Outside grey drizzling,

Sky erased, bees vanished.

Veg browned and dying,

Drowned.

Flower heads weigh heavy,

bent beneath a weight

of water.

A gulf sits between here and the

oven-baked mainland.

Grabbing a cardy and extra socks

I wait for the sun to wake

Wondering if we have had

The last summer.

In a new landscape I find the seasons are different. Back “down South” the daffodils would be out by the city walls by the last week in February. I would watch the green spikes emerging from the bus as it passed and await their blooms as the key moment when winter gave way to spring.

We are now in the last week in March, the daffodils are out here in full force, a bank of them backlit by early morning sun when we walked past the train station yesterday. Along the edge of the golf course, too, the fabled golden host glowing against still-bare trees.

This week the blossom is emerging, blackthorn and flowering currant (Ribes sanguineum). Grape hyacinth are out in the garden and the first bumblebee queens have emerged, on the prowl for nest sites. Three years ago bumblebee queens were humming about on a day trip to London on my birthday in mid-February.

These events have coincided with the spring equinox, which I will use as my benchmark for the “start of spring” when we reach the new calendar year.

So how fast does spring travel? According to this article from 2015 at around 2 miles per hour. I can visualise a time lapse map of the country, greening and blossoming as the season unfolds! I am now wondering if you could walk with the season as it unfolds (apparently from South West to North East).

This year not only are we in a new landscape but we also have a new garden. The soil here is heavier than the chalk uplands where I’ve lived for most of the past forty years. We have begun the process of clearing the ground of tenacious ivy (while leaving some because it is beneficial for many creatures) and are waiting to see what emerges as the ground warms in the coming weeks. I have planted some shrubs which will hopefully give blossom and berries for the birds and bees in coming years, and set some wildflower seeds. I’m also creating a rock pile and a wood pile for the creepy crawlies.

All part of seeking to create a wildlife friendly corner in these times of habitat depletion in our #wildisles !

I am a restless soul. No sooner do I arrive somewhere than I want to be on to the next place. I have spent my whole life feeling out of place and longing to find a sense of home.

When I was younger I longed for travel, I thought that somewhere out there (cue song lyrics) was that mythical place where I would belong.

Life unfolds, often unexpectedly. As a young mother in my twenties I wished the weeks away, believing that at some point the time could come when I would find the job or place that felt like a fit. It is a sadness now that I was not more “with” that time, I did not know at the time how young I was.

On and on we go, through career studies and professional life. Each place had something to give, some gift to be treasured, a moment of clarity, the joy of sharing a good piece of work. My children grew up, my marriage ended, I found a new love. On and on.

In the past five years we have been on the move both literally and metaphorically. Moving from the home where I raised the children, into my parents home to tend to my Mum in her final years, on to our first home for “just us”, reliving the student vibes in a second floor apartment. Last October we made a giant leap out of my native Kent and here to Warwickshire.

Still that niggle remains, the longing to belong, the desire to be “at home”.

Today I was reading a talk by Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh. Thay invites us to come home to ourselves. To recognise our body as our first home.

I am not a friend to my body. I look after it, grudgingly, because this makes sense, but I do not love it. I have never felt comfortable inside this skin. Could this be the answer to my restless yearnings. To finally make friends with this oldest friend. The animal self waiting for acceptance. To breathe into the whole self and allow the earth to hold me?

I wonder if this work will bring me comfort, and finally, bring me home?

We moved last October. This was a big one for us. Nearly 200 miles north west into the Midlands. We left my dad and two sons back in Kent, along with good friends and forty years of life and personal history

Arriving in late autumn gives a bleak introduction to a place… dank, damp and dark is the theme for much of British wintertime. The middle of the country is also murkier, grey skies more frequent.

Despite this we have found a good deal of beauty and begun the process of settling. It seems that by taking it one day at a time it’s possible to adjust to a new world. Baby steps.

The biggest shift for me has been in my work life. I found a job in our first month here and started work at a local care centre as activities coordinator. A background in teaching and admin has been a godsend.

