I used to be all about living a big life. Travelling far and often, aiming high career-wise, always chasing the next big adventure. But who would’ve thought that I could get so much joy from a tiny thing: plums.

Since the birth of my daughter, my life has become a bit smaller. If we’re travelling, it’s to the nearest holiday park (never thought I’d set foot there), and the only thing I’m chasing nowadays is my one year old when she found a pebble she wants to eat.

With my life becoming smaller, my familiar sources of joy disappeared out of sight. In return, I got the joy of being a mom, but I found another, more unexpected source of joy. Right in my backyard.

We have a small plum tree in our garden that produces more fruit than an army can eat. I put a box of all the plums that were left after making a plum pie for my friends in front of our house for our neighbors to take. I saw many familiar and unfamiliar neighbors wave through our window, lip syncing: thank you. After 24 hours, all the plums were gone.

A week later, my neighbor Louke rang the doorbell and held three jars of red-purple jelly up: “Plum jam! I made it for you. And I kept a jar myself.” I invited her in, my 80-year-old neighbor, and we talked over tea, toast and jam. And I experienced the same kind of happiness I used to feel when reaching a mountaintop after a long climb while travelling this country or that.

You might be wondering why this made me so incredibly happy.

First of all, owning a plum tree and eating its fruits makes me feel part of a natural ecosystem. Since we - as humans - are nature, this just really feels like home. But sharing the fruits made me feel part of a social ecosystem as well. Making pie for my friends, giving fruits to the neighbors, and befriending my old neighbor Louke.

Yes, my life has become smaller since my daughter entered my life. Less than two years ago, I found happiness in signing a new high-profile client, in surfing waves in Mozambique, and climbing mountains in Patagonia. Now, I’m finding it right at home, looking at my moss-covered friend.

Love, Nina