Opening the door into 2023, with three little words.

In Scotland, the stroke of midnight heralding the New Year is known as “the bells” and it takes us from Hogmanay (New Year’s Eve) in the past forward in to the New Year. In Scotland the bells have now rung, and we have stepped into the New Year, 2023.

I hug my 2022 words close as I lay them aside, thankful for their company and guidance. They have helped me navigate an eventful yet ordinary year. Again, the year has thrown surprises amidst careful plans and my words have kept me on track.

2022 Reflections

This time last year, I was reflecting on more than the previous months and was aware of a growing sense that I wanted to slow down and spend more time on the things I enjoyed. That was captured in my first word, “unfurl”. I was exploring that balance between “living to work” and “working to live” and wondering  how to feel in control of my time. While I am not quite old enough to receive the state pension, I was increasingly aware that health has been challenging and  I am being realistic, not morbid to acknowledge that I am only a number of months away from the age that my mother died. These are precious years, and I want to enjoy them. A year ago I wrote:

“I am increasingly reminded that I do not want to spend my golden years working flat out. Moving to part time working has affirmed that, and whet my appetite for slowing down even more. My mother died on her 65^th birthday and as I approach that age, I want to step off the speeding roundabout and enjoy the benefit of having worked for the past 40 years, rather than work up to my last email breath.”

Over the end of year break and with the benefit of time to think, I reached a major decision. I would truly unfurl by stepping back from the stability and security of employment. 

This connected with closely with my second word “forage” as I had to be realistic. I would need to find assignments and small pieces of work which would pay the bills and provide the necessities. Having refined life quite considerably intentionally as well as reactively from the pandemic and health issues, as well as having moved to part time work, this was not as scary as it might have been just a few years ago. I knew I could “forage” for work and draw on the resources I have to live. And I have been extremely fortunate that things have found me, as well as me finding them and I am content in a modest lifestyle. 

Which confirms that I “savour” what I have, my third word reminding me to appreciate and value my life and everything I am fortunate enough to hold close. 

Again, my mantra has guided me through the year and 2022, the year where Covid played a less prominent but not insignificant role, is characterised by those words “unfurl, forage and savour.”

Embracing 2023

This is now the 14^th year that I have chosen three words for the coming year. Every year is a little different. Sometimes the words land quickly and easily. Sometimes they take longer and throw up more options. But every year, they settle and once my mantra is in place, I feel my shoulders relax and I am comforted to adopt the new words. This year, the words settled fairly quickly and I have been trying them on, ready to wrap around me as 2023 begins.

Harvest

The first word arrived very quickly and easily. I am a hoarder in that I gather and treasure little things that have meaning. I was struck during a recent writing group by mention of a “word hoard”, words which Seamus Heaney used and which chimed with a number of us. 14 years of 3 word mantras has provided me with a very rich word hoard. In addition to that though, I have a treasury of precious bits and pieces. But by that, I don’t mean valuables. I am surrounded by little “treasures”.  A Prague bus ticket, a bookmark from a little bookshop in Cambodia, a little water colour I found in a tiny shop in Zanzibar, a set of tea light holders from Morocco, a notebook from a women’s project in Nepal, an eternal desk calendar from Borneo, a lacquerware box gifted to me by a friend in Myanmar … These are treasure in that each one holds memories and sentiment which come rushing to me if I pick them up. They take me instantly to that place I was exploring and learning about and the people I connected with. That is the real treasure. I have a lifetime of memories, mega bytes and mega albums of photographs, snippets of half written poems and stories and I want to make the most of these. My first word will guide me, as I plan to “harvest” this rich hoard and shape it into something which I can share. 

