When Life Gives You Lemons

Sea Views

Over the last few weeks, I have been participating in a Wim Hof training course. It provides a non-invasive way to control and perhaps even lessen the symptoms of MS. A key component of the method is exposure to the cold. This can be achieved by taking chilly showers, but I have found a much more enjoyable route to the same end: sea swimming.

So, every couple of days, we rise early and head to the beach. The sun hangs low on the horizon and spreads out an apron of sunlight upon the sea. The silhouettes of intrepid paddle boarders and swimmers dot the waters and, onshore, the newly washed pebbles glisten.

Everywhere I look, there is a magnificent vista. And the only question I ask myself is why I haven’t been doing this before.

Morning sunlight on the sea Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

The psychological blocks

When I tell people about my sea swims, they do one of two things: one – look slightly horrified or two – say that they would also love to go. Sadly, they seldom do. And I understand that. For years, my boys all went sailing and paddle boarding in the most inclement weather (my husband once went surfing when there was snow on the beach) and I would stay at home drinking tea and thinking wistfully that it must be wonderful to be out in the ocean.

Forcing ourselves out of our comfort zone is just plain hard. We tell ourselves that we are busy; the weather is not quite warm enough and that changing on a cold beach is a pain (it is). All these are true, but few things of value are gained without inconvenience.

The rewards

For me, the rewards well outweigh a few goosebumps. The days when we swim, I feel the same excitement I had as a child on holiday. Sea swimming is, quite simply, exhilarating. Unlike the pool, there is no danger of being crashed into by inconsiderate swimmers doing diagonal backstroke, or being dive bombed my energetic teens. There is no sting of chlorine or the babble of voices booming around the echo chamber that is the municipal baths. There is only the gentle plash of the waves and the call of the gulls overhead.

Come on in! The water is lovely. Image: Jeff Costello-McFeat

For anyone with a disability, swimming is often the only aerobic exercise one can do. However, getting in and out a pool is not easy and asking for the hoist is embarrassing. Then one has to negotiate the slippery floors of changing rooms. Getting in and out the sea is much easier and I have my husband to help get me there and to change afterwards.

Another benefit is that the sea is cold. MS really is not compatible with heat, and my local pool is positively tropical. In the cool of the ocean, I am able to exercise far longer and more easily. The result? I complete my swim energised and fitter – a double win.

Aesthetics

I am a great believer in the healing powers of natural beauty, and I can think of almost nowhere that could compete with the views the sea commands. Looking out to sea, there is the enchanting image of sunlight dancing on water and above skies stretching to eternity. Clouds form and reform in an endless choreography of vapour. On bright, early mornings even the moon is visible – a chalky disc set in the blue.

The shoreline is delightful too. When far enough out, the deep green Downs with their ghostly white faces undulate far above the water. They serve as reminders of the land the sea has given up, but will reclaim again.

And scanning the promenade to the headland of Hastings, there are the pretty gardens, the elegant hotels, the bandstand and the pier.

Eastbourne – early morning Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

A word of warning

The sea is truly sublime – in Burke’s Romantic sense. It evokes feelings of awe, but also of terror. As with all wild places, there is an element of risk that makes it more appealing. The sea may beguile us with its beauty, but we should never underestimate its power. Calm seas may conceal strong currents; waves can catch us unaware; we may not be as strong a swimmer as we think.

Since I can never be certain that my MS won’t suddenly decide to make my legs stop working, I always swim with my husband close by. He is happy to circle me like an amiable shark and I am definitely more confident with him by my side.

Having extolled the virtues of the cold, I should be honest about its downside. Sea swimming is best enjoyed at a leisurely pace. It’s important to let your body acclimatise to the cold without rushing in (especially on hot days). A rash vest provides a little more warmth and a wet suit more still.

It is important to keep swims to a moderate length. Fifteen to twenty minutes is perfect for us. Any longer and we start to really feel cold and it is difficult to warm back up on a beach in the early morning. If you start to feel warm when swimming, it is a danger signal and you must get out immediately. It means that hypothermia has set in. Nature gives no quarter. It is magnificent, yes, but also deadly. It is as well to remember that.

A healthy habit

My morning swims have become a habit now. Though I know there are a few hardy souls who swim all year round, I suspect that come winter I shall return to my exercise bike.

While I can still do it though, I intend to continue as long as possible. The benefits that have accrued are impressive. Swimming in the sea requires all your concentration and thus acts as a sort of meditation. It is exercise, but never monotonous or dull. Each swim will be as different as the ever shifting tides.

