231

 Nameko

Buying seasonal, unpackaged or minimally packaged food is an important part of my practice. 14 or so years ago I stepped on a path of eating a plant-based diet for ecological reasons. It was not a challenge or a sacrifice because I always genuinely preferred vegetarian and vegan foods. Over the years, I began to contemplate other aspects of my relationship with food. It was no longer enough to consume food that was labelled as, say, vegan. It became important to me to contemplate how seasonal that food was, what kind of packaging it came with, how it was grown and processed, and where that food came from. 

These days, one can buy cucumbers and tomatoes grown in Denmark. Growing these vegetable in Denmark in winter is incredibly energy intensive. It feels better to buy seasonal vegetables. At the moment, those are for example Jerusalem artichokes, celery, potatoes, pumpkins, leek, kale, apples. 

I don't plan my meals exactly. Instead, I go to a food market or a supermarket to see what is available that is seasonal and minimally packaged. Then some simple dish comes to mind. Recently I made a soup with leek, onion and potatoes. 

This is not to say that I don't buy vegetables and fruits that are not in season, but most of the vegetables and fruits that I consume are seasonal. These days there are no fresh berries in the Nordics, so I have jam and honey instead. 

All of these practices allow me to connect better with nature and honour her rhythms. 

In the picture above are some beautiful nameko mushrooms. 

230

Being with a magpie (skata)

In the past few weeks, a magpie (skata in Swedish) has been visiting my balcony. She would come there several times every day. I started offering her some organic oats which she seems to love. She came back often to check if there was another portion available. Recently I forgot to offer her a new portion, and she came to my door and walked right in front of it. The door is made from glass, so I can observe the magpie often. Both her and I live in a city, and perhaps for her there is not much healthy food available, especially in winter. I see so many birds picking up rubbish and processed food in the streets. I feel deeply connected with this magpie. These days, since I resigned from the Finnish university as an act of activism, I try to be careful with my budget. But somehow offering organic food to a fellow being feels infinitely more important than buying something for myself. 

229

 Making skincare

Recently I've made a few simple skincare items. There are several reasons for it. One is ecological. I practise ecological living, and to me it is important to minimise the use of plastic, to minimise the number of objects I consume and live with, to minimise the amount of various human-made ingredients that I wash off my skin. I try to avoid using things that I would not feel comfortable to apply on my skin before I swim in a river or a lake. Another reason is health. I've mentioned it several times in this autoethnography that many of my sustainability practices were there long before I started researching degrowth. I live with an autoimmune skin condition, which means I feel better when I wear natural fabrics, especially organic cotton. I feel better when I eat simple, local, minimally processed foods. My skin feels much better when I use very simple and natural products. I avoid many categories of consumption, such as jewellery, makeup, car, tv, fancy clothes and accessories and so on for sustainability reasons. Skincare products is a category that I would love to live without, but due to my autoimmune disease, it is not possible. Instead, I use simple, locally made soap bars, a salve made by a small, local business, and homemade products. Most recently, I mixed some sweet almond oil and a few drops of organic tea tree oil and organic lavender essential oil to make an oil that I can use on my face, body, and hair. 

228

 Being with a willow

The past few days have been very stressful. I often think about a genuinely sustainable society and how it can be brought about. When life unfolds peacefully, it is easier to dream about better futures, a more harmonious mode of being in the world, and better practices.  But when various struggles constellate, theorising and manifesting sustainability becomes a challenge. I think about the meaning of life, relationships with fellow humans, my service to others and nature through my work. Going through a stressful time makes me feel overwhelming empathy towards others and their paths. I also wonder why it is the norm to conceal struggles from fellow humans. At times, my fellow humans (e.g., fellow academics, students) share their struggles with me, and I notice how cautious they are at first. So am I when I wonder if it's ok or not to be authentic. Humans seem to experience so much anxiety and even fear over answering "no" if someone asks them if they are ok. And yet, feeling well is so important for sustainability. It is much more difficult to practise sustainability and be an activist when one is struggling.