Sculpt

That connects with my second word. In order to shape my harvest of goodies, I need to be structured. In fact, I need to ensure that in a life of unfurlment, I need to have structure to make the most of time and energy. My second word is “sculpt” and that will prompt me to shape and structure my life and activities. I will be reminded to bring form to what I am doing, but this will allow me to be creative and incorporate new ideas and opportunities. My mother was an artist, mainly painting and sketching but later in her life, she began experimenting with clay. I am not sure of how things came about, but her work attracted the attention of the art department of Aberdeen University and they gave her a scholarship to attend for several weeks to develop her skills and learn techniques. She would produce batches of pottery pork pies as kitsch mementoes for Melton Mowbray, the town she lived in, renown for pork pies. She didn’t enjoy making them at all, but she called them her “bread and butter.”  In other words, they provided the income and means to enable her to sculpt the pieces she loved creating. Harvesting that memory now, 25 years after her death, I realise I am doing something very similar and the word “sculpt” holds that additional precious association. I trust it to help bring shape and meaning to the coming months, and hopefully bring to life some tangible results, particularly in the form of writing.

Flutter

My third word particularly complements “sculpt” by recognising how easily I am distracted by tiny wonders from the corner of my eye and new thoughts and ideas from the corners of my mind. I am like a butterfly and when I “flutter” from one thing to another, new ideas emerge and I find myself off another adventure. That spontaneity is important to me and while I do need structure, I must allow myself to follow those flitterings of notions and ideas and see where they take me. Butterflies fascinate me, and I write about them as well as while away happy moments watching their own flutterings. 

And so my words have settled into their mantra, and I can hear them whispering encouragement as I step into the coming year. 

“Harvest, sculpt and flutter”

The sun struggles to rise at this time of year, but as we reach this New Year’s Day, I am comforted to know that the days are slowly gaining additional seconds of daylight. I know that January is a cold and dark month, and with festivities behind us is tough emotionally as well as physically. So I hold on to the knowledge that the days are moving in a direction towards spring.

And I walk towards those spring days with my words to guide me, and wish to each and every one, a happy, healthy and fulfilled 2023.

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It’s that time of year …

It’s that time of year, finally. The day in the northern hemisphere marked in our emotional calendars as the turning point towards longer, lighter days. The winter solstice is here, and while the day today is bright, the sun barely lifts above the rooftops before it dips and not long after lunchtime the light fades. Tonight sees the longest night and from tomorrow the days will start, slowly initially, and gradually pick up speed as they lengthen. It’s a dark time of year literally, and in other ways too, so the promise of lighter days ahead is important. We are emerging from an extremely cold spell and the temperatures have now risen above zero, for a few days at least. The deep freeze outside is finally thawing and the birds can land on water instead of ice outside my window.

It’s that time of year when we have ten more days left of the year, and for the past weeks I have been reflecting as well as thinking ahead. At this time of year, I reflect back on the words I selected for my three word mantra and review how well they have guided me.

It’s that time of year when I am thinking of the right words to guide me through the coming year. I step back and think of priorities and areas which I need to focus on. I am surrounded by words, as I seek the perfect way to articulate what I aim for in the coming year. For the past weeks I have been jotting down words I see, or hear or read if they chime with my purpose. I have pages in my notebook alive with spider maps of words, synonyms, ideas and random thoughts as I shape the mantra for 2023. 

It’s that time of year when I have favourite words, sometimes a reasonably firm choice, sometimes a group of words which have not yet gelled into the mantra or are missing that final perfect word. This year I have three words which may (or may not) emerge as the final choice. 

Tea, words and reflections – shaping the 2019 3 word mantra

It’s that time of year when I try my words on and wear them before I commit. They need to fit and be comfortable, and we need to trust each other. 

And it’s that time of year when I wrap myself in my current words, “unfurl, forage and savour” and appreciate how they have guided and supported me through the year before I place them gently to the side with the words of previous years which have walked alongside me.

A time to pause and reflect

It’s that time of year again.

The leaves are changing colour and gently releasing hold of their branches.

The morning light softens progressively each day as the sun moves further and further south towards the solstice.

Berries and leaves fall on the ground creating a tactile, audible carpet underfoot.

The scent of approaching winter is just perceptible in the damp air.