A good swim will pretty much ensure a good night’s sleep – a boon for all of us. Studies have shown that cold water swimming can improve mental states and create greater resilience to infection. As a method for improving health, it is difficult to beat.

So I encourage you, while this delightful summer continues, to dig out your swimwear and take the plunge.

Suffering

This week’s post was inspired by a line from a novel I read recently. The protagonist is in a meditation class and she reports what the teacher says:

She gave us a formula: suffering = pain + resistance.
Jenny Offill, Weather

And that was it. The novel moves on. I read the line once and then again. I looked for some development of the idea, some clarification, but there was nothing. I was left with this line spinning around my head, tapping me on the shoulder at odd moments, nudging me to find a solution.

Days went by and then a week and then more days. I’d like to say that I cracked it, but I’m not sure. What it did do was make me think much more deeply about suffering.

It is rather like when you buy a new car. It seems so unique and exciting in the showroom. You’ve seldom seen such a gorgeous model before and you drive it home full of pride. Then, over the next few days, you notice a few cars exactly the same as yours and eventually you realise they are everywhere. As with suffering. If you can steel yourself to look, it is all around you.

Hiding in plain sight

For the uncomfortable truth is that we all suffer and yet we are loath to talk about it or address it. It is unseemly, impolite. A lovely neighbour of mine who died of cancer of the oesophagus, said to me when I was unwell myself, ‘Always look cheerful and don’t complain or no-one will talk to you.’ I was slightly aghast and reasoned that maybe it was a generational or a man thing. However, I’ve since come to realise that he was right. There is acceptable suffering: the holiday was cancelled; the traffic bad; the weather awful. Then there is the unacceptable kind: I’m in pain; my anxiety is terrible; I’m afraid or simply sad.

Incapacitated by sadness Image: Zygimantas Dukaukas on Unsplash

Feeling uncomfortable?

Apologies if you are uncomfortable, but there is no other way that I can share this. And if you bear with me, I think there are paths we can take that will be beneficial to all of us. We may dream of a world where pain is abolished, but the truth is that suffering is woven into life’s fabric far too closely to be removed. If joy is the warp, pain is the weave.

As if to prove the point, our amazing progress in the developed world may have saved us from the apocalyptic suffering of the developing nations, but it has not made us happier or pain-free. We may be diverted from suffering by drugs and distractions, but it still crouches in the corner awaiting to ambush us when our guard is down.

In fact, I believe that our insistence that suffering can be overcome is the very thing that prevents us from finding the solution. For if the mediation teacher is correct and suffering = pain + resistance, we need to change the formula.

A new formula

In this equation, we need to substitute two elements: suffering and resistance. Pain, I’m sure you agree, is a constant. From the little reading I’ve done in Western Buddhism, I know that resistance is to be avoided, so I’m going to substitute resistance with acceptance. What then would that equate to? What is the opposite of suffering? I would argue: peace – being at peace within ourselves and our bodies no matter how imperfect they are. So our new formula reads:

Peace = pain + acceptance

Peace be with you Image: Sunyu on Unsplash

First steps

Perhaps the first and most important step is acknowledging suffering in ourselves and others. Denial or wishing to fix it represents our discomfort with an unpleasant reality. It takes courage to look distress in the eye without flinching.

Yet, if we can do this, a kind of healing takes place. Through listening to another’s pain, we are acknowledging it; giving it serious attention. In doing so, we accept the situation and help the sufferer to accept it also. It is the greatest kindness we can give. After all, any true improvement needs to come from the one who suffers themselves. That may indeed involve intervention from other experts – but they must book the appointment.

Compassion

Compassion literally means to suffer together. When we show compassion then, we do not look down or pity the victim, but we hold them as equals. It is a difficult thing to do, not least because there is an obvious imbalance between the giver and receiver. We also have to let go of the egotistical desire to be praised for doing a good deed. We have to draw upon the knowledge of our own suffering to meet that of our friend. We can then stand by them with full understanding and love. And with that acceptance, comes peace.

Come under my umbrella and we can both keep dry Image: JW on Unsplash

–

Morning has Broken

Morning has broken like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken like the first bird
Praise for the singing
Praise for the morning
Praise for them springing fresh from the world
Eleanor Farjeon

Morning song

As a child, this was one of my favourite hymns, which I sang joyfully in assembly. The message was simple – mornings represented everything good. They were an opportunity for fresh starts and new adventures and I greeted them with excitement each day.

