While the rain waters the garden after a handful of sunny days, I curl up on my sofa to write the first story in what might be years, my feet still cold from spending some time barefoot in the grass. It is a strange thing to return to a practice you abandoned a long time ago. Something that used to be so effortless now almost feels like a struggle – but not in a bad way. This time I already know that it’s something I love to do and might even be good at. I just need to get reacquainted with this part of myself. And there’s a comfort in that.

So here I am, returning to my computer to share stories from my life, a CD with familiar music playing in the background – the one I listened to when writing sermons. Somehow this feels like the right type of music while contemplating the question I wrote at the top of this article: “What if I only have five years left to live?” What a question to ask weeks after you turned 35. But it is not without reason that I’m asking this question at precisely this point.

While growing up, I was certain I would not live past age 40. I don’t know why it’s this specific number, but the feeling stuck with me for so long that I can still remember. And if my younger self was right – though I truly hope she’s not – that means the following five years will be my last on earth. So today I’m asking myself what I would do if this little snippet of time is all I would be given.

The question has constantly hummed at the back of my mind for quite a while now. It’s something I started asking myself when I became housebound and bedridden. Back then, I could answer without hesitation: build a photography business that creates beautiful experiences for my clients and move to Scotland – the two things were somewhat related. Now both of these things have become a reality, the focus of my answer has shifted away from what I want to achieve. Now, my only answer to this question is: I want to live a soft life.

What do I mean by that? What is a soft life? To me, a soft life means a life where I feel safe, where I am allowed to rest, where I don’t have to compromise who I am to be accepted, a life where I prioritise my created family over everyone else, a life where I take care of myself.

This is a life where I spend time with my husband and bunnies, where I go outside every day – even if it’s just a stroll around the garden, a life where I make sure I eat and drink enough. This is a life where I limit how often I check my email, where I only share those parts of my life online that I’m comfortable with, where I leave my phone in another room.

This is a life where I’m selective about who I let in, where I follow the news as little as possible, where I won’t feel guilty about things that are not my fault and out of my control. This is a life where I create art, write down my thoughts, make space for new interests. A life where I focus on caring for the earth and all life on it, limiting my footprint, growing a garden that sustains even the tiniest of creatures – although, I might make an exception for aphids and slugs.

This is a life where I read books, wander through forests, accidentally climb mountains, take naps when needed. A life where I stare out the window, full of awe for creation, thanking God every day I get to be here despite the hardships and the repetitiveness of human life. Because a soft life – a good life – doesn’t mean the absence of hurt and boredom, it means finding the quiet beauty that happens in between.