Something that helped me recently was having genuine conversations with my fellow humans, being vulnerable with them without feeling shame, and also being with nature. I walked past the willow tree in the picture above many times. But as the pond froze, the tree's branches were embraced by the thin ice, dusted with very light snow. I sat down in front of it to just be present with the pond, the ice and the willow. For a while, I held a piece of ice in my hands. It was a self-transcending experience. 

227

 On watching tv

My fellow human on a social media platform raised a question of media entertainment, such as watching tv/streaming. I never contemplated it in much depth because I don't have a tv, don't feel the need to have a tv and I rarely watch films/series. In fact I only watch something when I am with the person I live with, and mostly we watch Danish films. I am genuinely curious about Danish films as it's part of Danish culture that I'm trying to understand as I am currently living in Denmark. I don't feel bad about occasionally watching those films, and the amount of time I spend on this activity feels lagom. I don't want to watch more, as watching tv is actually one of my least favourite activities. I don't want to watch less, as I don't have a "no tv" policy. 

When I was young, my family watched tv, I grew up in a normal household. But for many years we lived in a beautiful, remote area due to my stepfather's job. In comparison to magical nature in that area, tv was not interesting at all. So I never learned to rely on tv for entertainment. As a child, I genuinely liked to read and I used to paint a lot. In winter, I loved spending time with the snow, and also with my brother and the cats and the dog we lived with. When I was 10 or so, I asked my mother and stepfather to get some chicks so we could raise them. For many years, we lived with chickens. They required much care but they were also family members, so I would spend time with them. I would spend a lot of time with nature, with fields, trees. We had a large garden, and I would at times help to look after it.

In Sweden and in Finland, I lived in very beautiful areas and would spend much time with nature as well. In neither of those countries I had internet at home, because I knew I would not be streaming. After my fellow human asked me the question about media entertainment, I asked myself what I do with my time if I don't watch tv. I read and write a lot. I write both as my profession and also sketch some thoughts about my life in my personal notes. Much of it is public (e.g., this autoethnography) because I chose not to separate my research and my personal practices/my life. These days I am writing a book, and that takes much of my time. 

I love simple activities such as sitting and walking. They are therapeutic and conducive to wellbeing, even though they are often seen as doing "nothing". I celebrate doing nothing and I'm not ashamed of saying this. Oftentimes, I sit while being mindful of the presence of others, such as the stars, the moon or the sun. I often have fika with the sun. During those moments, I feel so much gratitude, awe, wonder, all kinds of self-transcending emotions. 

I do many things slowly, and that takes time. I don't have a car or a bike and try to avoid using public transport too. Instead of watching tv, I would rather spend my time on going for a very long walk, to a food market, to the sea. It takes time to cook from scratch. Recently I was making my own skincare, and this takes time. 

I spend time on thinking and dreaming. Often, beautiful ideas come to mind not when I am reading something, but when I simply let my thoughts unfold naturally. 

I spend time on deep conversations with fellow humans and on responding to their messages and emails, but also on internal conversations. I ask myself whether I am on the right path in my life and how I feel about it. I spend time on cleaning my home, honouring the objects I live with. In summer I take time to forage.

226

 Danish winter skincare

My skin gets very dry here in the Nordics in winter. I've been using bar soaps for many years, and this is something I continue to use for my body, hands and face. This is the only cleanser that doesn't dry out or irritate my skin. I live with an autoimmune skin condition, and I've noticed that using very simple, natural products works best for me. I buy bar soap from small, local, independent businesses. These bars come without packaging or with minimal paper packaging. At times, I used to use oil (jojoba, almond, rosehip or argan) on my face but as I moved countries rather often in the past three years, I started using a salve/balm instead. I would usually get balms from small, local, independent businesses wherever I was. These balms are made from simple ingredients, and the one I am using now is made from shea butter, olive oil and beeswax. I use it on my face, body and hands. I could make a balm like this myself, but I don't want to get raw ingredients as I wouldn't use them up. I prefer to buy fresh balms and support independent local businesses. 

