The Art of Staying In

On creativity, comfort, connection and rediscovering the pleasure of being at home

A Quiet January Reflection

I turned forty-seven last January, and although my dancing-until-two-in-the-morning days aren’t entirely behind me, they’re certainly becoming a little less frequent.

I still love a good night out. A glass of wine with friends, a proper laugh, a lovely meal, perhaps a song or two if the evening takes us in that direction. I’m not quite ready to hang up my dancing shoes just yet.

But these days, I’m equally happy — and sometimes considerably happier — spending an evening at home.

A pot simmering on the stove, a little music playing in the kitchen, the fire lighting, a book waiting beside my favourite chair. Perhaps something creative spread across the kitchen table, or simply the prospect of a few uninterrupted hours with nowhere in particular to be.

There is a deep contentment in that kind of evening, and it’s something I’ve come to appreciate more and more as I’ve grown older.

January seems especially suited to it.

After the brightness and bustle of December, the quieter rhythm of winter feels rather welcome. The decorations have been packed away, the ordinary routines are returning, and there is a little less expectation that every weekend should be filled with something exciting.

Money can be tighter after Christmas. Energy is often lower. The days are short, the weather isn’t particularly inviting, and here in Ireland, it’s quite possible to go several days without seeing much of the sun.

But I’ve come to realise that a quieter season doesn’t have to mean a dull one.

In fact, some of the most satisfying, enjoyable and memorable moments of my life have happened within the ordinary walls of home.

Not because anything particularly extraordinary was taking place.

But because I was content to be there.

And perhaps that’s what the art of staying in is really about.

Not shutting ourselves away from the world, but learning to recognise the pleasure and possibility in the life happening right in front of us.

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Rediscovering the Pleasure of Staying In

I think our relationship with home changes as we move through different stages of life.

When I was younger, a free evening often felt like an opportunity to go somewhere, meet someone or do something. There was a certain excitement in having plans, and I still remember those years very fondly.

Then came the busy years of family life, when being at home wasn’t always a choice so much as a necessity.

With young children, there were evenings when I would have given anything to get out of the house for a couple of hours. And there were others when getting everyone settled, making a cup of tea and finally sitting down felt like the greatest luxury imaginable.

Now, with teenagers and a different rhythm to family life, I find myself appreciating home in a new way.

There are still lifts to organise, school commitments, activities, animals to look after, and all the ordinary responsibilities that come with running a household.

Life hasn’t suddenly become quiet.

But I’ve become more conscious of how I choose to spend the time that is mine.

And increasingly, I find myself choosing home.

Not because I’ve lost interest in the world outside, or because I’ve stopped enjoying the company of other people.

Quite the opposite.

I think I’ve simply become more comfortable knowing what I enjoy.

There is something rather liberating about reaching a stage of life when you no longer feel that every invitation must be accepted, every weekend filled or every free afternoon put to productive use.

Sometimes a lovely day is a day out with friends.

Sometimes it’s a walk somewhere beautiful, followed by lunch and a good chat.

And sometimes it’s a Saturday at home, with a few little jobs done in the morning, something delicious cooking in the kitchen and the whole afternoon stretching ahead.

None of those days is inherently better than the others.

The pleasure comes from being able to choose.

I think that’s an important distinction, because staying in can sometimes be spoken about as though it’s what we do when nothing more interesting is happening.

As though home is the fallback option.

But what if we stopped thinking about it that way?

What if an afternoon at home could be something we genuinely looked forward to, rather than something we settled for?

What if we allowed ourselves to enjoy the ordinary comforts of our own lives without feeling that we were missing out on something elsewhere?

I’ve found that the more comfortable I become with that idea, the less I feel the need to explain how I spend my time.

A quiet weekend doesn’t require an excuse.

And a lovely day doesn’t necessarily need an outing attached to it.

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Creativity Is for Everybody

One of the things I love most about being at home is having the time and space to make things.

I’ve always enjoyed creative activities, although my enthusiasm for them has occasionally exceeded my actual ability!

I sew quite well, if I say so myself.

I embroider rather terribly, but with enormous enthusiasm.

