Category: Personal

Reflections about my life.

Why gathered treasure is irresistible …
```
"... if I had to choose 
one thing to save 
I couldn’t decide 
I’d let it all go 
knowing what I need 
will find me ..." 
```
I’ve been listening to the podcast The Clearing, with Katherine May, which has recently returned for a second series. I love the idea of sanctuary; imagining where you’d go to find rest and recharge your batteries. Guests are invited to describe their ideal place, to talk about what they’d take with them, what they would do whilst there, and what they might bring back. Many guests chose to take a keepsake, and this is often a stone.

It got me thinking about all the things I’ve gathered from places where I’ve felt rested and restored; keen to hold onto that same feeling when returning to my busy life. Stones and sand both feature heavily in my collection. Sometimes I feel guilty, thinking they belong back where I found them. Then I tell myself that we are all in transit on this earth, and this detour is part of their journey but not the end. They will no doubt outlive me and find their way back to where they need to be.

When I pick up a stone, or a handful of sand, it doesn’t feel much, but it adds up to a lot in my modest home. Bookshelves play host to many a talisman, windowsills and mantelpieces also take the strain. Even the corner of the bath obliges, where Hebridean stones change colour whenever the bathroom is hot and steamy. They soak up moisture as we soak in the bath. It feels companionable.

I don’t think of myself as materialistic; I’m not a hoarder. But I can’t resist a smooth pebble, soft sand or pine cones. It’s the memories they evoke that I love so much. I glance at a jar of sand on my windowsill and remember walking along that beach, listening to the waves and feeling the wind in my hair. I recall how I felt and the promises I made to myself to pay more attention to nature, to allow time just for me. It’s easy to be so caught up in our daily commitments, that we lose focus. I suspect we all need reminding about prioritising what really matters, whatever that may be. I know I do.

I’ve always treasured small things in which I bestow meaning. I learnt young just how much can be invested in material things, especially in church, where objects were revered. In our house, my father’s record player took pride of place, and vinyl was precious, to be handled with great care. Playing a record was a ritual almost as sacred as the priest at church holding up the host. That may sound flippant, but such was my 7-year-old view of the world.

Rituals help us make sense of the world. They keep us grounded: when it feels like everything is changing around us, you can always revert to what you know and trust. And rituals need props right? What’s a birthday cake without candles, a Christmas tree without decorations? You might have a favourite piece of jewellery that you always wear for a special occasion. It may be as simple as the mug from which you drink your coffee, and woe betide anyone else who uses it!

This week’s poem is the result of my reflecting on some of the things in my house that, on the face of it, seem worthless, but which mean a lot to me. I’d much rather collect a stone from a beach than purchase a souvenir in a gift shop. I invest a lot of myself in the things I gather around me. They act as shorthand, the equivalent of bookmarks in the story of my life, helping me navigate to my favourite bits, to revisit and remember. You might turn down the corner of a page in a book so you can go back to it. It’s the same idea. I appreciate the things around me, reminders of all I hold precious; I know they are shortcuts, it’s the memory that’s the real treasure. What things in your home do you value most and for what reason?

treasure Download
03/06/2026
When what you create surprises you …
```
"... there are seasons
in all our lives 
learning in any mistake 
feed more wood
to a failing fire 
if the flame still falters
that’s your sign  
to start over ..."
```
For the writers among you, I wonder do you ever set out to write a piece, only to find that what emerges is entirely different to what you had envisaged? This is not only true of writers, but of all creatives, I’m sure. This happens to me occasionally, but most often, the resulting poem is pretty much what I thought I’d write. There are rare times when what surfaces takes me by surprise. That’s what happened with this week’s poem. It just came out one early morning, as I set out to write something quite different.

Of course, when I think about it, I can identify the steps leading to this poem’s creation. I think we’re all influenced by things that we experience, big and small, on a daily basis. It might be a chance meeting on a bus; something you listen to purposefully, or quite by accident. A seemingly innocuous event might just grab you in ways you can’t explain, such as observing something in the street as you’re sat in a traffic jam. (Maybe that’s just me?). Here’s the thing: the closer the attention you pay to the world, the more it will inspire you.