There are still a few natural products packaged in plastic that I and the fellow human I live with have. We intend to finish those products too, recycle the packaging and not buy products packaged in plastic again. Some products that are packaged in plastic come from the period in my life when I experienced a lot of stress. Some of them are prescription items. 

225

 Making a list of practices & principles 

Over the years, starting around 2010-2011, I've been on a path of a more ecological living. It's been imperfect and at times I made mistakes. Some practices were there even before 2010, while others are more recent. My practices changed a lot too. For a while, I lived without furniture and electric appliances. I washed everything by hand. When I started living with a fellow human, some things changed, e.g., we got some items of furniture and started using shared washing machines in our building. But many practices remained more or less the same throughout the years. I wanted to put all the practices together in one place in this autoethnography. Because I compiled the list in one go, I will be adding to it. The list is here. I numbered the items in the list for some reason, but the order is not so important. I didn't categorise the items. When I looked at the whole list, I thought that it would be almost impossible for me to restructure my life in one day or one week. Living this way now is a result of many years of spiritual growth, trial and error. It is important to recognise various structures within which I dwell. Some are constraining (e.g., the food system), while others are empowering (alternatives such as swap stations). Some structures are empowering but it is expensive to use them (e.g., public transport here in the Nordics). 

I also added a small list of principles that guide these practices or help me practise ecological living. Perhaps it would be fair to say that there is just one principle, which is love towards the self, human and non-human others, and nature (or generally the cosmos/universe). But then I decided to be more specific. This kind of love my co-author and I call "gentleness", as the word love is often used is the context of love towards another human being. 

224

 Green consumerism

Many years ago, when I consciously stepped on the path of more ecological living, it was difficult to find alternatives to conventional products. It was around 2010-2011. In the city in England where I lived there were a few places where one could get ecological and unpackaged products, but those products often did not perform as well as conventional ones or were much more expensive. Since then, things have changed a lot. It is easy to find alternatives. Some fellow humans say to me that practising ecological living is just another form of green consumerism. It can certainly take this form. In theory, anyone who can afford it can simply throw away/donate/sell everything they do not want to live with anymore and buy ecological products instead. It wouldn't even take long, especially considering that there are so many online stores these days dedicated to sustainable living. 

My own journey was not perfect. The first time I visited a zero-waste store, I got many things that I genuinely needed (such as unpackaged food and soap bars), but I also got, for example, stainless steel straws. I almost never used them afterwards and would later give them away. 

Something that helped me on my path was extreme minimalism. Zero-waste practices for me were only part of a more ecological mode of being. Another part was trying to live only with essentials. At around the same time, I reconsidered my relationship with makeup. I asked myself whether it was something I truly wanted to consume and live with, and I did not. If I was trying to replace, say, every makeup item with a zero-waste option, it would be frustrating, especially in 2010-2011. 

After the mistake I made with the stainless steel straws, I became much more mindful about my consumption. I was contemplating what was adding value to my life and what was not. I was trying to use up the products I had before replacing them with better, more ecological options. After many years of practising this mode of living, my practices are rather stable and I keep using more or less the same products. 

Some practices manifested earlier, other ones later. For example, one of the first things I did was using reusable cotton bags. At that time it was still normal to use plastic bags, and all those years ago they were free in England. Later on, charges were introduced. Though I would reuse those bags for a long time, they still didn't last as long as cotton ones. I started using soap bars and got a reusable water bottle. I became plant-based. Only later on I started to consume more organic, seasonal and unpackaged food. Minimising my wardrobe to under 20 items came even later. These days I try to wear only organic cotton and linen items that look like loungewear to normalise casual, durable, comfortable and natural clothing in professional and formal settings. 

Even more recently I decided to bank with an ethical financial institution. I also got reusable tea bags made from organic cotton. I understand that actions such as using reusable tea bags are incredibly small. But overall, this mode of living simplified my life, made it much easier to move countries, helped me save money. Somehow I feel healthier both in my body and my mind. Many fellow humans ask me about this mode of being, and I had hundreds of opportunities to have deep conversations about ecological degradation and what we can do in different domains of society. I feel that with simple and ecological everyday practices and routines I have more time for other activities such as contemplating, reading, and writing.  