I paint with watercolours, make cards, design candle labels, occasionally colour in like a ten-year-old, and have been known to disappear into a little creative project for hours without noticing the time.

I love making candles too.

There’s something wonderfully absorbing about the process: measuring, melting, pouring, choosing scents, making labels and waiting to see how everything turns out.

It’s practical and creative at the same time, which is a combination I’ve always enjoyed.

But here’s the thing.

None of these activities needs to result in something particularly impressive.

Some of my watercolour paintings are lovely.

Others are decidedly less so.

And that’s absolutely fine.

Because somewhere along the way, I think we’ve become a little too concerned with being good at the things we enjoy.

People sometimes tell me, “Oh, you’re so creative. I wish I was artistic like that.”

And I always want to tell them that creativity is much broader than artistic ability.

Of course, artistic skills can be learned and developed, and there are people with extraordinary talents.

But creativity isn’t reserved for those people.

It’s also a way of seeing things, approaching problems, experimenting, imagining and making something your own.

You might never pick up a paintbrush or an embroidery hoop in your life and still be an enormously creative person.

Perhaps you’re wonderful at putting together a meal from whatever happens to be in the fridge.

Perhaps you love arranging flowers, growing things, decorating your home, writing letters, taking photographs or finding clever solutions to everyday problems.

Perhaps you have a talent for making people feel welcome, planning lovely gatherings or turning an ordinary family tradition into something everyone remembers.

All of that involves creativity.

And none of it requires an audience.

I think that’s something worth remembering in a world where so much of what we make, cook, decorate or create is photographed, shared, compared and judged.

We can enjoy doing something without needing to turn it into content.

We can make something simply because we feel like making it.

We can be beginners.

We can be quite dreadful at something and still thoroughly enjoy ourselves.

And perhaps most importantly, we can stop before a hobby becomes another responsibility.

Not every creative interest needs to become a business, a side project or a skill we feel obliged to improve.

Sometimes it’s enough to make a slightly wonky embroidered flower, smile at the result and start another one.

There is enormous freedom in creating something simply for the pleasure of doing it.

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Home as a Studio, Not a Cage

For years, I think I imagined creativity as something that happened in particular places.

Studios, workshops, craft rooms, art classes — somewhere with shelves full of beautiful supplies, plenty of natural light and a dedicated space where everything could be left undisturbed.

And wouldn’t that be lovely?

But I’ve gradually realised that some of the most enjoyable creative moments happen in much more ordinary surroundings.

At the kitchen table.

On the sofa.

Beside a sunny window.

In the garden, with muddy hands and a half-finished plan.

Or standing at the kitchen counter, trying something new while dinner is cooking.

Our homes don’t need to be perfectly arranged to make room for creativity.

Sometimes all we need is a little space, a few materials and the willingness to begin.

I often think about how much creativity is already happening in our homes without us giving it that name.

The person who carefully tends a garden, experimenting with different plants and discovering what grows well.

The person who loves setting a table, combining old china, candles and flowers in a way that feels welcoming.

The person who makes beautiful birthday cakes, repairs clothes, rearranges furniture or creates family photo albums.

Even the everyday business of making a home involves imagination and resourcefulness.

And there’s something rather lovely about recognising that.

Home becomes more than somewhere we return to at the end of the day.

It becomes somewhere we can explore ideas, develop interests, experiment, make mistakes and discover things about ourselves.

A place where we can grow.

I particularly love the way creative activities can bring people together without demanding that everybody sit down for a formal conversation.

Someone might be drawing at the kitchen table while somebody else is making tea.

One person might be cooking while another sits nearby chatting.

There might be music playing, a dog stretched out somewhere inconvenient, and the usual collection of household bits and pieces scattered about.

Nothing especially organised.

Just people sharing a space, doing their own things and enjoying one another’s company.

I think some of our nicest conversations happen that way.

When nobody has announced that it’s time for a meaningful family discussion.

We’re simply there, together, and the conversation happens naturally.

Of course, not everyone has a spare room or even a quiet corner to call their own. And there are times when the kitchen table needs to be cleared in a hurry because somebody actually wants to eat their dinner.

