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

Spring in Hokkaido. Hokkaido is Japan's most northerly, wildest island which is unlike the rest of cosmopolitan Japan.  It experiences Siberian winters which mean frozen seas, deep snow and unimaginable cold.  Inhabitants who stay through this season are rugged, hardy people who are not unnerved by little social contact through these long, dark months.  When spring arrives, it does so rapidly to maximise the shorter season of growth and sunshine.  Snow and ice thaws to quickly reveal a warm, welcoming and hospitable lush, green habitat.  The plethora of wild flowers that thrive in this remote island in the spring are renowned for their beauty. As I watched a recent documentary about Hokkaido, I wondered what it would be like to live two completely different types of life there?  One of survival and endurance through a bitter Siberian winter and the opposite of Mediterranean-warmth and abundance of nature.  Here in England, as our cold and snowy conditions gave way to clear blue ski

"Wintering is a season in the cold.  It is a fallow period in life when you're cut off from the world, feeling sidelined or blocked from progress... Yet it is also inevitable" (Katherine May in Wintering)   With rare heavy snow last week in our seaside town plus bitterly cold winds, I finally gave into the idea of embracing and enjoying the winter rather than wishing it was over.  The snow gave a magical, lighter quality to these days and I smiled every time I saw the fluffy white covering from my window.  I forgot about the pandemic for much of the week (except trying to socially distance while navigating ice) and took on this new challenge... keeping warm, eking out food until we can make it to a shop, and not slipping over! As I ventured out into the treacherous conditions, determined to still walk each day for an hour or so, I was finally forced to slow down.  With two walking poles and enough layers of clothing to make it to the North Pole, I managed long walks with

I think I might have got hooked on sea swimming, just a little, perhaps?  Last week I saw that snow was forecast and my first thought was "great, I can swim while the beach is covered in snow".  I have been excited for days that our little seaside town might get snow that actually settles on the ground rather than the mushy wet slush we've had.  I've not seen snow for years and while we are starting month FOUR of pretty much "lockdown" in this area, snow is beyond exciting.  It means I can have a mini-adventure right from my house and see the world looking all sparkly and white.  Snow feels like a change, a much needed break from the monotony and routine of these weeks of "staying at home".  I was so excited yesterday morning when I woke expecting swathes of pristine, not-yet-walked-on snow.  As I opened the curtains, my heart sank just a little because the snow wasn't settling.  But there were delicate snowflakes coming down alongside the free

Does anyone else feel like they are plodding slowly through mud each day while wearing heavy soil-clad boots?  It is grey and raining here for the hundredth day (or so it feels) and we are still "staying at home".  Once upon a time, "lockdown" was a new and challenging thing to adjust to.  I embraced it as much as anyone can.  I've made countless delicious meals to make days at home a little more exciting.  Every day I savour my time outdoors on my long daily walk, noticing the signs of nature that are changing around me each week.  I plan my days, set tasks for each week and keep myself pretty busy.  I've done it all.  And now something seems to have changed... I feel a little "grey" like the endless clouds, which is definitely not like me.  There is no novelty to this staying at home season anymore and I feel like yelling to anyone that can hear, that we've been in lockdown since November 5th in my seaside town.  When a portion of the UK move

Two years ago, I heard a powerful story about keeping calm, even if only a little, and surviving a storm.  It was told by a fellow participant at a yoga retreat in Spain, back in the days when we could travel, eat meals, do yoga and talk for hours without restrictions.  Jo was sitting next to me on our first evening meal of the retreat and we chatted over delicious vegetarian cuisine.  Having all just arrived that day in Spain, the conversations were typically about easy, light topics such as travel or where you are from.  When I told Jo that I had travelled to southern Spain by train as I prefer this slower journey and am just a little nervous when flying, this prompted her memorable story... A few months previously, Jo had taken off from Orlando airport in Florida, at the tail-end of the hurricane season.  The experienced pilot had told them that there was a small hurricane off to the north-east, but not to worry as he was going to fly right away from it.  Unfortunately, the force of

One thing I will not miss when this pandemic finally fades away is coronavirus news briefings on the BBC.  I wonder if I am the only one who has a very conflicted relationship with the government's announcements.  On the one hand I feel almost compelled to watch them as I want to know the practicalities.  I wonder if I am trying to gain a sense of being informed and "in control" among the chaos. But at the same time, I am usually emotionally overwhelmed by the end of these coronavirus updates and fairly grumpy with just about everything.   It is sadly clear that things are bad right now in terms of coronavirus infection levels with our hospitals at breaking point.  After listening to Chris Whitty (Chief Medical Officer for England) and other medical doctors who are dealing with this "peak", it is sobering and deeply upsetting.  I swing from being tearful, to anger to feeling overwhelmed.  "Why did we wait AGAIN for so long until we properly locked down?'

2020 ended with us curled up at home (where else?) like most of the year.  It was never going to be a "normal" festive period, although I wasn't expecting to be right in the middle of our second peak.  Thankfully, our local community cafe is amazing, and it provided an Indian vegan, gluten-free meal as a take-away that was as delicious as any Indian food I have ever eaten.  I had forgotten how exciting it is to eat food that I haven't actually cooked at home.  Up until recently, I have taken great pride in cooking endless tasty meals since the pandemic started.  I still take delight in making some gluten-free bread and a batch of hummus and salad for lunch.  But I am also tired, tired, tired of cooking and any delicious home-cooked take-aways are welcome! It is traditional here in my seaside town for brave fellows to have a New Year's Day dip in the sea.  Prior to the pandemic, I would not have considered this to be a sane thing to do!  But this year, despite the

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