I hug my three words of 2022, comforted that they have guided and looked over me these past months.

And my mind gently explores a universe of words in its search for a perfect mantra for the coming year.

Drawing in, breathing out.

Time and tide wait for no (hu)man indeed.

We are now at the autumnal equinox and the daylight is shrinking on a daily basis. Every morning two minutes are shaved from the daylight as the sun rises later, and a further two or three minutes from the end of the day. I am no mathematician but can easily see that this steals over half an hour of daylight in a week. In contrast to the spring equinox when the sun rushes to stretch the day, we feel the retreat of summer as we need to switch on lights progressively earlier. More layers are needed and the scent in the air brings a chill with the certainty of autumn and winter not far beyond. The light is softer, and lower in the sky, and the flowers start to retreat and withdraw.

The wider world and my personal world have changed so much, and yet so little. Two and a half years have passed since I closed my door as Covid threatened to intrude. And while its threat has been reduced considerably, it still lingers. It even stepped over my own doorstep in the summer despite living a sheltered and cautious existence.

Guided as ever by my carefully selected three word mantra, I have made some big decisions. With the intention to unfurl, I have completely adjusted that work life balance by stepping aside from the regularity of work and seeking to forage more to provide for my essentials. The past years have shown that we can manage differently, and with health continuing to constrain I need to make the most of, nay savour, these Voldemort years. I am moulding days and weeks to allow for a balance which favours reading, writing, and spending time outdoors when the Scottish weather permits. And reflecting. I have a rich bank of memory and experience to enjoy. Can you live vicariously through the experiences of your younger self, I wonder.

The onset of autumn months and years is characterised by this milestone that is the equinox. And this falls on the first of my cancer landmark days. The day I discovered the lump back in 2009. So it feels as if there is a synchronicity in this shift in the seasons, the shortening of the days and the ever bittersweet anniversary of my introduction to a life refashioned by cancer.

By unfurling, slowing down and refocusing I am striving to take control of my own little world in this universe of unpredictability and turbulence. And while the sun rises later and sets earlier on its march towards the winter solstice, it continues to backlight the plants and trees as they continue in their seasonal cycle. It is up to me to remember to open my eyes and see those everyday wonders which thrive around me.

Expect the Unexpected

When I first moved to Asia, I quickly became fascinated by the paddy fields. Terraces of glorious, shining green stretching as far as the eye could see. As the paddy started to ripen, the edgy bright green would start to deepen to a dusky yellow and laborious transplanting and thinning would make way for harvesting. But what particularly fascinated me, I am embarrassed to say, was that I could not fathom out how these fields of green could transform into the grains of rice on the shelves of shops and supermarkets. It was to take me more than one season of observation, understanding the threshing, asking questions and gathering little shoots of paddy to watch in my own home before I could unravel and understand the journey from field to rice sack and the transformation that took place. I am thankful that this was before Google was there to give me a quick answer!

While this fascination took place half a world away, it is one of those everyday wonders which happens under our noses. I have the same wonder now back in Scotland, and even in my fifth blossom season since returning I am still unravelling the mystery and magic of the everyday fruit blossom which surrounds us.

And who doesn’t love blossom? It is a sheer delight to look at, transforming the streets in shades of pinks and whites around us for a fleeting season with its exuberance and joy. But it goes so much deeper. In each tiny blossom there contains magic, hope and promise all in one. Each flower holds within it the potential to form a perfect apple, cherry, pear, plum, gooseberry, blueberry … But how many of us pause and watch as those exquisite little flowers turn into a completely different being? My curiosity has been similar to that of the rice journey, but at this stage in life, how have I missed the detail of the journey of our fruits? Each year since my return to Scotland, I have delved a little deeper and each year learned a little more.

Having discovered a blueberry bush last year, and enjoyed its produce on a daily basis while it was fruiting, I have been curious to see how these perfect berries take shape. This year the blueberry was one of the first to show little shoots of life when the wind and snow was discouraging signs of spring. And it has led the way in encouraging the rest of the blossoms with its exotic pink clusters of blueberry promises.

