This is me…
Last night I stood in my doorway and watched the sun as it slid down the sky into the sea.
As the golden light struck my face, I noticed that my mood was changing. Something was washing over me. It almost felt like a sense of peace (for what was), an immense feeling of gratitude for being alive, in this body, in this place, at this time; and a sense of joy and curiosity about what was to come. And it felt strange and beautiful all at once. A lot like life, hey?
My family keeps photographs
Recently, I’ve started the monumental task of sorting through our photos – now numbering in thousands – and working out what is there. Who is there. And some of its easy, and jolts back memories of my life, presumed missing or lost. Some is fuzzy – traces of familiar places or faces, but not names. And some is impossible. Photos of places I know my parents visited when they were first together. People who seemed cherished, loved even. People who look like other people.
A piece written to mark the 17th anniversary of my mother’s death as part of The Remembering Project.
Never too late
A short piece on my secret love for July, and why it's never too late to check-in with where you are going.
Our Days, Our Lives
Rituals of remembering
A billion-to-one
I think we accept that certain moments are miraculous. Childbirth, the near-miss car crash, the perfectly kicked goal. But I think we often forget that we are also miraculous.
I SPENT LAST WEEK IN THE BALI RAINFOREST ON A NATURE AND YOGA RETREAT. PLEASE DON’T ASK ME IF I’M RELAXED.
Before you are like all “b*tch please, you just spent a week doing yoga and meditation in pristine rainforest eating organic food lovingly prepared from scratch each day… “, hear me out… There is something in our preoccupation with being relaxed that I suspect causes us more harm than good.