As I grew older, mornings became something that were met with dread: the teenage horror of getting up early for school; the six am feed when the baby had been awake all night; the crushing exhaustion as my MS insidiously shortened my days.

Now, I have returned to my childhood joy of greeting the morning. My sleep has been restored (I shall explain how in a later blog) and each day really is a blessing. So when I was up and enjoying my first mug of hot water and mindfully observing the garden in the sunshine, it was this song that came to mind.

Inspired by my favourite village, Alfriston, and the melody based on a traditional Scottish Gaelic tune ‘Bunessan’, it is perhaps not so surprising that it speaks to me.

Here’s the Cat Stevens’ version to get you into the mood.

A perfect celebration of the new day

Reclaim the light

It seems that mornings have fallen out of favour. After scrolling through three Google pages, expecting to find all sorts of fascinating facts and rituals based upon morning, I found only articles on the meaning and etymology of the word and the wonderfully droll comment, that ‘There is no ‘urban’ definition for morning because the type of people who speak ‘urban’ do not know what morning is.’

Out of the mouths of babes and urban dictionaries. As we’ve detached ourselves further and further from the natural cycles of day and night, the morning has become insignificant or an irritant to our busy man-made, artificially lit days.

It is time to reclaim the morning. It is, after all, the perfect moment to set our minds and bodies into balance. Grabbing a coffee and rushing to work does the opposite. We are wrong footed from the start and the subsequent hours are likely to be harried and stressful.

The solution is as simple as setting the alarm ten or fifteen minutes earlier and trying to keep to that schedule throughout the week – including weekends. I am not suggesting you get up at dawn (though I know some who do) but to ease yourself into rising at a slightly earlier hour. In doing so, we buy ourselves the most precious of commodities: time.

Since I have been getting up earlier, I have been able to indulge in quiet mindfulness. On Sunday morning, I sat for at least half an hour watching the garden come to life, listening to birdsong and the hum of bees in the lavender; watching the elegant duet of tiny butterflies in the marjoram and seeing the sleepy heads of the golden ragwort-like flowers gradually straighten and release their petals.

I do this each day and there are always blessings to be found. One day a giant dragonfly came and looped across the sky, another a long legged cricket hopped by my feet and today a tiny mouse was skittering across the back of the bench where I was sitting. Without stillness, without calm, such miracles will never be witnessed.

Okay, my field mouse wasn’t in a tulip – but just as cute! Image: Nick Fewings on Unsplash

Making the most of ‘free’ time

The extra time has also allowed me to do the exercises I need to optimise my health. The yoga and breathing takes about an hour, but this does not matter, because it is ‘free time’ stolen from time in bed. And the beauty of this virtuous circle is that this activity is the very thing that ensures my sleep is deep and nourishing.

Recently, the weather has been kind and there are few things more delightful than practising yoga on a dewy lawn. When I do the pose, ‘Salute the sun’, that is exactly what I am doing. When I lie back on my mat, I do not have to envisage being connected to the earth – I am, literally.

And since I am self-isolating, it also gives opportunities to go out. There are not many people about at seven-thirty in the morning and my husband and I have used this to our advantage to go for early morning sea swims. We usually have the beach to ourselves. We can relax and enjoy the experience thoroughly, since we do not have that background hum of anxiety to spoil it.

All the religious disciplines I know of call for an early start to the day, beginning with prayer. For some of you, that may well be the path you choose, for others our prayers can be more secular, a sense of gratitude for our continuing lives and the opportunity to begin again afresh. But whatever you do, I encourage you to see it as a ritual; an act full of meaning and significance. Then you really will enjoy the morning’s blessings.

The blackbird is speaking: enjoy his song.

The maestro of the garden Image: Photo by Nicolas DC on Unsplash

Expanding the Possible

I don’t believe in fixed boundaries when it comes to living – only flexible ones. When we are sad or depressed, we bring in those walls as a form of self-protection, though ironically, they simply seal our fate. We need to break down the barriers; free ourselves from our ‘mind-forged manacles’ and embrace the possible so that we can live to our full potential. Does this involve risk? Absolutely. Does it involve discomfort, denial, discipline? Definitely. Is it worth it? Do you need to ask?

