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

Doing a walk to help raise some much needed funds for Cortijo Romero in Spain has been an idea for a while.  As many of you know, Cortijo Romero has been a hugely important retreat/personal development centre for many thousands of people for more than 30 years.  CR provides a healing sanctuary where it feels safe to recharge, grow and rest in a world that often feels increasingly challenging.  It has been hugely impacted by the pandemic and has only managed to run a handful of courses in the last two years.  So while travel is slowly becoming more feasible and there is definite hope that CR will survive the ups and downs of the pandemic, it also desperately needs our help. Having studied maps of Kent and considered a whole host of options, I decided to keep it simple and local. With the Delta variant still surging, I wanted to walk close to home so that we could travel back after each section.  I decided on a "coast to coast" walk starting from the beach near my house in Whit

Since the life-changing phone call telling me that my dad had died, I have been living in a "bereavement bubble". I swapped the warm evenings and relaxing sunsets over the sea for arranging my father's funeral.  Each time I dashed out to the beach for a quick swim, I wondered why people all looked relaxed and jolly.  Should I warn them to keep their distance from me in case I spoil their holiday vibe?  It has been an intensely focused few weeks, busier than I'd ever imagine and heart-wrenching all at the same time. When people ask me "how did the funeral go?" I find it difficult to answer.  The first person who asked was a neighbour and I struggled to speak.  I managed to mumble something along the lines of "difficult" and she looked surprised asking "didn't it go to plan then?".  I quickly realised that she wasn't asking how did it feel to be at the funeral.  She was asking about practicalities.  Having spent a week choosing mu

How do I begin?  It was only a little over two weeks ago early on Saturday morning that I heard the phone ring.  I was in the bathroom at that moment, so all I heard was Martin saying "it's your sister, it's your sister, she has to speak to you".  First thing in the morning calls from my sister have never been good news, so I already knew this was about my dad.  I begged the universe for him to be poorly but still with us, so that we could dash to be with him but my wishes were already too late.  He had died peacefully in his sleep at his care home, having had a totally "normal" day previously.  He had been getting weaker in the last few months, but nothing that gave concern. Perhaps the sudden, unexpected part of this loss makes it more difficult for it to sink in.  The weekend passed in an emotional blur with a strange mixture of adrenaline and grief.  I had such a strong impulse to do something, to rush to his side and help.  But there was nothing we coul

Summer swimming has been presenting a few challenges recently.  Rather than dealing with extreme cold and freezing winds during my winter swims, I am now coping with jellyfish!  These fascinating, unusual creatures show up unpredictably during our warmer months.  I had a theory that they only appear when we are in a middle of an English heatwave, which proved correct during sunny June when I was lightly stung by a jellyfish that was caught up in seaweed.  The sting only felt like a stinging nettle, which felt both reassuring and a reminder that jellyfish do exist here. Since then, the weather has cooled and jellyfish have been gloriously absent.  Until last week, when I spent three mornings in the sea with my friend's nine year old daughter, Saskia.  It was her first time swimming in the sea and I pledged to teach her to canoe while they were visiting.  On the second day, I calmly spotted a jellyfish washing up towards the shallows of the beach, at which point Saskia leapt from the

If this last pandemic year could be compared to taking a year-long cruise around the world, today we would be heading into Drake Passage, south of Cape Horn.  This notorious stretch of water lies between the southernmost tip of South America and the South Shetland Islands in Antarctica.  It is significant because the Atlantic Ocean converges here with the Pacific Ocean, creating some of the most difficult sea conditions in the world.  With no land mass to dampen the merging of two enormous bodies of water, waves of up to 12 metres are common.  The conditions are often described as between "bad and terrifying" unless you are one of the lucky travellers presented with calm conditions. As the UK government today abandoned all covid restrictions at the same time as infection rates are soaring, things are starting to feel rather unsettled again here in England.  It is as if the power of one "ocean" saying it is time to get "back to normal" is about to collide h

There seems to be hope in England that we are nearly over the pandemic now and that life is getting back to some form of normal.  For reasons beyond me, our government has planned a "Freedom Day" when we can lift all restrictions and enjoy life again on the 19th July.  Even when I first heard of this notion I was rather confused and just a little concerned.  Maybe I look at things from a more global perspective and am aware of how the pandemic is sadly far from over in many parts of the world.  But seemingly here in England, the end is in sight.  Or is it? Don't get me wrong, I would love to start hugging friends and be heading off to a yoga retreat if things were settling down here.  I am fed up with thinking about case numbers, testing and new variants.  Yet when I see crowds gathered at sporting events and busy pubs, my stomach lurches.  I have this familiar tension that starts to build as case numbers rise.  Doesn't anyone else seem to be concerned that we had ove

None of us thought that travel restrictions to Europe would still be in place at the start of our second summer in the pandemic.   If I could travel to Spain this month I would definitely choose to be at Cortijo Romero for a week of restoration.  This stunningly picturesque creative holiday centre has been important to me for a number of years and it feels like a emotional wrench to be unable to visit.   The weather forecast this week is showing day time temperatures ranging from 25 ℃ to 28 ℃ with a scattering of cloud providing a little respite from the heat.  At night, a coolness will descend across the valley making it easier to sleep if windows are left ajar.  This year, the mountainous area of the Alpujarras around Cortijo Romero has experienced plenty of rain, making everything look green and lush.  Following a fairly cool May, the wild flowers are out in abundance with dazzling colours everywhere you turn.  Cortijo Romero is ready and waiting to re-open this month with a full p