Blueberry blossom

Blueberry blossom

Pear blossom begins to unfurl in the Scottish spring

As the blossoms unfurl, mature and then gradually fall, I have taken the time to witness the particular path each is taking as its own fruit is nurtured. And it is such an intricate and purposeful path. I find it both comforting to see the power and precision of nature alongside shame that humankind is inflicting damage and destruction in the pursuit of power and greed.

Apple blossom, pinker than previous years

I choose to focus my attention on the promise of hope in the form of these little blossoms and the magic they contain. As the days march forwards through spring, and these northern days lengthen, I am bearing witness to surprises as the blossoms transform and tell their stories.

Against a steely grey sky, the plum blossoms have fallen, making starry silhouettes which are busy shaping into tiny plums.

Plum stalks

The petals are falling from the pear tree, and revealing work already underway as the stalks form into little cotton buds in the shape of minute pears. Little future pears.

The pear blossom

The elongated blueberry blossom is losing its red colour and forming into a spherical, blushing pink mystery which will be my breakfast staple in a few weeks time.

The beginnings of a blueberry

But perhaps one of the greatest surprises has been the humble gooseberry. A traditional fruit which transports me back to my childhood with memories of gooseberry jam, crumble and fool. And one which has been overshadowed by the availability of more varieties of fruits from further afield. So I was quite astounded to follow the journey of the humble gooseberry as it formed the most sophisticated lantern of blossom with great enthusiasm. These images are taken very close up and mask the fact that these little blossoms are half the size of my pinkie nail.

Gooseberry blossom, a sophisticated secret

And it is providing the most astonishing transformation that I have witnessed so far. The intricate and little known gooseberry blossom transforms into the tiniest, hairiest, most perfect shy gooseberry taking me back to my childhood.

And from the tiny intricate blossom, the first signs of a perfectly formed, miniature gooseberry

Thank goodness I have decided to slow down and unfurl, otherwise I might never have discovered these unexpected happenings right under my nose.

No matter where we are in the world, there are mysteries and surprises all around us. It is up to us to choose what we use our eyes and minds for.

Expectations, great and ordinary.

Where have these past two years gone? We have completed two whole journeys around the sun. The same sun which has risen on 730 mornings and set again in the evening since 13 March 2020. The very day when I closed the door on the outside world.

The sun rises a little earlier each day as spring equinox approaches.

As the sun sinks this evening, I reflect on this day two years ago. I was on my way home from work, with my laptop and some hastily grabbed papers as I was expecting to be working from home for the following couple of weeks with Covid closing in on us. It was just over a week before the spring equinox, the sky was a translucent blue in the fading daylight as I made my way from the bus stop to my front door. 

Heading home on 13 March 2020

I was not long home before my phone rang. I remember that family conversation so clearly, the deep fear of the virus which was already tightening its grip around us meaning that I began my isolation a few days before the authorities formally closed our doors. That is not new, I have reflected on this before. 

As I wrote in April 2020 – “I arrived home from work … having agreed that afternoon that I would work from home from then on to reduce risk while travelling to work on busy buses. I picked up a couple of items from the shop on my way home. Excellent stocking up – a jar of red pesto, a small packet of macaroni and some miso soups. I had no idea when I shut the front door, that I would not be leaving again for the foreseeable future. Family conversations that evening were frank and sobering. We talked through the risks that I faced. Age and underlying health conditions meant that I would not fare well if I contracted COVID-19. Additionally, as the pandemic took hold, the health service would be placed under extreme pressure to accommodate very ill patients. We realised at that point that I should immediately self isolate. And so, on Friday 13 March, I closed my doors to the outside world... Life has been transferred predominantly online. I have FaceTime, Zoom and Skype chats in the evening with friends, sometimes in small groups. Our Book Club and Writing Group now meet online. But even though life is continuing, it has been changed irrevocably. We don’t know when it will settle and resume and in particular, we don’t know what the new world will look like when it does settle.“

