How a 500 Year Old Farmhouse (and a Gift for My Dad) Taught Me the Power of Looking Back
- Tim Leach
- 21 minutes ago
- 7 min read
There’s a peculiar moment in life when you suddenly realise you’ve become the family historian.Not because anyone asked you to. Not because you have a degree in archaeology, genealogy, or “romanticising old bricks.”
No — it happens because one day you’re standing in your kitchen, wondering how on earth to say thank you to your dad for being your anchor in a life that has included more detours, disasters, distractions, and inner battles than most people experience in a decade… and you realise that gratitude doesn’t always come in the form of the latest gadget or a bottle of something brown and expensive.
Sometimes, gratitude needs to be deeper. More personal. Something that says:
“I see where we came from — and I honour it.”
And so began my latest passion project:The History of Rookery Farmhouse - a book I’ve been building for my dad, page by page, archive by archive, census by census, as a way of capturing not just the story of a house, but the story of the people, the quirks, the eras, and the threads that led to the life we’re living now.
I didn’t expect it to be emotional. I didn’t expect it to feel spiritual. And I certainly didn’t expect it to reshape how I think about mindfulness.
But it did, and this blog is about exactly that.
The Gift That Turned Into Something Much Bigger
When I first began pulling together this book, digging through estate sale documents, old maps, family stories, newspaper snippets, sepia photos, quirky architectural details - it felt like a simple act of love for my dad. A “thank you,” wrapped in history and nostalgia.
But the deeper I went… the more I realised I wasn’t just documenting a house.
I was documenting the lineage of becoming.
I was documenting the tiny decisions of people long gone that somehow led to the present moment - to me, to my family, to my dad, to our relationship, to the life I’m building, to the person I’m trying to be.
The walls of that old farmhouse held stories - some chaotic, some beautiful, some tragic, some hilariously mundane.Just like all of us.
And somewhere between the 1841 census and a black-and-white photo of the orchard, I found myself doing the very thing mindfulness “gurus” love to warn us against:
I was looking back. Intentionally. Deeply. Emotionally.
And here’s the twist:
I realised this wasn’t the opposite of mindfulness.
It was mindfulness - just carried out properly.
Because looking back isn’t the problem.Getting stuck there is.
Living in the Moment Doesn’t Mean Disowning Your Story
In the mindfulness world, we hammer home the “live in the now” mantra so much that we almost treat the past as a disease - something to avoid, ignore, dismiss, or burn in a ceremonial fire pit behind a yoga retreat centre.
But that’s not mindfulness.That’s amnesia with better PR.
Mindfulness isn’t about pretending the past didn’t happen. It’s about not becoming imprisoned by it.
There’s a difference.
A big one.
Because the past does matter. Not as a place to return to… but as a place to learn from.
The past holds context. It holds wisdom. It holds emotion, echoes, foundations, and occasionally a crazy ex-girlfriend from 2008 you’d rather forget.
The goal isn’t to erase the past. It’s to stop dragging its shadow into every room of your life.
And as I pieced together this book for my dad, I saw, in real time, how powerful the past can be when approached correctly.
When Looking Back Goes Wrong
Let’s address the elephant in the room:
Most people don’t struggle with looking back.They struggle with looking back badly.
Looking back in a way that’s soaked in:
regret
guilt
longing
bitterness
“what ifs”
nostalgia so romanticised it should be classified as fiction
idealising past loves
replaying old mistakes
self-punishment
emotional archaeology with no plan to ever resurface
That’s not reflection.That’s psychological quicksand.
It feels like thinking.But it’s actually drowning.
And this is where most people get tangled. We revisit our old relationships, old heartbreaks, old failures, old patterns, old missteps, old selves - and instead of learning from them, we wear them like weighted blankets.
We use the past as evidence of who we are now. Or worse, who we deserve to be.
We create a personal history exhibit where every mistake is pinned to the wall like a museum artefact:
“Here lies the moment I messed everything up.”
“Here is the decision I regret.”
“Here is the person I shouldn’t have trusted.”
“Here is the love I lost.”
“Here is the time I wasn’t enough.”
This kind of looking back is corrosive. It’s the spiritual equivalent of picking a scab.
And it’s often done unconsciously - a habitual looping, a mental compulsion, a reflex we don’t even realise we’re indulging.
But when you look back intentionally… with awareness… with grounding… everything changes.
When Looking Back Goes Right
The “right” kind of looking back has a very different energy.
