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

I asked my partner on this epic US election results morning, how he was feeling using the weather as a metaphor?  It's a question we used on my yoga course to check in with each other in just a few words.  I thought he would laugh at such a question, but calmly said "like the blue sky".  When it came to my weather for this morning, I replied that I am feeling more like a raging storm with lashing rain, wild winds and crashing waves.  So much tumultuous energy is circulating within my calm exterior, rather like the actual weather system that battered our coast once again at the weekend.  Every now and then, a lull would come, blue sky would appear and I could feel some positivity return for a while.  What an incredible time we are in.  It feels as if the world is paused, holding its breath to find out the results of the US election, which in these intense and turbulent times carries huge significance.  Something much larger must be at work right now in our planet, whether

Our seaside town was battered by the elements this weekend, a mixture of lashing rain plus gusts of winds that felt strong enough to lift off our roof.  Getting through Saturday night felt epic, as the noise and force of each gust rattled the roof making sleep difficult.  Waking up this morning was a delight, seeing that calm has returned after the storm.  The blue sky looks fresher, the sun feels warmer and the sea looks clear.  After a chilly but refreshing swim in the flatter sea, I feel happy and steadier again. At the same time, I also have a nagging uncertainty tucked away in the back of my mind about the pandemic and the fact that we are not doing a two week " circuit breaker " over this half-term.  While the latest tier system seems to make sense and may find some balance between case numbers and the economy, I am concerned that we might be ignoring the advice of our scientists once again.  It feels unsettling and brings a feeling of unease as we slowly walk into the

As I write this, my hands are still slightly tingling and some of the skin of my arms and legs feel chilly.  It is a sensation I am slowly getting used as I warm up after a quick swim in the sea (this is me in the photo today!).  This isn't something new as such, having swum in the sea most days during the summer months since I lived in my little seaside town.  The difference is, being October, the water is COLD.  I have never been in such cool water, being someone who relishes swimming in water that is ideally as warm as a bath.  But the pandemic and all its restrictions has caused me to wonder about how to have some kind of "mini adventure"while not travelling far.  Spending time in nature has been one of the most nourishing parts of my life since the pandemic started, so I need to find ways to continue this even as the weather changes.  In braving the chillier sea, I have joined the increasing number of local "all-year round" swimmers.  For years, I have been

As we continue to navigate these challenging times, I long for some wisdom or a guide that lays out what to expect in each new chapter of this pandemic story.  If there was a self-help book written by experts reflecting on people's experiences of the emotional journey through pandemics, I would have read it and highlighted key phrases to encourage me.  But of course, we are writing this guide as we go because very few people have lived through a pandemic, until now.  So this week, I am turning to some birds, in particular two collared doves for some wisdom on keeping calm and steady.  Collared doves are the most gentle and intelligent birds, who are generally quite comfortable being close to humans.  They are also experts at being calm, far better perhaps than us humans at the moment as we struggle with how to deal with coronavirus while trying to live alongside it.   The simple gift of calm presence Cooey, a gentle collared dove arrived one morning, as I was eating my breakfast on

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