But creativity doesn’t require perfect conditions.

Sometimes it begins with opening a notebook, picking up a pencil or deciding to try something different with what we already have.

And that can happen almost anywhere.

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The Lovely Art of Pottering

If there is one activity I think deserves far more recognition, it’s pottering.

I absolutely love a good potter.

Not cleaning the entire house from top to bottom.

Not embarking on a major decluttering project.

Not working my way through a list of jobs that have been waiting for weeks.

Just moving gently from one small thing to another, doing whatever catches my attention.

I might begin by putting away a few dishes and end up rearranging the dresser.

I might go into the garden to collect something and find myself checking on the plants, pulling a few weeds or noticing the first signs of something beginning to grow.

I might straighten a pile of books, move a vase, water a plant, make a cup of tea and then sit down for twenty minutes because I’ve spotted something interesting to read.

There’s no particular order to it.

And that’s the pleasure.

So much of adult life is structured around responsibilities, schedules and things that need to be done.

We know what time we need to leave the house, when dinner needs to be ready, which appointments are coming up and what must be finished before the end of the week.

Pottering offers a little freedom from all of that.

We can follow our curiosity.

We can do something because we want to, rather than because it’s urgent.

And we can stop whenever we’ve had enough.

I think winter weekends are particularly suited to this kind of living.

When the weather is wet and there’s no great temptation to venture far, an ordinary day at home can unfold quite happily without a detailed plan.

Perhaps you make something nice for lunch.

Perhaps you finally sort through that drawer that’s been annoying you.

Perhaps you get halfway through and decide you’d rather read your book.

That’s allowed too.

And I think it’s worth distinguishing between pottering and productivity.

Sometimes pottering results in a tidier room, a lovely meal or a small job finally completed.

Sometimes it doesn’t result in anything much at all.

The value isn’t necessarily in what gets done.

It’s in the freedom to spend a little time without constantly measuring what we’ve achieved.

For someone who has spent much of her adult life working, raising children and juggling responsibilities, I’ve come to appreciate that freedom enormously.

There’s a lovely feeling in looking at an afternoon and realising that, for once, it doesn’t need to be accounted for.

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Making Room for Other People

Now, for all my enthusiasm about staying in, I certainly don’t mean that I want to spend every winter evening alone with my books and craft supplies.

Although, admittedly, that does sound rather appealing on some days!

I still love having people in our home.

A friend calling for coffee on a Saturday morning.

A glass of wine and a good chat on a Friday evening.

A family dinner that stretches on long after the plates have been cleared.

There’s something about entertaining at home that I find wonderfully relaxing, particularly when everyone feels comfortable enough to be themselves.

I love the conversations that wander from one subject to another.

The laughter coming from the kitchen.

The extra cup of tea nobody really needs but everybody accepts anyway.

And one of my favourite things is when someone tucks their feet up underneath them on the sofa.

I always think that’s a very good sign.

It tells me they’re comfortable.

That they don’t feel the need to sit politely on the edge of the chair, worrying about where to put their hands or whether they’re overstaying their welcome.

They can settle in.

And really, isn’t that what hospitality should be about?

Not impressing people with a perfectly presented house or an elaborate meal.

But helping them feel at ease.

I think we’ve sometimes made entertaining unnecessarily complicated.

We imagine that having people over means the house must be spotless, the menu carefully planned, the table beautifully decorated and everything prepared in advance.

And of course, there are occasions when I thoroughly enjoy doing all of that.

I love setting a lovely table and making a bit of an occasion of things.

But some of the nicest gatherings are the simplest.

Soup and bread.

Coffee and something homemade.

A pot of tea and whatever biscuits happen to be in the cupboard.

A few friends around the kitchen table.

I don’t think people remember whether every cushion was perfectly arranged.

They remember how they felt.

Whether they were welcomed.

Whether they laughed.

Whether they could relax and enjoy themselves.

And the same is true of family life.

As children grow older, the opportunities to spend time together change.

There are fewer evenings when everyone automatically gathers in the same room, and more occasions when people have their own plans, interests and routines.