It’s slower. Calmer. Grounded. Almost reverent.
It’s closer to archaeology than obsession.
Instead of drowning in old memories, you’re excavating them gently, noticing patterns, gathering pieces, connecting stories, understanding the chain of events that created you without letting any of it define you.
Looking back properly feels like:
“Ah, that’s why I reacted that way.”
“That choice shaped more than I realised.”
“That relationship taught me something important.”
“That version of me was trying their best.”
“That failure redirected me to something better.”
“That heartbreak opened space for a deeper love.”
“That mistake helped me grow up.”
“That period of life gave me resilience I didn’t know I was building.”
Proper reflection gives you context without claiming your identity. It gives you lessons without chains. It gives you gratitude without clinging. It gives you clarity without self-punishment. It gives you compassion for the person you used to be.
And as strange as it sounds, building a history book for my dad taught me all of this in the most unexpected way.
A House That Outlived Every Problem Anyone Ever Had
As I sorted through the old documents, I realised something deeply grounding:
Everyone who has ever lived at Rookery Farmhouse had problems.
Every single one.
Disputes. Losses. Mistakes. Misjudgements. Love found. Love lost. Children born. Children buried. Dreams realised. Dreams collapsed. Money made. Money vanished. Arguments had. Bridges burned. Illness. Recovery. Interrupted plans. Hope. Humour. Heartbreak. Hard work. Real life.
The messy, human stuff we all secretly believe is unique to us.
But here’s the thing: The house outlived all of it.
Generations came and went. Stories unfolded and folded again. People fell in love, got it wrong, tried again, started over, failed, reinvented themselves.
And each of them thought their problems were monumental.
Yet there I was in 2025, reading about their lives as a footnote, a census line, a scribble in ink.
That’s not depressing. It’s liberating.
Because it means this: Whatever you’re going through will one day stop hurting. And eventually, it may even become a story that helps others.
That’s the beauty of history. It shrinks our ego just enough to soothe our fear.
Why I Wanted This to Be My Dad’s Gift
My dad has always been the sort of person who quietly holds the family roots together - almost without realising he’s doing it.
He’s practical, grounded, steady - the opposite of my slightly chaotic, introspective, over-analytical mind which likes to go on adventures inside itself.
This book is my way of giving something back. Of saying: “You kept us rooted.Now here’s the map of the soil you did it in.”
In-fact, when done consciously, it strengthens mindfulness.
Because mindfulness isn’t about pretending yesterday didn’t happen. It’s about not letting yesterday steal today.
It’s about seeing your story clearly, lovingly, humbly - so you can live this moment with eyes open, rather than clouded by ghosts.
The Past Is Not a Place to Live — But It Is a Place Worth Visiting
This project reminded me that the past is a bit like an attic.
If you never go up there, you miss the treasures. But if you move in, you’ll suffocate in dust.
The goal is balance.
Go up there intentionally. Take a torch. Open the boxes gently. Hold what’s meaningful. Let go of what’s not. Bring down the things worth keeping. Close the hatch when you’re done.
Looking back correctly can give you:
roots
identity
gratitude
humility
empathy
perspective
healing
But most importantly:It helps you understand that the past is proof that life keeps moving - and so must you.
Mindfulness Isn’t About Forgetting - It’s About Integrating
The more I sat with archives of the farmhouse, the more I realised something:
Your past is only a problem when it tries to drive the car.
When you give it the passenger seat, it becomes a teacher. When you shove it in the boot, it becomes a ghost. But when you bring it into the present moment with awareness and compassion, it becomes wisdom.
That’s integration. Not denial. Not indulgence. Integration.
And it’s funny - for a book about a 500-year-old building, this project became one of the most mindful things I’ve done in years.
It grounded me.It reminded me that the world existed long before my mind made things complicated. It reminded me that I am part of a chain, not an isolated dot. It reminded me that nothing stays stuck forever. And it reminded me that life is a combination of what came before and what comes next - with the present moment acting as the bridge between the two.
So Yes — *Look Back.
*Just Do It Properly.
Don’t revisit the past to punish yourself. Don’t revisit it to cling to who you used to be. Don’t revisit it to idealise what was. And certainly don’t revisit it to compare yourself to the ghosts of old relationships, old identities or old dreams.
Look back to understand. Look back to honour. Look back to learn. Look back to appreciate. Look back to root yourself.
And then - return to the present, wiser.
The past is not the enemy. It’s the compass. Just don’t mistake it for the destination.
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