There was such uncertainty ahead. But on reflection I realise that did have some expectations. We had expectations that if we did catch Covid, then we would have some immunity in those very early days. There was a great deal of talk about vaccines taking time, but we had unquestionable confidence that we would see a vaccine at some point and that it would be the solution. I held the expectation that catching Covid would be almost certainly dire with my underlying and chronic health conditions. Another expectation was that as case numbers rose, they would surely fall as the peak of infections passed. However, the current case numbers are very high considering over two years have passed of the pandemic.

So it is strange to look back over the past two years which have both flown and dragged by, and look at how those expectations have measured up. Some have been surpassed, and some have surprised us. The vaccine has been a massive game changer, for those have access to them. While the global situation is one which is urgent and overlooked by too many, I am in that fortunate position to have had both doses, plus the booster. But aside that is the question of immunity. Not being an expert in this area, I have been shaken by the evolving realisation that immunity fades after infection, and also after the vaccines. Now we understand that the benefit of the vaccine is far more on reducing the severity of disease rather than transmission. Also, in those very early days, the variants had not appeared on our radars. Our expectations of new variants and mutations of the virus, with the unknown of how severe and transmissible these would be had yet to form.

Many of these expectations, I had not really acknowledged but they nestled in my mind. It is only when I pause at a milestone such as today, that I realise that I held so many.

When I wake tomorrow morning, on the first day of a third year since I closed my door, I will focus my expectations on the sunrises and sunsets and the spring growth in front of my eyes.

Welcoming 2022 with three little words

Welcome, 2022. Please be kind. Please bring health, happiness and strength across the world.

I do wonder, when we look back at the 2020s from a distance of a decade of more, whether we will be able to distinguish 2020 from 2021, and 2021 from 2022 or whether the years will all feel like a blur of covid years. I already find it difficult to work out which May or June, which lockdown, and which wave were which. Was it May this year or last that was so hot and sunny? Can it really be almost 2 years since I have been living life very differently. And the unspoken question – will life look any different this year?

Going into the new year after the wall-to-wall covid year, I am glad I have my three word mantra to distinguish the previous years. And I trust that this coming year will be characterised as much by the words which I have settled upon to guide me through whatever is thrown at us.

With the covid situation so protracted, I have found it a strange process this year to find that balance between aware of the unpredictability of times ahead, yet maintaining my focus on what is important and the priorities for the year. And the words which have come to me for 2022 are now ready to be shared. My three word mantra to guide and inspire me in the months ahead are:

Unfurl, forage and savour

Unfurl

As the Voldemort milestone retreats into the past (the number which cannot be said out loud, but in Scotland reaching this age gifts a bus pass), I am increasingly reminded that I do not want to spend my golden years working flat out. Moving to part time working has affirmed that, and whet my appetite for slowing down even more. My mother died on her 65^th birthday and as I approach that age, I want to step off the speeding roundabout and enjoy the benefit of having worked for the past 40 years, rather than work up to my last email breath.

Finding a word which captured this sense of “slowing down” was more difficult than I expected. Decelerate is too mechanical, slow doesn’t capture enough of what I want to convey and searching through dictionaries I discovered that many of the synonyms for slowing down had negative connotations. Such as lag behind, delay, impede, stall, setback, restrain … Which was very revealing about the world we live in and the value placed on rushing and speeding through life and work. Have we learned nothing from the pandemic and shifted priorities? And that made me all the more determined to find a word which would place value on slowness. 

The other dimension of slowing down which I wanted to aim towards this coming year, is that of becoming unbusy, and releasing the tension of recent months. After so long being tightly coiled, and as physical strength and capacity gradually reduces, I want to unwind in order to be able to live at a slower pace. Which brings in the perfect word – unfurl. I want to release and untighten from the stress and pressures of recent times, and slowly open like the promise of a new leaf, slowly unfurling, feeling the breeze as it reaches out towards the sun and the coming season. If I can unfurl, and embrace the rhythms of nature, this will allow a gentler, unhurried pace of life.

