RED LADDER STUDIO NEWSLETTER

Dear Subscriber First Name,

Judging by the responses, the theme of my last newsletter seemed to strike a chord with many of you. I was writing about the idea of radical hospitality and, in connection with that, our decision to call our new place The Guesthouse (after the Rumi poem). Having shared it, the name feels even more right.

It’s beginning to feel like autumn here, and we are planning our projects for the months ahead. One of our hopes is to run small retreats here, as well as create opportunities for people to do solo retreats or retreats with friends. To make this possible, one project is to build a meditation space in the garden. There’s a beautiful spot in the corner that faces the rising sun and looks back toward the setting sun over the fields. It will be a big investment of time and money, but as the saying goes, “If you build it, they will come.”

But what if we build it and nobody comes?!

I’ve been reflecting on these two sides of myself. One, the confident voice: “If we build it, they will come.” And the other, the doubtful voice: “What if nobody comes?” It’s fascinating to notice the relationship between them. Of course, the confident me feels like the “real” me, the right way to be. The doubtful me is more of an intruder—unwelcome, annoying. She comes in the night and whispers, “What if it doesn’t work?” She fills me with fear and urges me to play it safe, above all not to risk failure.

Yet the truth is that there’s no way to know if something will work without trying it. Certainty isn’t available, so the only way forward is with uncertainty. In that sense, doubt is inseparable from vulnerability. And perhaps doubt’s message isn’t “don’t take risks” but rather “take risks, and be willing to fail.”

In Rumi’s poem, every emotion is an honoured guest. Even the unwanted ones arrive carrying a gift. So what gift does doubt bring?

It says: be brave, but stay connected to your vulnerability. It doesn’t have to be one or the other—your tenderness and sensitivity are also your strengths. Doubt also wants to protect me. It’s good to ask the question “what if no one comes?” It’s wise to have a plan B. So perhaps we build the meditation space in a way that could also become accommodation we might rent out instead.

Perhaps you can relate to this in your own life, in whatever it is you offer the world. What if you create something and it turns out nobody wants it? How do we take risks and still protect ourselves, sensibly, from disappointment?

One thing I’ve learned over the years is to create what I truly want for myself, and then share it with others. Write the book I would love to read. Plan the course I would want to attend. Build the meditation space I would love to inhabit. When we create what we think others want, we place unfair expectations on them—and when those expectations aren’t met, our disappointment can be crushing.

I don’t know if people will come. But I do know that the act of creating, of taking risks, feels alive. And maybe that’s enough: to keep moving forward, guided by our own vision, even when the outcome is uncertain.

On my radar this month

Book – The Comfort Crisis:
Someone recommended Michael Easter’s The Comfort Crisis to me—though not wholeheartedly! I’m passing it on in the same spirit. The book’s central idea is that we’ve all become too comfortable, and that this comfort is harming us both physically and emotionally. Easter takes us with him on a month-long hunting trip in Alaska—about as uncomfortable as you can get. Along the way, he shares research on how living a tougher life might actually make us happier (less food, technology, and central heating; more boredom, struggle, and wildness).

It was the right book at the right time for me, as I’ve recently taken on a big, physically demanding project in the countryside. I also valued his exploration of the ethics of hunting, since I'm now living among hunters myself.

TV Documentary – Confessions of a Brain Surgeon:
This one I wholeheartedly recommend. Confessions of a Brain Surgeon follows Henry Marsh as he looks back on his life and career. He reflects not only on the lives he saved, but—perhaps more poignantly—on the lives he lost and the mistakes he made. It’s the perspective of an older man recognising, in hindsight, how his ego sometimes led him to take unnecessary risks.

For me, it perfectly illustrated the teaching that we can’t wait for our intentions to be entirely pure before we act—otherwise we would never attempt to do anything good in the world. And yet, in retrospect, we’ll always see how we might have done better. The documentary brought home the real complexity of ethics.

Food – Steel Cut Oats:
Autumn is in the air, and the first sign—before the leaves even start changing colour—is that I begin thinking about soup! Suddenly I crave slow-cooked stews, rice pudding baked in the oven, and porridge for breakfast.

But porridge has never worked for me. As much as I love it—Scottish style, with salt and a big knob of butter—it’s terrible for my blood sugar. A couple of hours later I’d be faint with hunger.

Cue steel cut oats. What a game changer: porridge that doesn’t spike your blood sugar.

Gardens - Prairie planting:
We have a huge area of lawn that we’d like to make more garden-like. Since there’s already a more formal flower garden here—with lots of shrubs, trees, and flowers—I’ve been looking into prairie planting, specifically creating beds in a prairie meadow style.

It’s a mix of perennials and grasses that, once established, largely takes care of itself. In winter, the seed heads look beautiful, and then in spring you simply cut everything down and it grows back fresh. The lovely thing is that you can create a prairie meadow at almost any scale, no matter the size of your garden.

A quote I’m thinking about:

“Don’t be careful. You could hurt yourself.”

- Louise Bourgeois