223

 Everyday care

Regrowing celery and keeping lettuce in water so it lasts a bit longer will not stop ecological degradation. What will do something about it is care and love manifested in every domain of society, on every level, in every system. Our systems and policies need to be based on care and love towards humans, non-humans and nature. Considering the scale of the necessary change, of course regrowing celery feels like nothing. I think care needs to be not only felt but also practised intentionally. The way it is practised partly depends on one's position in society, i.e., where one has a say or power to act. For example, as an academic, I can choose how I deliver my lectures, how I supervise my students. We can exercise care by choosing mindfully who we vote for, what systems we reproduce. But very small-scale, everyday acts of care are also important and meaningful. In my personal life, these acts include caring about the amount electricity I use, making sure I don't generate food waste and minimise other forms of waste, using ingredients that are safe for ecosystems, contemplating my practices and where improvements can be made, reflecting on how I relate with my fellow humans and non-humans, etc. 

222

 Zero waste

Yesterday at the office in Lund university I was reading a popular book about zero waste. I've been following the zero waste movement for many years and tried to practise zero waste perfectly myself at different times in my life. These days, I incorporate many zero waste practices in my everyday life, but I'm not living a zero waste lifestyle. I see my lifestyle as a constellation of multiple and imperfect sustainability practices.  

Many of my fellow humans in academia say that zero waste pushes responsibility to consumers. I largely agree with them. Businesses and the state need to take responsibility too. But at the same time, I see many benefits of engaging with zero waste practices as an individual, a consumer.

In my practice, zero waste, minimalism and voluntary simplicity go hand in hand. Living with a lot less than what is the norm in our society makes zero waste much easier to practise. In fact, many of the items I live with are the ones that allow me to manifest care towards nature. 

Perhaps the greatest value of engaging with zero waste practices is that they often take more time. To some, the fact such practices take more time may sound off-putting. But these practices make me, and many other fellow humans, slow down and contemplate and grow spiritually. Cooking from scratch, walking to the other side of town to get some unpackaged vegetables from a food market, cleaning my home with baking soda and vinegar takes time but is humbling and even therapeutic. I don't see this as a waste of time or a chore. I think about care, growth and service. 

During stressful and difficult times, I pay more attention than ever to zero waste practices. I realise that I have everything I need and can let go of everything at any time. Most of those things can be reused by fellow humans or return safely to mother Nature. I don't feel that I need more things or more money to buy even more things. 

221

 From Copenhagen to Helsingborg

On my way from Copenhagen to Helsingborg to visit Lund university's campus. The journey takes around 1.5 hours from Copenhagen central station. I use this time to contemplate and write.

220

 Writing differently

In the past few days I've been working on a chapter that I am contributing to a volume about human-nature relationships in the Nordics. I sketched parts of this chapter last year, and it felt odd to read the draft again. I still like the content and the messages of the chapter. What I found alienating when I was reading it again was the language. Even though I've been trying to write my academic contributions as simply as possible, at times I become aware that I'm not there yet. I want all my works to read the way this autoethnography reads. I want to write my academic papers and books the way I write emails and text messages to friends. It feels that using overly and unnecessarily complicated language only obscures things and alienates fellow humans. It creates divisions. To me writing differently feels like an important part of being of deep transformations. 

219

 Making consumption decisions

The main principle I embrace when it comes to my personal consumption is living with less. In the previous entry I made notes about my "sufficiency list". Living with less doesn't feel like a compromise or a sacrifice. I experience it as liberating. I try to avoid ownership of objects as much as possible too. For example, whenever possible I borrow, and I share many items with the human being I live with. But consuming some things is unavoidable. For example, it is difficult for me to imagine living here in Denmark in winter without clothing. I feel that what helps me make better decisions, apart from living with a lot less than what is the norm in our society, is asking myself how I would personally feel about working in any part of the supply chain or living very close to the fields and factories where the items I consume are produced. 