The stars were aligned for this poem to show up, even though I didn’t know it was what I needed to write. For starters, I met my mum for lunch, which is something we do occasionally. Naturally, siblings were mentioned during our chat. I also had coffee with a friend who has some challenges in her own family (who doesn’t?). That got me thinking about how we all carefully navigate our way through family relationships. And, as always, I’ve been binging on my usual weekly diet of podcasts and radio programmes. It all seeps in at some level, along with the national news, the weather and the price of petrol. You name it, it’s all in the mix. Life happens and our responses are reflected in all we do, like it or not.

I’ve recently listened to a fantastic interview on Sam Baker’s podcast, The Shift, with the brilliant Abi Morgan, discussing her book, This is not a pity memoire. (A back-episode from 2022). I was so moved by her story, that it’s been added to my ever growing list of books to read. The advice, never dim your light, comes from her. She, in turn, quotes Nora Ephron’s advice to be the hero not the victim of your own story. I love that different women’s voices have turned up in my poem, serving as beacons of light when I might otherwise feel bereft of inspiration closer to home.

Truth is, I’d dearly love to be the person who both cherishes her siblings and is valued in return. I’d love to shop with; eat, gossip and reminisce with; swap clothes, books and music with siblings. But that’s not my story. Truth is, very few of us live the perfect life, if any. Does perfect even exist? It doesn’t mean I can’t celebrate the positive and nurturing relationships I do have. I am a proud daughter, cousin, aunt, and wife to a select few, grateful for the privilege. I am friend to many more.

Recently, I also met an ex-work colleague for lunch. We talked away the afternoon, and it was a sheer delight to observe how she’s thriving in a new role, in a different organisation. She’s one of my soul sisters; I’m lucky to have more than one.

Not everyone has a sibling, but I hope everyone can call at least one person friend. Whatever relationships you have, I hope you can cherish at least one or two. Be the hero in your lives and not the victim please!

This is my 40th post since the beginning of my blog, fiwynnewrites. It feels like the right time to take a short break as I enter into my 60th birthday month. I’m going to be travelling around Shetland, looking forward to slowing down, appreciating nature and giving my body and soul batteries an opportunity to recharge. I will return in June with more poems and prose x

