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

From the moment I put on my swimming suit, neoprene gloves, hat and boots, I begin to leave my human life for that of a sea-dweller, or even a mermaid.  As I walk towards the beach wrapped in my gigantic robe, I am focused on only one thing, the sea.  I change from living my human life, ensconced mostly in a warm brick house to being part of the natural world.  The sea murmurs quietly today, low winds but with some lingering grey cloud.   It feels colder without the sun rays, and for a moment I wonder why am I here? The water is breathtakingly cold now, only five degrees, which is classed as "ice swimming" (5 ℃ and below) although there is definitely no ice in sight.  Two seagulls watch me with little interest, as they perch on the posts of the groynes and allow me to swim close by.  They accept me as a sea creature for these moments and part of their ocean.  I wonder where this endorphin "high" is or even a sense of  "this is nice" that regular cold water

On the beach this morning, I was clapped by a dog walker who called out "bravo".  I was wearing my enormous blue cosy cape-like robe and had just emerged from a chilly swim in the sea.  I smiled and said thank-you, feeling slightly embarrassed about being clapped for merely swimming.  As I walked back home, I realised my outfit might look rather like an oversized Superwoman, or maybe some kind of "real" athlete.  It is an incredible thing that I can swim in this cold water, in December without freezing and I secretly enjoyed the moment of acknowledgment by the dog walker.  However, what is funny is that swimming in the cold sea is actually not that difficult compared to the relentless endurance needed to get through these pandemic times. Having heard a lot of different stories of people's struggles this year, one thing that is obvious is that each experience is entirely individual.  A GP once told me that the Christmas period can act as a "magnifier"

This is the time of year when I turn into some reptilian, lizard-like sun seeker.  Any moment when there is a clearing in the grey cloud and some rays of sunshine miraculously peep through, I am excited.  Perhaps I have a sun-craving syndrome, as I will grab a coat and get outside as soon as I see the sun appear.  It feels like a tonic and a much needed uplift, especially during this pandemic winter.  Even if it is only 5 degrees outside, as it was today, you will find me wrapped up by the sea for those rare moments of sunshine. If times were normal, I would have a plan to travel to somewhere warm for a few weeks this winter.  The most incredible benefit from taking a break from my teaching career is that I have been able to travel off-peak in early December or January when it is SO cheap in comparison to taking holidays at peak-times.  In the last couple of years, we have escaped to Nerja in Spain which is lovely and quiet in the winter, yet warm enough for both walking and relaxing o

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