What led me to thinking this way was my childhood experience. In my stepdad's garden, far away from the summerhouse, there is a cold water tap. Because it's there only for occasional use, there is no system of grey water disposal, so that water goes directly into the ground. On occasions I would wash a dish or my hands with the water from that tap. I was always careful with the soap I used because I realised that this water will remain in the garden, and whatever is in that water will end up in the food grown in the garden. 

I would not feel comfortable working in a factory, especially in a country where labour and environmental regulations might not be strict, that uses chemicals that are harmful for human and non-human health and ecosystems in general. I would not feel comfortable living close to a field where conventional cotton is grown. I would feel much more comfortable working in a factory that is certified, pays fair wages, avoids harsh and harmful chemicals. As I am in academia, my work is very different to that of fellow humans who work in factories that make the items I then buy and live with. But contemplating their life and placing myself in their situations is helpful and humbling, and, I believe, helps me make better choices. 

218

 Fabrics in everyday life

These days I'm working on my book about businesses. One of the businesses I researched makes products from organic cotton. As I was writing up their story, I was thinking about fabrics, everyday life and sustainability. 

My previous entry includes what I call a "sufficiency list", a playful list I sketched many years ago to write down the objects that I need in my life as I was on a path of living with very few objects for ecological, spiritual and aesthetic reasons. 

I noticed that many of those objects (e.g., clothes, towels, blanket) are made from fabric. Contemplating fabric was not the first thing I did when I stepped on my sustainability path. At that time, I evaluated my consumption in general and the waste I was producing. Due to my autoimmune skin condition, I always preferred to wear cotton and linen, and due to my person preference I never wanted to have a lot of clothes. In general, my wardrobe was largely "sustainable" for reasons other than ecological. Since my childhood, the reasons were my health, sensory processing sensitivity (so a psychological reason), and personal preference. 

One practice that is common in sustainability movements, and that I did not engage in, was shopping second-hand. I've mentioned reasons for this in my autoethnography several times. Shopping second-hand is overall a very good sustainability practice. But personally I very much dislike shopping and prefer to buy very few items, made from the materials I like to wear. I then use those items for a very long time. When they wear out, I try to buy exactly the same items. I feel that shopping second-hand is too time-consuming and it would be hard to find exactly what I want to wear: the same thing every day to normalise a much more casual approach to clothes even in more formal situations such as teaching and attending events. 

A few years ago I started to wear organic cotton, but my preference towards it was more intuitive and experiential rather than informed by data. Organic cotton objects would wash better and last longer. They felt better, and my skin would not react to this fabric. 

I live with some objects that are made from artificial fibres, and they do not feel good. I use those objects because they are functional but I would much prefer to use something made from biodegradable materials. It would be nice to wear only biodegradable items, and perhaps this will happen on my sustainability journey. 

After speaking to the businessperson who runs the company I mentioned above, I began to think more about the objects I live with. This fellow human brought my attention to the violence we do towards the soil and beings when we produce conventional cotton. 

What makes it possible for me to wear almost only organic cotton is having a uniform that is extremely simple. I wear sweatpants, a vest top and an oversized shirt every day. 

Organic towels can be more expensive, but I keep them for a very long time and learn to love imperfections such as small holes and stains.  

217

 Extreme minimalism?

Recently I've been contemplating my relationship with extreme minimalism. I've practised this lifestyle for many years for ecological, spiritual and aesthetic reasons. I lived with very few objects and without furniture. I didn't have a car or a bike and many other objects that are considered normal in our society. When I moved to Denmark, my partner and I invited more objects into our home. Since then I was wondering what remains of my extreme minimalist lifestyle. 

With my loved one, we decided to practise minimalism together without taking it to extremes as I had done previously. We have similar values when it comes to nature and our role in it, so living sustainably was important to us. Overall, we created a space with as few items of furniture as possible. We invited into our home only the objects we use very often.

Strangely, I don't consider the furniture to be mine. Oftentimes I miss living without it, though it makes a difference in a small studio apartment, as it allows us to organise this space much better. 

We have more kitchen items than I used to live with. Most of them my loved one brought into this space. We bought only a few extra items such as a cutting board and a pan. 