Forage

My second word is one which reflects an intentional approach to living, one where I consider carefully what I need, and one where I make the most of my surroundings in many senses. My second word is forage and it has meanings both very literal, and more figurative. Forage prompts me to look for wonders in front of me, under my feet and above my head. Forage  tells me that exploring is a wonderful way of living and reminds me of the times when I lived in places where the produce is seasonal and dependent on weather., and when I relied on using my creativity to use what was available, rather than what I thought I wanted. Forage reminds me that there is a great deal in my surroundings and I just need to open my eyes and my mind. Forage also reminds me not to be wasteful and to use and share what I have. 

In the less literal sense, forage reminds me to be observant and look out for those little treasures around me which hold so much potential to inspire creativity. And foraging is not limited to edibles, as I am surrounded by a lifetime of collectibles and memories which have stories to tell and seek a space to speak.

I look forward to discovering which paths foraging might take me on and what discoveries I might make.

Savour

My third word complements and travels comfortably alongside its two companions. As I unfurl and forage, I realise that I can enhance this if I make that effort to enjoy the slower pace and savour the simple things around me. To really savour flavours, sounds and sensations, it is important not to rush. Again, there are a wealth of interpretations from the very obvious senses of taste, and smell which we most immediately associate with savour, to the other senses. I can savour the music of birdsong by closing my eyes, and just listening. I can savour the sight of flowers welcoming bees as they go about their day’s work and I can savour memories which spring up unexpectedly by pausing and capturing them as they flitter by. 

The past years have especially shown us that life can change dramatically and drastically in a heartbeat. Covid and cancer have been clear examples. And that doesn’t diminish the challenges that come with an unwelcome development, which can be overwhelming and distressing. That is completely valid. But it does mean that we can accept what is, rather than what might be or should have been. And seek to focus on aspects around us that are there to savour.

And so my three word mantra for 2022 has taken shape. Savour reminds me to embrace what we too often consider small, ordinary and insignificant and this is so much more achievable when unfurled and living at a slower pace, and foraging with an inquisitive mind.

It is time to embrace 2022 with my three words as a constant, guiding companion. May 2022 be kindly, inspiring and healthy for us all.

Reflections of 2021 through a three word mantra

As the sun sets on 2021, I spend time reflecting on my three word mantra. I can always recognise the year from the three words I chose for that year, a practice which I stumbled upon a few hours before the New Year of 2010 began.

That very first three word mantra, recovery, discovery and laughter takes me back firmly to that year. The three words came so easily. It was December 2009 and I was in the thick of chemo and seeking to hold on to the prospect of healing. I recognised that leaning on innate curiosity and an overactive sense of humour would be key ways of dealing with the challenges of cancer treatment and the three words kept me focused on that mindset through 2010. When I read focus, treasure and design, I am taken immediately to 2013 on a wave of grief. Those words tell me that was the year I lost my father. Knowing at the start of 2013, that we would probably say goodbye before the year was out, very much shaped the choice of the words as well as providing strength and focus. The three words reorient, nurture and crystalize whisper “2016” in my ear, reminding me of a year that heralded enormous change. The year that saw me leaving the continent I had lived for over 15 years, the work I had loved and the country which had been home for 7 years.

And the words patience, calibration and stardust would set the tone for the year now closing, and keep my strength during what was to be a wall to wall year of Covid. That is evident in my words at this time one year ago when I wrote “Selecting three words this year brings a new dimension, knowing that the months ahead will see continued challenge as the new strains of COVID-19 and winter fragility test us to the limits. It has been strange to choose my words with COVID-19 looming large, and I have been striving to see beyond the immediacy, yet I find it impossible to ignore it… I trust that my words will carry me through any eventuality, whilst acknowledging the significant one of COVID-19 underpins a great deal.”