siblings Download
29/04/2026
When life takes an unexpected turn …
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"... everything can change 
in a heartbeat
the paths we choose 
can take a turn 
at times we least expect ..."
```
I mentally split any given year into quarters, starting in January. With April upon us, we’ve just entered the second quarter. In January, I usually feel I’m on the threshold of something new but, like everyone else, I’d no idea quite what was in store this year. So much has already happened on the world stage in 2026, it’s hard to take it all in.

It feels like it’s been a bit of a political and emotional roller coaster in more ways than one. It reminds me not only of the impermanence of the world, but how bewildering it all feels. Life often doesn’t seem to make sense, not to me anyway.. We are complicated and stubborn beings aren’t we? We’ll often stick to opinions long ingrained even when we can’t explain our logic. We draw up our map of the world and navigate by it, despite its obvious flaws. I know I have, over the years, developed my own belief system, which shapes how I feel and respond to most of what life throws at me. It leaves some room for flexibility, and is fairly transparent People who know me best will probably be able to accurately predict what I think about certain things, and how I’d react in most situations. My belief system rarely lets me down. But I’ll own up to the fact that it’s quirky and not necessarily failsafe.

Perhaps we all have such a system, a sort of shorthand to help us steer a course through life without having to think everything through from scratch. It will work for us most of the time. But occasionally, something happens that does force a change in perspective, be that on a world-wide stage, such as the current war in the middle east, or something personal, such as a death in the family. It doesn’t even have to be something tangible. I’ve written in an earlier blog how exposure to art, such as music and film, can be the catalyst to bring about change. (See the blog relating to my poem seal woman, https://fiwynne.com/2025/09/10/how-fictional-characters-can-feel-just-as-relevant-as-real-people/)

Since the beginning of this year, it feels like the political landscape has turned upside down. In that same period, I’ve been dealing with a family bereavement and preparing for a family wedding. I’ve spent time with my cousin, which brought back lots of childhood memories. I’ve also seen two films, both of which deal with grief, that have touched me deeply, namely Hamnet and H is for Hawk.

It was whilst watching one of these films that the seeds for this week’s poem were sown. I suddenly felt swamped by both the complexities of life going on around me and the intimacy of my relationships with those I love most deeply. Perhaps it’s just me, but it sometimes feels hard to balance the public and the intimate. I struggle with it and writing poetry is a way to make sense of it for me. Do you ever feel like things happen that force you to see the world differently? If so, I think this week’s blog will resonate. I hope so.

It’s tempting to keep our thoughts to ourselves; keep our heads down when life feels too much. Easy to put our heads in the sand and pretend nothing has changed. I’m guilty of this sometimes; I turn the news off because I can’t bear to listen. It doesn’t work, of course, the news just keeps on happening. In the cinema that day, I felt an overwhelming need to connect with the one I love most. I reached out and took his hand, just briefly, because I could. No matter how doomed the world feels on some days, it’s still true that the small intimate connections we make matter hugely. L is indeed for loss but it is also for love.

L is for love and loss Download
22/04/2026
When you’re between life’s highs and lows …
```
".... seems sometimes 
you’re travelling 
in circles
mountains you thought 
you’d conquered
rise up before you 
again and again ..."
```
It’s hard to believe that we returned from our big trip to Iceland and the Faroe Islands in mid-November. Winter has been and gone and before too long, we’ll be setting out on our next trip in the camper van. I’ll be honest, it took me some time to adapt to being back home, to being fully present. Part of me was still operating at a much slower pace, Scandinavian-style. I’m not sure I’ve every truly caught up, which suits me just fine.

Of course, I’ve slipped back into lots of things almost unconsciously. I’m mentally planning out my days and writing lists. I’m back to doing all the admin stuff that takes up so much of daily life: thinking about what to cook, then cooking it; wondering what to wear; doing laundry; sorting the household accounts; tackling housework. The trappings with which we’re all familiar, right? This is normal. I get that completely. Yes, occasionally it feels mundane. Part of me yearns for the road we took round Iceland’s West Fjords, choosing where and when to swim. But, at the same time, I sometimes have to pinch myself that I’m home in what is a beautiful part of the world. Spring is in the air, and I can go cycling or running straight out of my front door. I appreciate the comforts of home, the convenience of my washing machine and kitchen. I can meet friends for coffee, have lunch with my mum, sleep in my own bed. With a wardrobe full of clothes, I can chose to dress up or dress down (let’s be honest, it’s mostly the latter!). I’ve had a winter of cinema trips and dinners dates to add variety to all the household jobs aforementioned.

