or six. This place is in a constant state of change, fluidity. The building remains the same, our three hosts remain the same, but the occupants are a constantly shifting collective. There is no defined, easily identifiable Chateâu group. Each week, new people join and established faces depart. Some stay for a week, some stay for months. The only constant is change.

Over the first couple of weeks, the goodbyes hurt. They were a millstone around my neck. I found my mood souring, my desire for distance from it all growing.

Saying goodbye isn’t easy — especially to people who are foundational to an experience. But when it comes as part of the package, when nobody arrives here with the promise of staying forever, I’ve come to realise that it stings a lot less. In fact, it’s started to sweeten the whole deal.

We’re all just passing through. Here, there, everywhere. Not much is permanent, but we don’t usually accept it and admit it out loud. Knowing that we’re all here temporarily is an encouragement to embrace the temporary nature of things — to dive deep into the richness of connection and togetherness before it's time to go.

Every Monday night, we gather for a 'family meeting' and re-introduce ourselves — including how long we’ll be staying. On Monday, I’ll be explaining that it’s our last week here. Our last family meeting. The start of a long goodbye.

I hope it won't sting too much. I think it might. I'll go with it, whatever the case.

Slow down guide

Need a little help moving slower?

Ease your way out of Friday afternoon with this newsletter, a nice cup of something, and a little background music. Steal my setup if you aren't sure where to start.

After I press send, I’m going to have a white wine spritzer. That’s right, the Flanders classic.

I’ve gotten right into these over the last couple of months. Extra refreshing, less alcoholic, and a total dream on a hot afternoon or evening. Being in France, the wine situation is pretty healthy. Make spritzers while the wine shines, as they say.

Take a sip, enjoy the tingle of the bubbles, and give My Broken Arm by Futurebirds a spin. It’s a little bit yeehaw, it’s a little bit oomphy, it’s a lot of lovely noise that raises my mood and makes me look forward to whatever’s coming next.

Take it easy,