As we enter the final days of 2021, I have been reflecting on the year and my three words for some weeks now. This reflection is a sound basis which I find essential as I take the time and energy to consider which words will carry me forwards into 2022. The words for the coming year are shaping nicely, but in the meantime here are my thoughts on the year, and the three words that have depicted my 2021.

Patience

When we stepped into 2021, I could almost hear the collective sigh of relief as the door was closed on 2020. The first Covid vaccines had been administered and there was a sense of optimism that 2021 would be see us moving out of the pandemic. Things would surely be different. My first word, patience, however, was a lesson drawn from the previous months. I knew that so much was out of my hands and that I had to put faith in the system and trust that things would work out. I knew that I just needed to be patient and focus on what was in my control, continuing to be cautious. The winter was tough, the long dark days were exactly that and the weather was not as kind as it had been the previous spring with frosts and snows continuing well into April. By the time the longer, lighter days appeared and the chills disappeared I had had my first vaccine, with our iconic NHS Scotland blue envelopes dropping through letterboxes and inducing unexpected emotions.

The Blue Envelope

But alongside the medical advances, and being in a very privileged situation here (vaccine inequity is a major issue, which merits its own discussion) there have been the inevitable mutations and variants of the virus which continue to create a dance with science. A dance of advances, side steps and retreats and the music keeps on playing. With each new chapter in the pandemic story, I have found the reminder to be patient has been essential. Of course there are days when I am sad and frustrated, but I know that I need to continue to just be patient and trust that life will become less and less dominated by Covid as we continue to move forwards. 

Calibration

I continue to live a very quiet, low key life and recent health challenges reinforce my own personal choice to minimise risk and exposure. I have not taken a bus further than a few miles away and mainly because of the commuting distance I have continued to work from home. I am to be enormously thankful that technology enables me to do this, but in contradiction, I have found it incredibly difficult to maintain a wise work-life balance. An important change, as been to move to working part time in the middle of the year, in order to calibrate that delicate balance. I now have two additional non working days. This has shifted the balance of my working week and now I have more free days per week than working days. Those working days seem to have stretched a little, but I know that they are followed by a very healthy break each week.

Another aspect of calibration has been possible by playing with space rather than time. My workspace has always been temporary, in between the spare bed and a blank wall, oblivious to the changing light and colours of the outside world. So the opportunity to shift things around during a recent family visit was embraced and things I had been unable to move were rapidly relocated. My desk now faces out of the window, and rather than missing nature in front of me, I find myself often distracted by the arrival of blue tits, robins and sparrows on the plum tree outside.

New view from my desk

The sense of calibration is something I am keen to take with me into the coming year and beyond.

Stardust

I have held on to the notion of stardust as we have moved through 2021, it has reminded me of the importance of seeing the light and wonder in the ordinary. Stardust sounds magical, yet we are told that “everything we are and everything in the universe and on Earth originated from stardust, and it continually floats through us even today”.

I have found the reminder that we are both reduced and elevated by the notion of being made of stardust to be paradoxically comforting and exhilarating. A reminder that we are tiny and insignificant in the planet, let alone the universe. And a reminder to look beyond the darkness and find the stardust that is within us, and in the universe.

My words have again served me well, and as with previous years, I take their essence forward with me alongside the lessons they have brought. And they pave the way for three new words to take me into the coming year, as they wait patiently to be revealed in the first hours of 2022. 

Spring flowers in autumn?

As the summer days move into the past, the garden still manages to gift colour and fruit beyond expectation. and come up with continuous surprises. I was sure I must have seen all of the different flowers and plants which appear throughout the year, but the other afternoon, my eye caught sight of a colour which stood out against the warmer late summer colours. Right under the crab apple tree were some pale lilac petals, resting just like spring crocus.

My mind was immediately challenged. Why were there spring-like blooms resting under the tree? Was the planet so stressed with the way humans have interfered with climate and the seasons, that unseasonal temperatures had forced a a bloom of spring bulbs?

