I took a lesson from a young woman recently. A fresh-faced, smooth-skinned woman not yet 20 and on the verge of stepping into the tricky – oh so tricky – world of adulthood came to stay with me.

She came for a few nights as her accommodation had become unsafe, with drunken young men carousing at night and generally doing what drunken young people do. Despite this, she was unhurried and composed. I watched her slowly unpack, cook with grace, and then rest. She was measured, unruffled in her manner. She didn’t dwell on the recent upset in her life; instead, she calmly went about reorganising herself.

It gave me pause. I suddenly realised I had been rushing all through my life. For years I had been giving myself lists of tasks, goals – things I felt I needed or ought to do. And what happened when I finished a list? I made another one. This young woman asked, “Shall I clean the kitchen?” And then she did.

It startled me to realise that I have always approached life as something To Be Done – to be tackled and completed in the most efficient and rapid way possible. I know about deadlines, of course, but this was a deeper, more subtle approach to life in general. She finished cleaning, then sat down and took a break. She seemed to have no internal compulsion to race through things. She just calmly went about her day.

Watching her made me sharply aware of how much I have hurried through life. How being efficient had gained a status in my psyche. Something as simple as hanging out the washing had to be done quickly and efficiently. I thought, Why have I been in such a hurry? Did hurrying make any difference? Was setting goals burdensome?

Life rolled on, things happened, and then other things happened – and the amount of speed or efficiency I put into it… well, I’m not sure it made a difference.

Here was an unhurried woman. She was in that golden, liminal time on the edge of adulthood, when life is full of possibility. I saw her steadiness. It was a good lesson, one that I appear to have learned late. There’s no hurry – life will meet you regardless.

I went out into the garden. It would be time soon to do the winter plantings. It would be hard to shrug off a lifetime of must/should/ need, but I would try. I would begin by having a cup of tea, trusting that all would be well and all manner of things would be well. I resolved to sit, listen to the earth, watch the sky and simply be (another goal?). It might be hard to change that hurrying pattern, but sitting under the pepper tree and thinking about seedlings would be a good start.

I looked up. Two tawny frogmouths perched in stillness high above. They weren’t in a hurry. I didn’t need to make this moment mean anything. I could sit and drink my tea. The garden, the birds and the tree continued to just be.

In the pandemic, I walked my friend’s dog, Clover, around the block and in doing so became aware of the many canine conversations in my neighbourhood. All the dogs know each other, who does what, who is friendly, who is overprotective, who is unhappy. The dog owners know them too – who nips, who barks, who races up and down a fence line, who wags their tail. The dog world is very much a part of any community. There are a lot of conversations that go on at the park or on the beach. I like to think those sensitive doggy noses have a code for people. ‘Here comes Long Black,’ they might say in their doggy way, ‘Double Shot Espresso is looking a bit dusty, must have had a big night. Oh look! Decaf Soy Latte is approaching Cappuccino, what’s that all about? Cappuccino never talks to anyone. So much simpler to sniff a puddle of wee, have a quick butt inspection and boom, you can keep walking. Humans, they sigh,’ as they tug on leads. ‘Such slow learners.’

Dogs bear witness to our lives. They bring us love, charm, and company. When the pandemic began, there was a big upsurge in pet fostering as people, now working from home, sought the companionship of animals they felt they previously didn’t have time to care for properly. Across the land, dogs rejoiced as families stayed home. Cats were not convinced.

It was referred to as crisis companionship. Suddenly thrust back onto our own devices and confined to quarters, we thought about pets. We looked to them for friendship in a darkening time. We knew we could count on pets to supply that with unflinching loyalty. Let’s hope those animals who got new homes were kept in their warm homes and treated with kindness, regular food, and pats.

The truth is, we love our pets. They ask so little and they give so much. Currently, my friend George, a small, docile terrier, is lying on the hospital bed of his master, who has had a stroke and cannot move but derives a great deal of comfort from having George’s warm body snuggled up. George sighs gently, licks his hand, and sleeps with him. He will wait for as long as it takes until his master is back with him for walks and games of ball toss. This unflinching loyalty is deep and good medicine for my friend who was fretting for him.

Many pet owners will understand the sentiments of Queen Victoria who was very sad when her beloved spaniel Dash died. She wrote this moving epitaph which sums up why we love our devoted canine friends “Here lies DASH, the favourite spaniel of Her Majesty Queen Victoria, in his 10th year. His attachment was without selfishness. His playfulness without malice, His fidelity without deceit.”

Fidelity, attachment, playfulness. You couldn’t ask for more in a friend.

Photo: For the love of dogs Photo Lyn McCarthy Niche Pictures

The acceptance of vibrant, comfortable clothing may be one of the few glimmers of light in a world drenched in out-of-control, rabid social media, and horrid, alarming news.

Which brings me to kaftans. My daughter and I were strolling along the shops when we passed a place selling kaftans. We were immediately attracted by the rainbow glitter and dazzling selection of colours. Huzzah! we thought, perfect for the quirky and ever-accepting Northern Rivers, and very suitable in a humid climate. We nearly fainted at the cost. These kaftans were pricey! Then we saw the sale rack and quickly scuttled over. We do love a sale rack. Well, excuse me while I larf. Their version of a sale and mine were hundreds and hundreds of dollars apart. We sidled our low-brow, shabby, cheap no-good butts out of there.

Our commitment to colour and comfort remained. We know women, men, and non-specific gender people of all ages who favour the brightly-coloured-verging-on-outrageous kaftan, and I must say, they look utterly fabulous. Comfy AND glamorous. That’s more like it.

So where will you shop for your kaftans and quirky clothing and not go broke or feel shamed in an expensive shop? Fear not, fellow seeker of a reasonably priced kaftan—op shops, markets, and good old FB Marketplace are places to shop inexpensively, and not contribute to the HUGE amount of clothing waste. Here you can display that perfect combo of virtue, thrift, and style.

Note well that despite the darkness at the edges, the Interweb can be used for good as well as evil. If that means unleashing a wave of people dressed comfortably in vibrant, glamorous, glittering colours into a grey old world, why then, let’s go. Nothing to lose! Smiles, laughter, and acceptance all around.

I am convinced we need more laughter, joy, and delight. Recently I saw a sign at a swimming pool that said: ‘No Skylarking!’ What an instruction. As if we all long to sit primly on our chairs and be obedient. Hell no!

That kind of talk only brings out the brat in us. My thinking is this: pop on your brightest kaftan (you will be on trend, remember) and start skylarking immediately.

Dr Airdre Grant