Choosing simplicity

In the pursuit of contentment: the energy for simple things

As we start a new year, I find myself asking not what I want to achieve, but how I want it to feel. More than ever, I crave simplicity and contentment — moving forward while at the same time rediscovering an older self: the creative self, the curious self, the one that wants to learn and experience without urgency or expectation.

I’m learning to seek contentment in small things again, in little moments that, in my not-so-distant past, would have passed me by unnoticed. And I’m ready to let go of complexity — the kind that quietly consumes energy and leaves little room for motivation to do the things that really matter.

For a long time, I thought motivation to get things done was something you either had or didn’t — a force you could summon if you tried hard enough. I assumed it was related to ambition, to purpose, to having a strategy and a clear plan. When I felt tired or resistant, I took it as a sign that something was wrong with me. That I wasn’t trying hard enough. But I’m beginning to realise that motivation isn’t just a trait, desire, or discipline; it’s available mental and emotional energy. And complexity quietly drains that energy.

Lately, I’ve been realising that my problem wasn’t a lack of motivation at all, but a misdirection of energy. When so much of it is tied up managing complexity, there’s simply less left for getting things actually done — not because you don’t care, but because your mind is in overdrive and it’s hard to focus.

Over the past ten years, much of my energy has gone into sustaining complexity: running two businesses, maintaining momentum, constantly trying to get ahead, and keeping multiple systems alive at once. None of this was wasted — it mattered deeply — but it quietly demanded more and more attention. And left less space for joy and spontaneity.

Complexity has a way of building without announcing itself. One extra commitment, one more layer of responsibility, another expectation or task added to the day. Each piece feels manageable on its own. Together, over the time, they create a constant pressure that’s hard to escape.

What I’ve noticed is that when life becomes too complicated, even the things I love begin to feel heavy. Not because I’ve stopped caring, but because everything starts to require maintenance. When joy becomes entangled with output, and rest has to be earned, something essential is lost.

And yet, the things that bring me the deepest sense of fulfilment are also the simplest. Cleaning the the house. Cooking a nice meal. Taking photos or writing without an outcome in mind. Going for a walk without documenting it. Sitting with a book long enough to forget the time. These moments don’t scale. They don’t perform. But they ask for a particular kind of energy — a softer, quieter one. The energy of feeling content with less.

I now understand that simplicity isn’t about rejecting ambition. Perhaps it is about letting go of the things that once made sense, but now demand more from me than they give back.

Giving things up has been easier than I expected. What I once wanted, or what mattered some time ago, has changed. Evolved — as we do. I’m learning the power of acceptance. Letting go can feel like erasing effort, or turning away from a former version of myself. But it’s important to live in the present without constantly harking back to the past. And it’s so liberating…

Contentment, I’m discovering, doesn’t come from doing more — it comes from protecting my energy. In fact, it comes from doing less and allowing enough space in the day for simple things and to breathe again. Some days, the most meaningful moments are the ones that would look insignificant from the outside, but inside feel like a huge personal win.

I no longer believe motivation needs to be chased. I think it arrives naturally when life is made simpler — when there’s less to manage, less to uphold, less to prove.

Perhaps this is what calm really is: enough space. Enough room to live, to notice, and to feel quietly at home in one’s own life — without chasing more or different.

And for this year, that feels like enough.

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Over the past fortnight, we’ve experienced a lot of weather, and I’ve loved every walk — here are some views from that time.