Tag: lessons

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
How the lesson you most need to learn keeps coming back to you …
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"... I am discovering 
the kindness 
of slow days ..."
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I’ll admit I’m not good at relaxing. I like to be busy, doing stuff. If I’m not actually doing stuff, then I’ll be making a list of things to do. I’ve talked about this before, but the fact that I’m contemplating this theme again, makes me realise I’m still learning. Do other people find this? The lessons you most need to learn just keeping coming back to you, in one form or another, until you get the message. And then, if like me, you let things slide, before you know it, you’re back where you started. It’s then the lesson starts afresh.

I thought about this recently as we drove along the north coast road of Iceland’s West Fjords (Vestfirdir). Like most coastal roads, you find yourself driving back and forth, east to west, to reach the same point some miles down the road. I imagine, as the crow flies, the distance between Hólmavík, where we started, and the end of the road at Bolungarvík is significantly less than the actual driving distance. It got me thinking that life doesn’t always go in a straight line, which most people will appreciate, I’m sure. I’m not convinced that time is a constant either. We have made sense of time passing by creating hours and minutes, but it’s a rough guess at best isn’t it?

I’m sure I’m not the only one who thinks that time sometimes passes way too quickly, and other times seems to drag. Time often feels like the enemy, when you’re rushing to get things done within a certain deadline, or when you want time to slow down so that you can make the most of a special occasion.

Just occasionally, a certain kind of magic happens: time seems to stop, leaving you in a state of bliss to simply enjoy the moment for longer than you dare to believe possible. This happened to me on that road trip and it was totally sublime. I felt like I’d travelled through some kind of portal into another world, like Narnia, where the rules were completely different and I didn’t have to conform to anything. I just had to be.

I didn’t have to be any place by a certain time. There was only the one road, so I didn’t even have to think about navigation. Due to the many twists and turns along the way, the going was slow. There was nothing for it but to relax into the driving seat, take in the scenery and allow myself to feel part of the landscape. I cherish moments like this. It reminds me that life is not a race; it’s important to slow down and allow yourself to completely relax into the moment. I know that’s easier said than done. Easy for me, on a road trip, free of the distractions of home. I do get that. But I hope that this poem will prompt you to think about the last time you truly looked up and paid attention to the life you’re living. If it’s been a while, then perhaps it’s time to stop and look up.

reflections Download
15/10/2025
How feeling small can be a big deal …
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"... I’ve crossed more than a sea 
to get to where I am 
this journey began long ago
in dreams and visions 
of a quieter life ..."
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It’s hard to believe that, at time of writing, I’m already half way through my trip to Iceland. Yet it feels weird to even think about time, because quite honestly, it feels irrelevant. It feels like time has stood still and I could be in a different era entirely, on another planet. A couple of days ago we had to drive to Reykjavík to buy a replacement stove (don’t ask … long story!). I felt completely out of my comfort zone, navigating a busy ring road and lots of traffic. For weeks, it feels like we’ve been living in a time warp, where you can drive for miles without seeing a car and where isolated farms populate an otherwise wild and wide open space.

I’m intoxicated by the huge landscape, so much so that it feels rude to break the spell. Whilst driving, I usually listen to the radio, or to music, but here we’ve driven in silence. It feels too much to add to the already crowded senses. If I say anything to my husband, who is sat beside me in the van, I almost whisper. I’ve purposefully avoided listening to the news. To some, that may sound irresponsible but, goodness, I feel so light as a result!

It’s been a complete detox from so much of what drains me at home. I wrote in an earlier blog about how travel can give you fresh perspective, and I’m certainly feeling that. When you encounter a landscape both as ancient and alive as Iceland’s, you can’t help but accept that we humans aren’t as powerful as we think we are. We’re not in control of this planet we call home. We aren’t even that well established as a species in the grand scheme of things. It’s thought provoking in ways I didn’t expect, and the poems just keep coming. I’ve felt truly humbled and inspired, brought down to size by the sheer scale of the scenery, attracted by the seeming simplicity of life here (which I accept may not be simple at all, but I can only share my impressions). Most townships are small and unassuming, usually with a church, a swimming pool, a football pitch and not much else. I find it incredibly refreshing and perhaps it’s just what I needed as I transition from one way of living to another. I needed to reconnect to nature and be reminded of my inconsequential place in the world. I have plans and dreams for the next chapter of my life, of course I do, but I’m learning not to look too far into the future.

One of the lessons I most needed to learn is to live in the moment. I’ve watched a lot of tourists here (almost all Chinese) pour out of coaches and hire cars, to view a scene, take a photo and quickly get back on the road. Who am I to judge? I’m just as guilty sometimes of seeing something through the lens of my iPhone camera, rather than really looking. I’m privileged because time is on my side: we’re here for an extended period of time. I can and have surrendered to Iceland’s spell, engaging all my senses. I’ve felt the roughness of the lava rocks and the softness of the vivid green moss carpeting the valley floor. I’ve listened to the howling wind, felt the rain on my face, and tasted the saltiness of sea. I’ve felt my bones rattle on unsurfaced roads and soothed in thermal pools. Quite simply, I’ve lived in a big place and felt small. I suspect planet earth approves.

iceland Download
01/10/2025