Thankfully, these times do provide answers at our fingertips, and I was quickly able to discover that these delicate little flowers are an autumn crocus. I had no idea there was such a flower, never mind that it was growing beneath my gaze. It is also known as meadow saffron, mystery and fall crocus.

These delicate flowers bloomed for but a few days before wilting and disappearing as subtly as they had appeared. I must have missed them last year. It is too easy to miss those tiny wonders and this is a reminder how important it is to keep our eyes open, even when we think there is nothing new to see.

From My Doorstep

The other evening I was readying to go to bed, when my eye caught sight of a deep orange colour low in the sky. Not long after the sun had set, the waxing moon was following in its own path towards moonset. The warm colours of the sun reflected ever more intensely as the moon sank in the sky. I was mesmerised and stood on my doorstep in the warm summer air. Of course my camera was not far away.

I am not sure how long I lingered there, taking time to breathe in the temperate air and watch the moon sink, trying to capture the magical colours. I have a bridge camera which provides a phenomenal zoom but without the confusion that my old SLR camera had and there are now many images on my own personal memory card as well as that of the camera.

In Scotland, summer days stretch and lengthen through to the summer solstice. When the days are at their longest, the light never truly fades and the sky is a translucent deep blue in the deep of the night. By 3 o’clock in the morning the sky is already preparing for the day and light long before the sun appears on the horizon. In the evening it sets around 10 o’clock but again the light lingers for a good while.

Already the days are shortening, and in a little over a month since the summer solstice, there is a full hour less of daylight. At this time of the year, the sun seems to speed up on its southerly journey and we reflect “ah, the nights are drawing in” as we acknowledge the distant but inevitable shorter days as the year moves towards the winter solstice.

Those days continue to pass, and although there is a lightness as the outside world changes, Covid is still very much in the air. And my calendar tells me that 500 days have now passed since that day in March 2020 when my own life changed. 500 days and when I wake tomorrow, 500 nights since I closed the door in the March chill of 2020. ~And while much has changed, much is still very much the same.

I am enormously thankful to have had both doses of the vaccine. I am basking in the long light and at the moment, warm, days of summer and I am luxuriating in fresh blueberries from the garden on my yoghurt in the morning. But I have still not been on a train or bus for any distance, and apart from an unexpected and stressful set of checks in the breast clinic in Edinburgh in January, I have not visited the city in those 500 days.

And nor do I foresee any great changes in my immediate plans. I am comfortable and settled in my space, but most of all, feel safe here. I would love to have people round and not be weather dependent, and I would love to plan a break. But the time is not right yet. I know that I am well protected, but I also know that I am not completely protected from Covid. And I do not want to be one of the statistics still featured on a daily basis if I can possibly avoid it. As I have done so for the past 500 days. But the more pressing reason for me is that I am acutely aware that every new infection is an opportunity for mutation of the virus as it strives to find ways to ensure its own survival. I do not want to give it any more chances, so I will continue to be very measured in how I live my life for the time being.

I find myself still in a strange place. Life goes on, the days pass, there are new developments in the behaviour and effects of the virus, scientific progress and society’s response. Yet, we are still adapting and reacting. Planning is fraught with risks and has to be packed with all manner of contingency.

Each of us is finding our feet in this shaky new ground, and this differs on our own situations, our thresholds of comfort and our own risk assessments. I know where my own boundaries lie and I know that they are cautious for the reasons I stated. Avoiding exposure to risk as far as possible for my own health as well as giving the virus as little opportunity as possible to mutate. I don’t impose my views and actions on others, and have truly valued the fact that my cautious take is respected where those differ.

As I stood on my doorstep the other night watching the moon set, I was reminded of my three words for 2021 – patience, calibration and stardust. How apt they have proven so far. In those moments, my mind was stilled by the sight of the moon. More agitated thoughts of the day faded into the background. I might not have ventured far from my doorstep in 500 days, but I am reminded that there is often a great deal to be experienced in and from that very place.