Glorious sunshine and warmth, finally!  My skin is enjoying emerging from the thermals that I have been wearing since last autumn.  There is a spring in my step as I escape from my house into bright sunlight.  Summer has arrived alongside a general sense of relaxation and cheerfulness.  It feels like a mini-break from the long pandemic months we have endured this year. More people seem to say good-morning on my morning walks when the sun is glistening on the sea.  Everything feels just a little better in the sunshine. There is of course a downside to living in this picturesque, supposedly trendy seaside town.  And that is the sudden arrival of cars, visitors, noise and litter.  It is just part of the package, I know... mostly quiet for nine months of the year and then overcrowded for the warm weeks.  It just feels like a shock each year to my sensitive, nature loving soul.  I crave peace as much as I crave sleep, food and dark chocolate.  During our long lockdowns, I think my body has

Do we have a time limit on suffering, a socially acceptable period such as a year?  After my mother and aunt died a few years ago, I gave myself exactly twelve months to grieve and eased back a little on myself.  In practical terms, this meant that I didn't take on extra projects at work for a few months and let the ironing build up more than normal.  Emotionally, I just about managed to accept feeling more ragged, sore and a little messy behind closed doors.  After the year was up, I thought I better stop mentioning bereavement.  By then, everyone had stopped asking anyway.  Who wants to hear and listen to these complicated, messy, painful emotions after a while?  I wanted to show how "well" I was doing with some lighter topics of conversation. Now we have passed the year into the pandemic, I wonder if this same time limit is being applied?  For much of the first year, our conversations have often been more caring, more thoughtful, checking in on each other.  Fourteen mo

Last week, we actually left our local area and packed up the car for a trip away.  Something that I would never have registered as being a big deal until living through a pandemic.  I booked a few nights away in a cosy cottage, tucked in the rolling hills outside Bath where we could enjoy being somewhere different.  It was a wonderful tonic to see a familiar landscape, still unchanged by the ups and downs of these difficult months.  Familiar ancient trees welcomed us with their enormous open arms and I felt myself relax and rest a little more than usual. On the sunniest day, we decided to complete a circular walk, through a valley towards a pretty village and back in a giant loop. All was well until we arrived at a field with about thirty lively black cows who greeted us at the muddy gate with unbridled enthusiasm, calling their fellow mates to run and meet us.  Wonderful as they were, we decided to not enter their field in case they decided to nibble us or our packed lunch with the sa

Did birdsong actually become louder during lockdown of spring 2020 or did we just imagine this?  73% of participants in a recent study reported hearing louder birdsong during the first lockdown.  I was tending my neighbour's garden for these months, feeding a host of wild birds who frequented and nested in their "nature-friendly" garden.  After putting out the seed and fat balls, I would sit for an hour or so with my writing book and be kept company by a delightful cacophony of lilting bird tunes. I watched the delicate interaction between bird species, all seemingly able to live harmoniously in a small garden.  The elegant pigeons that always arrived first at the bird-feeder were visibly protective of their feeding.  But they always left enough for the smaller birds with sparrows, blackbirds, robins and sometimes lively starlings all having their share.  I wondered if the birds were singing more cheerfully and exuberantly as they were being uninterrupted by humans.  Per

"Life is what happens to us while we are making other plans" is a phrase that often appears on colourful inspirational cards and magnets.  I even had this boldly displayed on my fridge for a few years, in the extremely slim chance that I might realise the truth within these words.  More often than not, I rolled my eyes while opening the fridge as I rushed from completing one plan to the next during my very focused and busy life as a teacher. During our long pandemic year, I have been forced to re-consider this phrase.  It could even be tweaked to read:   "Life is what happens to us while we can't actually make plans". I still find it rather surreal to be waiting on data, variants, vaccines and travel ministers before we can start to even think about making a plan to travel out of the UK.  But this is how the pandemic has gone.  My penchant for the security of making and completing plans has been tested so many times in the pandemic that I cope by making as few p

Since I started cold-water sea swimming this winter, weather forecasts have taken on a whole new significance.  I study them with great interest, looking for good days for swimming i.e. sunny!  Having swum in all conditions and temperatures this winter, surprising myself each time, I have become almost relaxed about the cold or gusty winds.  In fact, my swimming has more recently become slightly ordinary without the extreme feeling of chill afterwards.  I wasn't sure if this was due to the incredible adaptation that my body has undergone while being plunged into the cold sea regularly?  Or whether the sea might actually have warmed up a little by now?  This week's dramatic weather variation might have just solved this puzzle... While everyone was enjoying the heat-wave last week and finally meeting friends outdoors in small groups, I had to share my sea-swim with others.  Paddle-boarders were confidently out wearing shorts and T-shirts on their precarious boards as if it were s