Tag: connection

How you can you love and loathe winter in equal measure …
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"... the joy of all life
is its ability to respond
to changing weather 
and mood

wintering is a safe space 
for those who cannot 
predict or know 
how to feel ..."
```
How’s everyone doing now Christmas is out of the way? A new year’s upon us and, for many, it’s back to work. Not only that, the UK has been experiencing a particularly cold spell. Even the milk on my doorstep was frozen one morning. I imagine the weather is proving challenging for many: children may have to stay home because schools are closed, and the commute to work could be more difficult than usual. Just what you don’t need.

There are people who love winter and those who dread it. People who celebrate the coming of snow, and others who hate it. Some folk will happily grab their winter coat and get out there, whilst others just want to huddle under a blanket, drink hot chocolate, and wait for spring. But that all sounds a bit too black and white and, as we all know, that’s rarely the whole story. Our feelings and attitudes to most things, winter included, are complex, often contradictory and interchangeable. At least mine are, and I don’t think I’m alone in that.

I’ve been trying to get out every day for a short walk and I’ve noticed how massively different the landscape appears, depending on the light. On some days, the landscape seems impenetrable. It feels closed to me; the familiar smells are buried; sounds are muffled and distant. Yet other days, when the sun is out, the ground begins to soften and the landscape comes alive. Walking down my lane on a cold but sunny afternoon, I am filled with hope. The sun on my face feels like a random act of kindness. Of course, acts of kindness can make all the difference to people, especially when they may be going through a hard time and are feeling low.

I can definitely see parallels in how the land responds to sunlight and how our moods can change depending on circumstance. It prompted this week’s poem, which is about the feelings we may encounter at this time of year. I mentioned Katherine May in a recent blog, and have been re-reading her fantastic book, Wintering. Wintering is not limited to a particular time of year, but more reflects an inner season we may be experiencing, which can happen at any time. But I suppose that outside influences, such as the weather, can prompt an inner wintering experience, which might feel like a double whammy, if you’re not a fan of winter in any case.

It was, of course, the winter solstice just before Christmas. We’ve already made it through the longest night and now the light is returning; I promise! I get that when you’re both going to work and coming home in the dark, it’s hard to believe that the days are lengthening. It may not feel like it right now, but have faith!

Despite the cold, frozen and seemingly lifeless landscape, things are happening. I learnt the other day that not animals who choose to hibernate through winter, remain asleep throughout. Many waken for brief periods, subject to changes in temperature and weather conditions. Whilst only a small number of mammals in the UK truly hibernate (such as hedgehogs), many others enter states of torpor. Entering torpor allows mammals to survive throughout the winter, shutting down all but essential organs during the particularly cold spells, but remaining active for the majority of the time. Squirrels do this – who knew?

On reflection, perhaps we are not all that different to many other warm-blooded mammals. We are amazingly flexible and can adapt to changing circumstances, often unconsciously. Isn’t that incredible? Just as life continues below the frozen surface, and on the seemingly naked tree branches, life continues within us even when we think we’re standing still. I, for one, think that’s remarkable.

My wish for you today, is to spend some time paying attention to what’s going on outside, it can serve as an act of kindness and may gift you something you didn’t realise you needed. Why not try it!

wintering Download
14/01/2026
Why I’m not a hoarder …
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"... you can’t always choose 
what you inherit 
don’t always recognise 
the legacies 
planted in you 
germinating 
when you least expect ..."
```
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about de-cluttering, which to be fair, is a recurring theme in my life. I’m not one of those people who feels the need to hang onto things that belonged to the people I’ve loved. If my bookcases are full of books, it’s because they hold personal memories, or they are books I want to re-read. I don’t hold onto something just because it was gifted or inherited from a loved one. I won’t keep things I no longer use just in case it comes in handy sometime in the future. I’ll recycle, donate or bin it, depending on its condition.

It’s suddenly become quite trendy to de-clutter. The latest word for it is death-cleaning and having had to clear out rooms and whole houses belonging to loved ones who have died, that resonates. But this is a not a new thing. It was William Morris who said, “Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful”. Not a bad starting point.

Don’t get me wrong: I still do have lots of things in my house that are neither useful nor beautiful. It’s a work in progress and, given my husband is my polar opposite when it comes to stuff, it’s a battle of wills! That’s a whole other story, which I won’t get into here.

I suspect that one of the reasons we hold onto stuff is that it belonged to someone we loved and we feel obliged to keep it. Perhaps we think we have a duty to pass it on to the next generation. But mostly I think we hold onto something because we believe we’re holding onto a part of the person we’ve lost. It is a memento, that when we look at it and pick it up, makes us feel closer to our loved one. I do understand that. But what I’ve learnt over time is that I don’t need the object to bring the person closer. The memory of them is already stored inside my head and heart, and I can bring it to the fore whenever I need or want to.

