Karly

Hello everyone. It’s Sunday, November 9th as I’m writing this, and for the first time in a while, this isn’t a prewritten post. I think that’s a welcome change for all of us. Since I’m a Libra, and naturally believe I’m the main character, you might be wondering where Karly, queen of nonsense and delulu, has actually been.

The answer is London.

I spent five and a half weeks there, and somehow that feels like both a dream and something that was always meant to happen. Some of what I got up to I can talk about, like the Luxury Hotel Stationery crawl I’m quietly very proud of, which will be making its way to the blog soon. Other things are still a little too precious or too private to write about in full just yet, although I can say I spent two very disoriented, tea-fuelled days transcribing a fifty-six-minute interview with someone whose work has lived in my heart for years.

Now that I’m home, everything feels a little slower. The pace of London, the 22,000-step days, the tube transfers, the hunt for decent daylight in between rain spells, has lifted. The suitcase has been emptied. The last chocolate custard bun has been mourned. I’m back to my room, my cat, my shelf of candles, and a fridge that currently contains mozzarella, yogurt, and too many iced drinks I picked up on impulse. And rather than fall back into a rigid routine or try to recreate the momentum I felt while I was away, I’ve decided to do something else entirely.

I’m naming this season my Autumn and Winter of Whimsy and Slowness. A soft landing. A personal curriculum that isn’t focused on discipline or productivity, but on comfort, creative rituals, and the quiet pleasure of tending to small things. While a lot of people are entering their winter arc, reading challenges, fitness goals, and final bursts of ambition, I’m leaning in the opposite direction. I want softness, I want joy without the pressure to justify it.

Of course, this seasonal reset would feel more atmospheric if I didn’t live in a country where it’s sunny most of the year and the temperature rarely drops below eighteen degrees. Still, the houses here are built to stay cool, which means that the overnight humidity and faint morning chill make it perfectly reasonable to wear a jumper first thing, especially if you happen to own twelve. I left with four and came back with a suitcase full of new ones. No regrets.

So here’s what I’m doing with this slower, more whimsical energy. Maybe it will inspire your own version, or maybe it will simply give you permission to be a little gentler with yourself, too.

I’m printing photos and placing them where I can actually see them, not saving them to a folder I’ll forget about. I want my memories to exist in physical form. Blurry Instax prints, imperfect lighting, slightly wrinkled ticket stubs, all of it deserves a second life in a scrapbook or on my wall.

I’m organising the stationery I picked up in London, and yes, if anyone wants a haul, I am absolutely open to oversharing. I’m actually using the pretty things this time. The stickers, the pens, the notecards. They’re meant to be used. I don’t want my desk to be a museum. I want it to look like someone creative lives here.

I’m opening the stack of vinyls and CDs that arrived while I was away. Since Taylor released The Life of a Showgirl, it was only fair that I accidentally ordered what could best be described as an early Christmas worth of presents (in all fairness, it was my birthday month) and sleeving each one carefully.

I’m scrapbooking, not for Instagram, not to prove anything. Just because I want to remember how London felt. Although I might share some pages on the blog’s Instagram. I promised my friend Leo I’d show her my pages, and If you’re reading this, hi. I miss visiting your office, even though the receptionist was always vaguely convinced I was a threat to national security.

I’m sending off two small things I picked up for a friend in the UK. It’s only been four days since I got back, so it hasn’t been weeks of avoidance, just the gentle chaos of landing and figuring out where everything fits again. The parcel might not be ready but I haven’t forgotten you.

I’m going through my makeup slowly. Not purging. Just reacquainting myself with what I already own. I’m wiping down palettes, twisting up lipsticks, and reminding myself which products make me feel put together even when I’m not. It feels like reconnecting with an older version of myself and letting her stay.

I’m wearing soft clothes on purpose. Loose sleeves, oversized jumpers, and gentle fabrics that feel good against my skin. Nothing structured. Nothing sharp. Just outfits that make me want to write something lovely or listen to a voice note or light a candle for no reason other than the fact that I can.

I’m reading again, but not as a challenge, just as a quiet joy. I want to be held by a story or a poem.

I’m still craving sweet things, although now that I no longer live within walking distance of Buns from Home, it’s a bit easier to pace myself. That chocolate custard bun will forever hold a part of me hostage. Nothing else quite compares.

More than anything, I’m giving myself permission to be slow and believe that softness can be productive too.

If any part of this feels like something you need right now, I hope you’ll join me. Your version might be different. It might involve baking, or rearranging your bookshelves, or texting the one person who always makes you feel like yourself. You don’t need a dozen jumpers or a fresh haul of stationery. You just need something that brings you back to you.

This is my Autumn and Winter of Whimsy and Slowness. You’re welcome here, in whatever way makes sense for you.