How to feel a little calmer while life has some challenges.

Last week I officially fell out with the pandemic.  I am not feeling any sort of calm acceptance right now and I am totally fed up with adjusting to our "new normal".  I have moaned, cried and used the word "ridiculous" many times.  I don't want to be waiting on Boris Johnson's latest briefing before I can confirm if I can travel for a very rare weekend away to visit a close friend.  I am tired of looking at scientists' graphs about worst outcomes.  Why should I have to be constricted again in what I can do, when I've followed every single rule for six months?  "It's not fair" I moan, as I stomp about.  If everyone followed the rules correctly and we had a tracking and testing system that worked properly, we would be seeing less case numbers.  This pandemic sucks and I do not want to hang out with it any longer.  It is ruining things and some of these things we can't get back.   Apparently it is quite normal at the six month point i

We have recently passed the six month milestone since the WHO declared a global pandemic on March 11th 2020.  It is also six months since we entered our lockdown phase in the UK when all of our lives changed considerably.  Back then, I would have confidently predicted that things would be back to normal by now and that we would be slowly healing the emotional and economic impact of coronavirus.  I only planned to write my blog for ten weeks, to get through to the other side of the crisis.  But six months in, we are still planning around coronavirus, dealing with test shortages and facing more months of this familiar uncertainty.   The phrase, this is a marathon not a sprint now seems less helpful because no marathon lasts this long.  This phrase also conjures up a sense of endurance and just getting through no matter how much your body or psyche hurt.  Six months on, I would rather take a more leisurely stroll through the pandemic, riding the ups and down with some kindness and unders

One of my happiest moments of each day has become my daily swim in the sea.  I have been a regular summer swimmer since I have lived in my seaside town, but to venture into the water when it is chilly has become a new mini adventure.  I never believed those locals who said it was invigorating to dip into the sea while the rest of us are wearing a warm coat (are they mad?!).  Of course, the temperature of the water in September isn't that cold, just cool enough to wake up my body and give a little zing.  But it feels freeing and adventurous for just ten minutes of the day, which at the moment, really matters. On Sunday, I actually swam next to a cormorant, perched elegantly on a post that stands out from the shore above the tide line.  I remained far enough away so as to not disturb this majestic bird as it gently fluttered its wings.  It stayed there for what seemed like ages, then suddenly opened its enormous wings and showed its full width.  I was speechless (and a little chilly)

As the first chilly nights arrive in stark contrast to our endlessly sunny summer, I have that "going back to school" feeling.  Leaves are starting to show the beginnings of autumnal colours, the evenings suddenly feel darker and I'm wearing warm layers again.  For two decades I've worked in primary schools, so the childhood feeling that we might associate with the start of September has been long extended.  I would normally be planning work, filling in my new academic year diary and bracing for the impending INSET days.  By the second week of September, I would typically have my year mapped out with dates, holidays, meetings and targets all neatly highlighted in yellow.  Nothing in life is entirely predictable, but working in a school gives a huge amount of structure to a year ahead which has always felt reassuring. I hadn't exactly planned on a redundancy but decided to make the most of an enforced break to focus on improving my health, dealing with the aftermat

As we travelled west along the hectic M4, we reached a point where lush rolling hills emerged and I felt a sense of relief.  The traffic became less frenetic, the cows in the adjacent fields appeared relaxed and the horizon expanded.  The moment was more incredible because it was the first time we had left home since February to stay elsewhere.  Escaping from our little seaside town and the same four walls felt like breathing new air and coming alive just a little more.  I was filled with both excitement and slight trepidation.  This was a big step to venture out into the world and take a break from our daily routine and the safe sanctuary that our home has provided in these challenging months. Driving further west, the land seemed brighter and greener, as if I was seeing it for the first time.  Endless gentle hills and glorious trees became the background for our week staycation.  I was excited seeing intricate dry stone walls bordering fields of corn ready for harvesting.  I couldn&#

Early August at Cortijo Romero is normally hot, but a warm breeze allows guests to relax fully under the clear blue summer skies.  Nestled in a lush, fertile valley within the Alpujurra region of southern Spain, Cortijo Romero has been welcoming guests for over three decades.  It describes itself as a personal development or creative holiday centre with a weekly programme that ranges from yoga courses, walking weeks, all kinds of creative expression to more therapeutic courses.  As you arrive at Cortijo Romero (CR) after a long journey, you are greeted by both the warm staff and a deeply nourishing energy that feels like no where else on earth.  It makes me want to breathe more deeply, as if a weight lifts from my shoulders and I arrive back home fully into my own self.  I've been fortunate to visit as a guest a number of times, mostly participating in restful and rejuvenating yoga courses.  I have also worked and lived in this beautiful oasis for two periods as their volunteer

We've all heard the phrase in relation to our current pandemic that this is a "marathon not a sprint".  I've fully embraced the concept except by now, I reckon I've definitely run one emotional marathon and I'm shattered.  I am ready for some cheering as I cross the finishing line, a long hot bath, delicious comforting food and maybe a week to recover in a health spa.  I would relish a break from this pandemic marathon, with all its on-going uncertainties and fluctuations.  Surely by now, there could be an end date in sight when we can start making definite plans for events that aren't all on Zoom?  Luckily we have a Prime Minister with a crystal ball, who announced ten days ago that he thought it was likely that the coronavirus problem in the UK may well be over as early as November.  He gave a confident prediction that by Christmas we could all be hugging and abandoning social distancing.  It sounded convincing for a few moments until I remembered the

Why isn't getting back out into the world more fun I lament?  We now have all these exciting possibilities to tempt us out of our homes, ranging from going to the hairdresser to having a meal out.  I have been looking forward to returning my library books and venturing a little further from my high street for the first time.  But when the moment finally came, it was a total disappointment.  I still find seeing face masks, the social distance and the plastic screens a shock each time I venture out.  I feel tearful if things are too busy and want to get home quickly.  And then the aha moment came... this feels like culture shock .  The adjustment process that people experience when going to live in a new country for the first six months or so.  Could it be that a similar process of culture shock is happening now as we adapt to our new normal, a "pandemic shock"? I lived in Asia during part of my 30s and I remember vividly how I slowly adapted to life overseas.  As someone

While this weekend allowed people to venture out for a drink or meal, it was definitely not all of us.  "Super Saturday" for me was no different to all my other recent Saturdays.  There was nowhere I was rushing to try for the first time post lockdown.  Has there become a divide in people's views of what is "safe" to do while our current infection rate remains low?  The under 40s are apparently making up the majority of those braving it out for a long awaited pizza or glass of wine.  Maybe the rest of us, or those with a health concern are staying in our own cosy kitchens cooking for the gazillionth time since March? When I heard about the UK Treasury discussing this week whether to award each adult £500 vouchers to spend on "face to face" retail and hospitality to boost the economy, I laughed.  I realised it was definitely not just me that is remaining cautious.  If Rishi Sunak is seriously considering waving vouchers like carrots to tempt us out of

"Love recognises no barriers, it jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope"     Maya Angelou. Social isolation is difficult.  Sometimes I think our coronavirus pandemic is not only a disease of the body but also of community and relationships.  The idea of loved ones or ourselves becoming seriously ill and needing to be isolated is unthinkable but has painfully become true for thousands of people.   On a far less serious level,  I never thought I could manage being at home for two months during lockdown separated from everyone I know except my partner.  I have missed the sense of community that I took for granted pre-coronavirus such as being able to go to a yoga class, music event or my local cafe.  I have missed normal things like being able to cook for friends and relax around a table. But I'm surprised that I have found a sense of connection through the world of Zoom.  I have done yoga classes with wonderful teachers