This week’s poem came from a couple of recent experiences, which on the face of it are completely unconnected. I love how a poem can channel a range of thoughts, experiences, and events through a single conduit. I took part in a group exercise last month marking All Souls’ Day, the traditional day when we remember the dead. We were invited to make a bracelet using old buttons, the idea being that each button would represent a loved one that you had lost. I had this romantic notion of pulling out an old button box that might have belonged to my grandmother, which I have treasured since her death. But that’s not the reality at all and it made me wonder about that yearning for connection I sometimes feel. A tin of old buttons won’t make memories of my grannie any more real than the memories I already treasure and that’s the truth of it.

Similarly, I spoke to a woman in Iceland who was so proud of the fact that her family had lived on the same farm in the east fjords for generations. Her sense of place was so defined; she was firmly rooted in her family legacy. That clearly works for her and, for a moment, it made me yearn again for that same sense of connection to land and to family. But what works for one person may not work for another. In reality, I think the thing I most value about my upbringing was the sense of freedom my parents gave me to spread my wings and find my own flight path, and I absolutely have.

I sense I’ve barely touched the surface of this theme of legacy as it’s made up of several layers, but I hope, by scratching the surface, it’s prompted you to ponder what kind of button box, real or virtual, you have hidden in a cupboard and what it represents.

the button box Download
17/12/2025
Why silence creates connection …
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"... after weeks of quiet 
the world suddenly 
sounds loud 
instinct would have me 
block it out 
but I’m working on 
tuning back in 
which I know I must ..."
```
Years ago I completed The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron and it totally changed the way I think about creativity. In fact, I’ve done it twice, once with a friend and later again on my own. Perhaps you’ve heard of it and possibly completed it yourself? I expect that everyone who does it will take from it something unique to them; equally there will undoubtedly be plenty of shared revelations too. Turns out that if you dedicate time in your day to focus on your creativity, then it will come. Who knew? Before I took up The Artist’s Way, I used to think that inspiration would find me but that’s not how it works. Not for most people anyhow. You have to work at it, give it time and space, and welcome it in.

I recently listened to an interview with Jackie Kay on Radio 4’s This Cultural Life, where she basically said the same thing. She recounted that writing is her best friend because it was always there for her, as long as she turned up. She also quoted Picasso who apparently said, “Inspiration will come but it’s got to find you working”.

I gave a copy of The Artist’s Way to one of my work colleagues last year as she was struggling to find her voice and I thought it might help. When looking to order the book, I saw that Julia Cameron had written a new book called The Listening Path, and I bought a copy for myself, thinking I’d give it a go. Like The Artist’s Way, it’s a guided course over a number of weeks and the focus is on listening. It’s been sitting on a shelf ever since, but now feels like the right time to pick it up. I reasoned that it might help me focus as I adapt to life back in the UK. I think it’s a good shout because soundscapes feel very alive to me just now. Perhaps it’s to be expected after weeks of relative quiet, living in a camper van, feeling small in the midst of huge landscapes.

I’ll admit that I didn’t expect the adjustment to life back in the UK to be quite so difficult. I didn’t think I’d have to work at it. I just assumed that I’d slip seamlessly back into my routines, like riding a bike as the saying goes. But instead, I’ve found everything so loud, fast paced and, frankly, somewhat uncomfortable. It’s tempting to block it out, and retreat into my own little world. But through The Listening Path, I was invited to consider that when you block unwelcome noise, you become disconnected . It’s only when you welcome in sounds that you’re connected and in tune with your environment. This makes sense: how can I be alive to the moment if I’ve closed the door on it?

As a result, I’ve really tried to tune in to what is going on around me, which is how I came to write this week’s poem. It hasn’t always been easy, and the evening we recently spent having dinner with our best friends, proved a real test for me. I simply couldn’t keep up with the conversation and the temptation was to give up. But I didn’t; I persevered. We stayed overnight, as we always do due to the distance between our two houses, and the following morning it was such a delight to sit in their living room and purposefully tune into the sounds emerging from the kitchen. It reminded me that all of life is precious. It’s hard to beat the experience of sharing home-cooked food around a table with people you love. Yet, all the work that goes into preparing a meal and the cleaning up afterwards, is a necessary part of the same story isn’t it? Finally, I knew I was glad to be home, re-connected to my life, ready to tune in, listen and be inspired.

I’d encourage you to focus on the sounds you can hear and how you respond, creativity may emerge if and when you work at it.

soundscape Download
10/12/2025