I received a beautiful organic cotton towel as a gift from a business I researched, and I use this towel to wrap bread in.

I use jars that were home to organic pasta sauce as something to store our cutlery in, as a vase, and also more recently instead of glasses (see the picture above). 

I've noticed that after we invited into our space all the objects that we needed for our everyday life, we largely stopped bringing new ones in. These days what we buy is mostly food and public transportation services. We buy soaps and kitchen sponges when they wear out. We certainly don't feel the need to have more. I'd be very happy living with less too, as I used to live prior to moving to Denmark. 

My "sufficiency list" is largely the same as it used to be. It's been like this for 14 or so years, in fact. I wrote about it in my autoethnographic paper, but here it is again with some comments:

Laptop. My laptop is very old, but it's an important object for me as I use it for reading and writing. 

Phone. I can't imagine my life without a phone, sadly. It feels strange to be so dependent on an object, especially as I remember the times when humans lived without smartphones. It is helpful though when it comes to confirming one's identity in the Nordics and also for train tickets. 

Headphones. I borrowed them from my partner.

Passport and other documents. I reflect on having a passport very often. It makes me think about my (British) citizenship and the rights I have and don't have in the place where I live. 

Notebook and pen. I don't have a notebook anymore as I take notes in my phone. The pen I have comes from some event I attended.

Shoes. It feels good to live in a milder climate again where I don't need winter shoes. Actually I never acquired winter shoes even when I lived in northern Sweden. I used to wear sneakers and woollen socks. 

Backpack. I don't own a handbag. I use cotton tote bags for groceries and as handbags. In Copenhagen it rains rather a lot so I use a backpack to protect my laptop. I also use the backpack for travelling. The material is water resistant and durable, but it doesn't feel pleasant when I touch it. It's an artificial material and I would much rather have a backpack made from organic cotton. 

Bank card. Banking with a conventional bank felt uncomfortable to me. I am in a (long) conversation with a cooperative bank in Denmark to see if I could have a bank account with them instead.

Personal care items. There are not many of them and all of them are made from natural materials. Switching to natural and extremely simple personal care was one of the first things I did when I stepped on my sustainability path in my late teens-early twenties. I believe that many humans in the sustainability movement did the same. It's a somewhat easy place to start. 

Towels. I share mine with the person I live with.

Sweatshirts/t-shirts. I had only one sweatshirt. I left it in Finland as I was going to come back there, but then I decided not to. Currently it is at my friend's place. My uniform is simple tops and large linen shirts, even in winter. 

Trousers/shorts. I wear sweatpants only, even when I teach, to normalise looking casual and comfortable. These days it's too cold to wear shorts in Denmark but I have two pairs and I wear them in spring and summer. 

I included items such as a bowl, fork, spoon, knife and stockpot in my sufficiency list. I live with these items but they are not mine. 

Dish brush. The one we use is made from recycled plastic. 

Tote bag. I have several of them and use them for storage and everything else.

Jacket. I only have one light jacket and it lived with me in three Nordic countries. I wore it in northern Sweden, southern Finland and in Denmark. I try to avoid overdressing. When it's very cold, I wear a large woollen scarf too. 

Handkerchief. I use it to wrap some items in when I travel.

Scissors. They are shared.

Blanket. My partner and I bought a woollen blanket from a small Swedish business. It's beautiful and feels so essential in this cold Nordic climate. 

Lunch box. I used to have one but then I gave it away to a friend who wanted to have it and would use it more than I did. I work from home often. When I have lunch at a university, I prefer to use plates and cutlery that they have and that are then washed and reused. At times I get something from a bakery, and then it's wrapped in paper. 

Mug. I had a mug when I lived in Finland but I gave it to a friend when I moved. I still don't have one but perhaps I will invite one into my life at some point in the future. 

Scarf. The large grey woollen scarf I have has lived in Sweden, Finland and Denmark with me. It's a sentimental item for me as it's been with me on numerous journeys. It makes me feel safe and cosy when I travel. It keeps me warm at home too. 

Mittens. I left mine in Finland. Here in Denmark it doesn't feel cold enough to wear mittens. 

