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

I am having two different conversations while out on my walks by the sea with locals.  The first involves the pandemic situation here in my little seaside town.  Up until recently, it has felt like a safe haven with relatively low case numbers.  But things change quickly in a pandemic and at the weekend more than one neighbour cheerfully commented that "we have gone purple" now.  Fortunately I have stared at the colourful coronavirus map of the UK enough times to know that purple means a lot of cases.  As I wonder how on earth that happened so quickly, it is also a stark reminder that there is actually a pandemic still rumbling away which is now more prevalent here. Fortunately the second conversation is about swimming and how I am managing to swim in the sea without freezing.  And that is a very good question that I am exploring.  The most commonly asked question is "what do you wear?"  There seems to be a divide in the world of open-water swimming about whether t

As I inched my way into the chilly sea this morning, I was taken aback once again by how incredibly different the sea looks each day.  Today, the water is churned up with some swirling winds causing uneven waves.  The water is murky and feels cooler than only a day ago.  With every stroke, I feel a stream of cold water on my back and it takes all my concentration to ride the swell of the waves.  Yet the clear blue sky above me and warm rays of sunshine feel amazing.  Once again, I feel more like the weather, with some emotional choppiness but a renewed sense of hope has found its way back into my heart.  It feels as if some of the emotional and political turbulent "weather system" of last week has slightly receded with seeds of positivity already emerging.   Lockdown 2.0 feels completely different this time to those tense months back in the spring.  Now I'm so used to living in a more restricted way, I have barely noticed a change other than the high street is once again

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