This is the reality for most of us, if we are lucky. It isn’t lost on me, that it’s a luxury to have a house to clean, clothes to wash, money to spend. You only have to listen to the news to appreciate just how privileged we are. Right now, I imagine a lot of people are going through very tough times. Life sometimes can appear very black and white, but it’s rarely that straight forward.

This week’s poem could easily have been written in these times; it feels as relevant today as it did when I wrote it over a decade ago. In my experience, most of life is lived on the plateau between the peaks and troughs. It doesn’t always feel that way, most especially when you’re going through a bad patch. But a patch it is: it isn’t permanent. For good or ill, nothing ever stays the same. The highs are just as impermanent as the lows. For the most part, we live in state of flux between physical and emotional states. Every now and again, the balance will feel just right. In my own experience, that’s rare, but can and does happen.

If you, like me, are blessed, you’ll have stretches of time when life feels normal, perhaps even ordinary. Don’t underestimate times like this! I have a ceramic coaster in my house that reminds me to: enjoy the little things as one day you will look back and realise they were the big things. It sounds simple but also very wise. I wrote this poem during a difficult time in my life, juggling competing demands both at home and at work. It forced me to focus on what matters most in life. I realised it wasn’t the highs or lows where life was most lived, but in the spaces between. Give me mundane any day of the week, I’ll take it and be grateful.

the plateaux between Download
15/04/2026
When old traditions take on new meaning …
```
"... I think I understand 
why wild animals hesitate 
when they are released
back into the wild 
what has been is known 
and what is known feels safe ..."
```
This week’s poem is a complicated one to categorise by year. It was first written in 2016, soon after the death of my best friend, but I’ve recently reworked it. Funny how a poem that once felt finished can be reborn. I suppose it’s a fitting reflection on how grief works. It is never still and never truly leaves you. It evolves.

The title of the earlier version of this poem was Easter Saturday. I was later advised by a good friend, that I was mistaking Easter Saturday, (which is the first Saturday after Easter), with Holy Saturday, (which is the last day of Holy Week). It was on Holy Saturday 2016 when the earlier poem was written, on that mourning day between the death and resurrection of Jesus. It was always a quiet, meditative day in the Catholic world of my childhood. Holy has become an uncomfortable word for me, although it does appear in the poem. According to Wikipedia, another name for Holy Saturday is Easter Eve. I prefer that; like Christmas Eve, it feels anticipatory.

It’s safe to say, I think, that we’ve all experienced significant endings in our lives. Be that the death of someone you loved, or perhaps a bereavement or closure of another kind. You might have felt a sense of loss when a job has come to an end, a study course or a great holiday. Perhaps you’ve experienced an empty nest when your child has gone off to university or on a gap year (don’t worry … they’ll probably be back!). I’m told that many people feel an aching loss when they retire (not my own experience!). Whatever it is or has been, it’s often hard to let go and move on. Depending on the nature of your loss, you may feel you never can. Life doesn’t return to normal following a bereavement, for example, but it eventually shifts, continuing in a different way.

It’s sometimes tempting to stay in your version of Easter Eve, whatever it may be. Queen Victoria famously never stopped mourning the death of Prince Albert, withdrawing from public life for over a decade. There’s that poignant scene in the film Hamnet, when Agnes lingers in the home she must vacate for a new house in Stratford. It is the place, of course, where her young son died. It’s a silent scene because words are unnecessary. Everyone can surely sense and understand her reluctance to leave.

There are moments in life when we wish time would stop. It most often happens to me when I’m experiencing something joyous, such as hiking recently with my cousin. I didn’t want the day to end; instead I wanted to cling onto that sense of being on top of a mountain with someone who had known me all my life. But it can also happen when experiencing a huge sadness; the feelings are so raw and deeply personal, you need time to sit with them. You want to feel the full force of that sadness, because it’s where you feel deeply connected to your loved one (or other experience). It somehow feels trivial to deal with everything else. Suddenly, your daily routines feel mundane and perhaps even meaningless.

That’s how I felt after that loss in 2016. Eventually, I gave myself a talking to, using language I’d never adopt with a friend. I told myself to pull myself together and stop wallowing in self pity. Harsh words. I wouldn’t talk to myself that way now.

Looking back, I can empathise with both sides of how I was feeling. I wanted to stay in my place of sadness, where I still felt connected to Karen, but at the same time, I knew I had to reconnect to the present, and to my life. It’s not an easy path to navigate and, on reflection, I appreciate the idea of Easter Eve. It creates a bridge between loss and new life, in whatever forms they take. I respect and value that.

It’s important to recognise when we need that time to wallow, but also to know we don’t have to stay there forever. We can cross the bridge and live life to the full whenever we’re ready. I wish you a Happy Easter, whatever side of that bridge you’re on right now.

easter eveDownload
01/04/2026