Being Outside More

In Forest School last week we were learning about hibernation, with the aid of a small knitted hedgehog puppet. As I sit recovering today from a wisdom tooth extraction last Thursday, I am sorely tempted to make the time pass by sleeping soundly for a few weeks and waiting for this time to be over. Except I’m human, not hog, and so I must stay awake and vaguely functional. It feels as if all the energy in my body is directed towards the wound in my gum, although at least this morning I bear less of a resemblance to a lopsided Orson Welles as the swelling subsides. Never a good look for a middle-aged woman. Writing feels difficult and pointless under these conditions, I fear sounding peevish. I do sound peevish. I find it hard to concentrate on reading, hard to put my thoughts in order. I’m too tired to do my usual bounding along walks and must content myself with shorter ones, trying to “see the joy in small things” and wanting to throw things at the self help peddlers that suggest suc...

Today is supposedly 'Blue Monday', the most depressing day of the year. Twenty years ago, probably in a bid to sell more holidays, a travel company released the results of some research it had commissioned, employing a psychologist to come up with a ‘scientific formula’ for low mood at this time of year. Although the way the phrase regularly resurfaces and swirls around social media shows the stickiness of the concept. This time last year my teenage daughter was out of school, and it certainly felt a particularly bleak time. I spent my days researching options, chasing down possible support, crafting emails, meeting professionals who expressed dismay that we seemed to be ‘slipping through the cracks’ as they put it. As if what was happening to our family was some kind of careless mistake, rather than the systemic failure of education and health institutions to meet the needs of my autistic child. This January some of that work has paid off, and my daughter is now attending a sm...

I came across a phrase recently which has been rolling around in my head and sparking thoughts, something along the lines of “whatever you pay attention to, becomes your life”. After a little judicious googling, it seems to originate with Epicetus, a Stoic philosopher who lived over 2,000 years ago. He goes on to mention that if you don’t choose what concepts and images you engage with, someone else will choose for you. In today’s attention economy, where we can distract ourselves at any moment of the day with “content” (surely a murky word?) it feels pretty much on the nose. Last Friday I was travelling by train from Bristol to London, to visit my parents. Instead of reading or listening to a podcast, I chose instead to stare out of the window and jot down what I noticed with a notebook and pencil. Field Notes As we trundle through Somerset I see rivers high, slow and brown, threatening to overspill into surrounding fields. A sense of saturation. All around are bare branches, dry gras...

My walks have been close to home over the last few weeks, familiar paths, no great mountains scaled. Just moments of quiet amongst the sparkle and noise of a modern Christmas. I took photos with my phone, filling my camera reel with snaps of red hawthorn berries and the ever verdant ivy, twining and greening my local woods. But also hazel catkins, surely early this year? Slowly I'm learning to identify trees, painstakingly learning knowledge that my Wiltshire-born grandfather took for granted. He tried his best to pass things on, but I was busy not listening as a small child, too keen to climb a tree or investigate a puddle with my wellies. He was too impossibly old for me then, a thatch of white hair atop a long-legged body, using his walking stick to lean on but also to hook down a choice piece of holly. I am grateful for the cold clear sunny days of this midwinter. I feel grumpy that our current calendar jumps us from Christmas, our most recent version of a midwinter celebration...