Which makes those ordinary moments together all the more precious.

A shared meal.

A film.

A conversation in the kitchen while someone is making toast.

An evening when everybody happens to be home.

These are the things I find myself appreciating more and more.

Staying in doesn’t have to mean withdrawing from the world.

Sometimes it means making a little more room for the people who matter to us.

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When Staying In Isn’t a Choice

Of course, I think it’s important to recognise that the pleasure of staying in depends enormously on our circumstances.

There is a world of difference between choosing a quiet weekend at home and feeling unable to leave it.

For some people, home is a place of comfort, safety and belonging.

For others, it can be lonely, difficult or full of responsibilities that never seem to end.

There are people who spend much of their time at home because of illness, caring responsibilities, financial circumstances or limited opportunities to get out.

And there are people who would dearly love a little more company, activity or freedom.

I don’t think we should romanticise staying in without acknowledging that.

Even in a happy home, there are times when the walls can begin to feel a little close.

When everybody seems to need something.

When the house is untidy, the weather is miserable, the washing is piling up and the last thing you want is another afternoon indoors.

I’ve certainly had days like that.

And on those days, the answer isn’t necessarily another candle or a cosy blanket.

Sometimes we need fresh air.

Sometimes we need company.

Sometimes we need to get out of the house, see something different or have a conversation with somebody who doesn’t live under the same roof.

Sometimes we simply need a change.

For me, the art of staying in isn’t about deciding that home is always the best place to be.

It’s about recognising what we need at a particular moment.

There are days when home restores us.

And days when stepping away from it does exactly the same thing.

Both matter.

I think the older I get, the less interested I am in rigid ideas about how we should live.

We don’t have to be homebodies or social butterflies.

Creative people or practical people.

Busy people or slow-living people.

We can be all sorts of things, at different times, depending on what life asks of us.

And perhaps part of growing more comfortable in ourselves is allowing that to be true.

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The Art of Staying In

I sometimes wonder whether one of the greatest pleasures of getting older is becoming less concerned with what an enjoyable life is supposed to look like.

There was a time when I might have measured a good weekend by how much we’d done.

Where we’d gone.

Who we’d seen.

What we’d managed to fit in.

And I still love making memories, having adventures and getting out into the world.

But I no longer believe that a full life has to be a constantly busy one.

Some of the loveliest memories are made in very ordinary circumstances.

At the kitchen table, with paint on our fingers.

In a room full of laughter after dinner.

Beside the fire, with a book and a cup of tea.

Or on a wet January afternoon, when the weather outside is thoroughly miserable and there is nowhere else we’d rather be.

I think about all the small things I’ve made over the years.

The sewing projects that turned out beautifully and the embroidery that most definitely didn’t.

The candles poured, the cards made, the watercolours painted, the notebooks filled.

I think about the meals shared, the conversations had and the ordinary afternoons that somehow became memorable without anybody planning them that way.

And I realise how much of a life is lived in these seemingly unremarkable moments.

Not the grand occasions.

Not the carefully organised days.

Just the everyday business of being at home, doing things we enjoy and sharing our lives with the people around us.

There’s creativity in that.

There’s connection.

There’s pleasure, comfort, freedom and a kind of quiet contentment that I don’t think I appreciated nearly enough when I was younger.

Perhaps the art of staying in isn’t really about staying in at all.

Perhaps it’s about feeling at home in our own lives.

Knowing what we enjoy.

Allowing ourselves to spend time on things that don’t necessarily achieve anything.

Making room for creativity, companionship and the occasional afternoon when nothing much happens.

And recognising that we don’t always need to go somewhere else to find something wonderful.

Sometimes it’s already here.

In the warm kitchen.

At the slightly untidy table.

Beside the fire.

In the ordinary home, on an ordinary day, where a great deal of our lives quietly unfolds.

And that’s more than enough for me.

Chat soon,

Ciara x

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If you’re finding yourself drawn towards a quieter, more comforting winter, you might also enjoy reading Wintering at Home, where I share twelve gentle ways to embrace the season and find pleasure in its slower rhythm.

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