You may have read that social care is a challenging sector to work in. I can vouch for that. For me there have been challenges around learning what the role entails, being a worker not a manager (I’ve been at the “top” of my previous profession for several years as an independent education consultant and specialist teacher). There have been challenges around being employed rather than self employed (turns out I have difficulty taking direction, who knew?) And around physical capacity in a job which needs you to be active and mobile for the majority of the day.

I have found it challenging that there is so much need, the end of life can be very hard. There are moments of joy and laughter too but some days the witnessing of pain feels overwhelming.

I have wanted to run away more than once, bury my head under a duvet and give in to gloom. What’s the point?

A story I read the other night is helping me see that there’s a different way to measure my success and effectiveness in this brave new world.

One day a man heads down to the beach for his daily walk. Down by the shore he sees a person dancing near the surf. As he draws nearer he sees it isn’t someone dancing after all but a young man who is picking up starfish from the sand and throwing them into the sea.

“What are you doing, friend?” Says the man. “Well the sun is rising, and the tide is turning, and soon these starfish will be stranded and they will dry out and die. I am throwing them back into the sea.”

“How foolish!” Said the man. “This beach goes on for miles and you can see there are hundreds, thousands, of starfish. You will never succeed! How can you make a difference to the power of the tide?”

The young man picked up another starfish and hurled it back into the sea. “Well I made a difference to that one.”

I may have told it wrong but you get the idea. Life is messy. Often we have to make impossible and life changing decisions. We feel powerless in the face of circumstances, we are so small and the forces around us so vast and impersonal.

But. The belief that we can create change, making a difference in small but meaningful ways.

This is the power of hope.

When did we stop having private lives?

I feel it must be linked on some level to social media. Once upon a time, in the eighties and nineties, I had a world in my head I never shared, except with a few trusted friends and my mother. Thoughts, dreams, daily happenings. Beautiful things glimpsed or moments of insight.

They came and went like the tides. I didn’t feel the need to pin them down or capture them for posterity. Maybe the odd scribble in a journal, or a photo when on holiday but nothing major.

It’s different now though, I see the world through my phone camera lens, everything can be captured and recorded. I take pictures everywhere. I wouldn’t invite strangers into my home but I’ll post pictures of my kitchen when I’ve been baking or my balcony plants on Sunday morning while in my pyjamas. I share thoughts and feelings. This is normal behaviour for me and millions of others. (The irony of writing a blog post to explore this isn’t lost on me.)

This is where my questions begin. The sharing can be positive, other people’s sharing can inspire me, make me feel closer to them, though often distant geographically. I can share with like minded souls on topics of interest, I have even made new friends.

On the other hand the desire to be “seen” and to conform is a powerful pull and not always helpful. I went to see an exhibition yesterday at the Herne Bay Museum, it was a series of sketches and paintings of the rebuilding of sea defenses made in 1980 to 1981. It reminded me that there was a time when we didn’t have social media and digital phone cameras. When glimpses of other people’s lives and day to day happenings was unusual and rare.

Maybe we collectively enjoy keeping tabs on each other. Maybe social media is a giant, global, curtain-twitch, “what are the neighbours up to?”

What I know it is a lot of work. Despite having cut my social media use and consumption dramatically I continue to spend hours each week checking and posting.

Of course I will lose out if I stop posting, I will miss seeing things that are interesting or important. I may lose touch with some people. I will be opting out of the party.

But there is, some days, just too much to pay attention to. My brain creaks under the stain of this constant flood of information, it becomes harder and harder to filter out what is needed, like a storm drain, dragging in sewage as well as rain water.

And there will be a life outside. A life of precious and unique moments just for me and those I am with, connected in time and space, the augmented reality of real, non-virtual life. Four dimensions and all the senses!

I haven’t yet found “the answer”. I’ve never believed it’s possible to turn back the clock, or particularly wanted to deny the positives of technology, which are many. For me the wondering is about how I use that technology.

On balance does it help or harm? On balance does it bring life, joy and peace, or tension, strain and anxiety?

What would it be like to have a private life again?

And am I brave enough to find out?