I was talking to my fellow human about all this the other day. It's entertaining to think about myself, at the age of 34, living with so few possessions. After 14 or so years of living this way, I came to a conclusion that living with less is freeing. I don't need more. There is a certain number of items (or perhaps it's better to say an approximate list) that is "lagom" (just right in Swedish). Below that life feels somewhat uncomfortable, even though for sure not unhappy. Above that it feels like I have too much. I've realised that so many items can be shared, they don't need to be owned personally. I've embraced imperfection. Things wear out, and that's ok. I don't feel the need to immediately replace an item if there is a small hole or a stain. 

At times, my needs change. For example, I had a hat when I lived in northern Sweden. But overall, the list stays the same. 

216

 Jigsaw puzzle

I've been solving this jigsaw puzzle, with a fellow human, in the past few days. While doing it, I've been thinking how peaceful this activity is, and how easy it is to share the puzzle with other fellow humans. I intend to bring it to a swap shop (byttestation in Danish). 

These days I'm contemplating simple, everyday activities such as walking, reading, writing, resting, eating. They are the basis of everyday life and spaces where I can practise ecological living. I disagree with those who say that these activities are not enough for a good life, that humans need to be "busy" with other things to live well. The more I reflect on it, the more it feels that "busy" is not a positive word at all. 

When I was young and still lived with my mother and stepdad, we would go somewhere very often. They felt that for my brother and I it was important to visit places such as museums and theatres in addition to school and extracurricular activities. I don't have good memories of those times. Spaces such as theatres felt loud, overcrowded and overwhelming to me. I did not understand why I had to be there, and I still don't. At times, I go to a museum but only on very rare occasions. Naturally, those humans who enjoy such activities should absolutely engage in them, though. Going for walks and being with nature in my stepdad's summerhouse felt much better and more valuable to me personally. I wanted to listen to the sound of the wind in the leaves, the rain, to a hedgehog walking across the garden. 

215

In defence of writing with a loved one

With my loved one, we are trying to navigate various concepts that are used to describe relationships. Language feels restrictive, and nothing seems to fit us perfectly. So in this autoethnography and in the paper I'm writing I don't know what to call my loved one. 

In this entry, I want to sketch some thoughts on writing academic papers with a loved one. 

It seems to be a controversial topic in academia. Some, like myself, talk about their relationships openly. Others prefer not to disclose their relationships unless required by HR departments. 

It is controversial because when you co-author with a partner, various assumptions arise in fellow humans' minds. It could be assuming that they help you. It could be assuming that they exploit you. 

Personally, I've always found it beautiful when two (or more if it's a polyamorous relationship) humans are together and they write well together. 

With my loved one, we were colleagues but then we fell in love. Those who are familiar with our works know that I am interested in business in relation to degrowth as well as everyday practices. My loved one is interested in critical political economy rather than the level of individuals and business. More recently, he has become curious about self-transformations of humans, something that I've been interested in for a long time, and this is something we now contemplate together. We also think together often and contemplate how our interests on different planes of being, from the psyche to social systems, can come together. Both of us are interested in philosophy of science, and both of us are critical realists. We stepped into the realm of critical realism independently of each other. Even within critical realism my loved one likes the first moment of critical realism, while I'm more interested in the philosophy of metareality.

My experience of writing together has been wonderful. We discuss research every day. At times we read and write together, in the same space. At other times we sketch different parts of some paper, comment on it and overall go through a similar process of co-authoring as we do with other fellow humans. 

Because we live together and are in the same field (and now also at the same university), it is not surprising that we influence each other. This doesn't mean that we don't disagree and don't write works on our own or with others. 

I don't think that humans should fear being judged for writing with their loved ones. I have certainly experienced judgement, but this does not put me off working further with my loved one. Avoiding working with this person, and thus saying no to all the beautiful and thought-provoking conversations and interesting projects, does not feel authentic to me. I do not believe that humans like us are doing anything wrong. But I believe that sexism is abominable, and it is systemic. Writing together despite judgement from others is an act of everyday activism and non-compliance with sexism.