Tag: 2025

year in which poem was written

How one woman’s passion inspired others to fight for theirs …
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"... on sigriðarstigur
I wonder at my legacy 
such as it is 
I’ve been a leader of people 
driven by my values 
remaining true 
to who I’m meant to be ..."
```
As I’m heading home from my trip, I’m ever conscious that there’s an obvious reason this feels different than other homecomings. For the first time since my student days, this has felt like a trip rather than a holiday. I won’t be heading back into the office on my return, as I have done so many times previously.

I can’t deny that my job has been a huge part of my life and my identity for three decades, and yet I’m reluctant to say that it defined me; I don’t think it ever did. I’ve known people who have been so invested in their professional roles that they can’t let go. I’m not one to judge, and maintaining links with your old firm, or working in a similar role beyond retirement, clearly works for many people. But for me, retiring is about starting a brand new chapter. I’m looking forward to having time to do other things that interest me (such as this blog!), to learn new skills and explore parts of the world I haven’t yet visited.

Which brings me to this week’s poem, which is based on the true story of an Icelandic woman who wouldn’t give up. She fought all her life to prevent a mighty waterfall, partly owned by her family, from being exploited for financial gain. Her father was tricked into selling the lease and she supported him in fighting a legal battle, which they ultimately lost. Despite the courts going against them, Gullfoss was left intact, because the new owners failed to honour the terms of the sale.

But that’s not the part that really inspired me. What inspired me most about Sigriður Tómasdóttir was her tenacity and her absolute passion for nature. She was determined that the waterfall be allowed to flow freely as it had always done. Not only that, her courage to stand up to officials inspired others within Iceland to respect nature on their doorstep. They began to appreciate nature for what it was, rather than what we might make it. As a result, many refer to Sigriður as Iceland’s first environmentalist.

This fight for her beloved waterfall was her life’s work. She was skilled in many other ways, but it was her commitment to Gullfoss’s cause, that defined her. I don’t think she would ever have let it go. It made me wonder what, if anything, would I hold onto because I cared so deeply. If not my professional role, then what?

I guess it boils down to the same thing that undoubtedly drove Sigriður: values. It was my values that determined the job I did and how I did it. It’s those same values that influence how I interact with others, and how I live my life. Perhaps that’s why I found it easy to let go of my professional role because the foundations on which it was built continue to shape me.

I wonder how aware Sigriður was of her legacy? She would’ve had no idea that a monument would be built to honour her at Gullfoss, and a walkway named after her. Do any of us truly appreciate our impact on others? My ex-boss used to quote Maya Angelou to her workforce on a regular basis: “people will forget what you did and said, but they won’t forget the way you made them feel”.

I did my best, on many occasions, not so much to impose my values on my team but to impart advice that was rooted in what I believed for myself. I trust they listened at least some of the time. I believe they did, and I watched them thrive with pride. The foundations have been set and that’s as much as I can do. I hope they will continue to thrive, which is also my hope for you. May the thing that you hold on to, whatever it is, bring you joy.

sigridarstigur Download
12/11/2025
Why we all need beacons by which to steer our course …
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"... there’s comfort to be found 
in familiarity 
tempting to stay 
closer than you should 
to what you’ve always known 
rather than venture 
beyond ..."
```
At the beginning of our long trip to the Faroe Islands and Iceland, I mentioned to a fellow camper from the UK, that we would be away for 3 months. Her immediate reaction was, “Oh, you’re brave!”. I brushed off her comment as somewhat risk adverse, standing a little taller as I replied that it would be an “adventure”.

My husband and I had discussed the duration of the trip in some detail, opting to go for the maximum period allowed (3 months). This was, in part, to give us time to truly explore without rushing. But, I’ll be honest, it was also to justify to expense of the ferry fare. May as well make the most of it, we thought, as we are highly unlikely to do it again.

I’ve thought often about that fellow camper during our trip: she was onto something! I underestimated just how challenging the trip would be in countless ways. I’ve never travelled for such an extended period before, in a country that feels very different to my own. I’ve found it harder than expected but, equally, the challenges I’ve faced have made me stronger.

In my head I can still see a poster on a wall in my classroom at school, showing a picture of a ship in harbour. The words read, “A ship in harbour is safe, but that’s not what ships were built for”. It inspired me then and still does. If you think about all the things that might go wrong in life, you’d never do anything would you? It’s important to have dreams and to be brave enough to take the first step into the unknown. It can be scary but also exciting. You need to plan to some degree, but be prepared for the unexpected, because things won’t always go your way.

It helps, I think, to have tools at your disposal when things don’t work out as you’d hoped. I’m a big believer in gut instinct. I can’t explain it, but I just know that whenever I’ve failed to listen to my instinct, that’s when things have gone horribly wrong. Instinct, however, can also let you down. I love the lighthouse analogy; we’ve seen a lot of lighthouses in Iceland, enough to stretch my imagination still further. Your instinct might be telling you, this is the way, but then there’s a warning light foretelling danger. What would you do? I’d be risk adverse and navigate away from danger, of course I would.

It’s all about balance at the end of the day. The irony of a lighthouse, is that the beam of light may bring comfort when you feel anxious, but it’s main job is to warn of danger. It’s not always easy to distinguish between the two is it? There’ve been times in my life when I’ve struggled to differentiate between what’s right for me and what isn’t. I’ve felt all at sea, which is the title of this week’s poem.

Some of the challenges we’ve faced in Iceland led us to seriously consider cutting the trip short, but we didn’t. True, I would most likely have felt more secure on familiar ground, but I’m certain I would’ve regretted any decision to give up. This blog will go out on our last full day in Iceland. We’ll be catching the ferry heading back to Denmark, as originally planned, the next day. We stayed the course!

Going back to that schoolroom poster, I wasn’t made to play it safe but to live my life to the full, and that’s what I’m going to do. I want to live brave.

all at sea Download
05/11/2025
How we carry traces of the people we’ve loved and lost …
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"... I think of the people 
who’ve gone before me
how I carry echoes of them 
like layers of ash 
debris I’ve collected 
and cannot discard... " 
```
This time of year is a particularly poignant one for me as two members of my immediate family died in this past week, a year apart from each other. I’ve touched on bereavement in an earlier blog, and I know that it’s a subject that will resonate with almost everyone.

Throughout my life, I’ve found different ways of relating to death. As a child and young adult, I fully embraced the Roman Catholic tradition in which I was brought up, but from which I later departed. These days, I don’t align myself to any religion or faith, and I find nature my best option when considering most things for which I need a reference point beyond myself. Does that make sense? I hope so, because I can’t think of a better way of explaining it.

Nature has a life cycle that, in many ways, matches our own, just on a different timescale. Trees are a great example, and I’ve found them such an inspiration for life in general and for my poetry in particular. Here in Iceland, I’ve encountered glaciers and the lakes that form due to melting ice, ultimately leading to the sea. It got me thinking about life and how we can’t always control how our journeys end, when we might die or how long it might take. Sitting by the lake at the tongue of the glacier, I felt I was watching the ice slowly die. Ice breaks off and floats in the lake until it finally melts. The icebergs are graceful, beautiful, and yet, at the same time, seemingly helpless. I couldn’t help but think that, after all those years of slowing moving down the mountain, splitting from an enormous glacier above, the ice will simply vanish without trace.

And yet, every iceberg tells a story. They display visible layers of ash, from volcanic eruptions, in much the same way as rock reveals layers of seismic activity in its structure. We too carry traces, some visible and others not. I’ve lost count of the physical scars present on my body, evidence of various accidents that involved broken bones and/or open wounds. Stitches leave scars that eventually fade but never totally disappear. Neither can I calculate the ways that my life has been enriched by others who I’ve loved and lost. It can be little things, like the way I polish my shoes or parallel park the car (just as my father taught me), to life changing decisions, due to the words or actions of a loved one. It was remembering the advice of a very dear friend, that led me to step down from a temporary promotion at work. It was one of the toughest but best decisions I ever made.

Truth is, we internalise the influence of others all the time, some of it conscious and some unconscious. You might not always welcome it: I hear both my parents in my head these days when I say something out loud and I recognise my mother’s mannerisms in my facial expressions. I purposefully make choices every day to live life to the full, to honour those who no longer have the luxury of doing so.

I don’t have any answers. I don’t know if there is any form of life after death but I have memories that still feel very much alive; I believe that means a part of that person lives on in me. At this time of year, when I’m remembering my loved ones, I miss them of course, but I also feel deep gratitude. I’m thankful that they were part of my life, and they left their mark on me, which means I continue to cherish them. I don’t think they would want me to feel sad but rather celebrate what they were and, in some way, still are. On a bright day at Svínafellsjökull, I felt sad yet glad at the same time.

svinafellsjokull Download
29/10/2025