At 7.30 am this morning, my husband and I headed off to the beach. It was a pretty day and the sea was calling. We were going for a swim. At such an early hour, there was no concern over social distancing, only that the sea would be on the chilly side. It was. But after a few weeks of cold training, it was perfectly fine. After a few minutes, it was positively pleasant.

The best way to start the day! Image: Jenny Bess on Unsplash

Since the sea is strong, and I am not, my husband circled close by in case I got into difficulties. (When I talk of risk, I mean the small and manageable rather than the fool-hardy kind.) I managed fifteen minutes, which is hardly an Olympic standard, but it is a progression for me.

And this raises a crucially important point: expanding the possible takes time. Our culture is so obsessed with quick results that we often give up before we really begin. If one thing doesn’t work, we try another, forgetting that everything from learning the piano to running a marathon involves dedicated and incremental steps.

Finding balance

Slowing down often, as in the fable of the tortoise and the hare, means reaching our goal faster (see https://whenlifegivesyoulemons.blog/life-in-the-slow-lane/). Taking time means that we will generally be more successful in achieving our wish – no matter how unlikely or impossible it seemed at the outset. I was completely inspired this week by the Swedish photographer and artist Janna Jinton. Her stone balancing is truly breathtaking. I’ll let you see for yourself in the video below.

My husband and I tried this with a few pebbles this morning. We managed three standing upright and were very pleased with ourselves! Even on such a small scale, it was empowering. And whenever we try and succeed in pushing ourselves and our skills a little further, we feed our very souls.

Witnessing the impossible

In order to attempt the seemingly impossible, most of us will need a little prompting from someone who has already blazed the trail. For me, this has been Wim Hof , an extreme athlete and multiple record holder. My husband mentioned his exploits some time ago and I was duly amazed. After a video chat with my Overcoming Multiple Sclerosis friends, his name came up again, and I did some further research. Here are some of the ‘impossible’ things that he has done:

Running a half marathon above the Arctic Circle, barefoot only wearing shorts
Swimming underneath ice for 66 meters
Hanging on one finger at an altitude of 2,000 meters
Climbing the highest mountains in the world while wearing only shorts
Running a full marathon in the Namib Desert without drinking
Standing in a container while covered in ice cubes for extended periods of time
Shown scientifically, that the autonomous nervous system related to the innate immune response, can be wilfully influenced, something that was previously unknown to science https://www.wimhofmethod.com/iceman-wim-hof

All of these exploits have been checked and confirmed by the Guinness Book of Records, so I think we can trust them. That said, my mind still reels. I still wanted some visual proof and here it is:

Seeing is believing

These incredible feats were not achieved overnight, but after decades of serious training. When pushing our boundaries – wherever they lie – we need to take tiny steps allowing for rest and recovery in between. If we do not, we risk injury and capitulation.

We also need to enjoy the experience. I love the sea and I love swimming. Putting up with a little cold, therefore, is a small price to pay to experience both.

I also love my daily yoga ritual and look forward to it as one of the first things I do each day. It wasn’t always like this. In the past, I would prevaricate and skip days and forget – even though the yoga itself was always physically healing and relaxing. It took the discipline of doing it daily to break that behaviour.

Don’t stop

Committing to a goal is the first step in achieving it. We are capable of so much more than we imagine. However, there is a significant caveat here. We do not all begin from the same point in terms of age or ability. All we can do is expand our own boundaries millimetre by millimetre in whichever field seems most important to us. I will never run a marathon, nor likely ever run, but I can work on my mobility and general health to optimise it. That is my marathon training.

Importantly, I can never, ever stop. For life to be the amazing, fulfilling adventure that I believe it is meant to be, we must never cease testing and stretching ourselves to expand the possible. We are capable of so much more than we even dream.

R.E.S.P.E.C.T

Just a little bit …

A true diva

In a time of extreme divisions and, in some cases a complete breakdown of society, it seems more vital than ever that we come together to engage in open and honest debate. But to do this, we need to remember the first vital rule: that we respect those whose opinions differ from our own.

Each day brings new stories of trolling, deplatforming and cancelling. To me, these are all ugly words which threaten the very basis of a healthy, functioning society: freedom of expression. This does not mean that I advocate giving a voice to those whose words are vile or untrue – there are laws for that – but simply that we listen with open hearts and minds.

Throughout these turbulent months, I have been turning to my Quaker Faith and Practice to gain a moral compass in these uncharted seas. Indeed, this is where the germ of the idea for this blog began. I’d like to share this with you:

…When words are strange or disturbing to you, try to sense where they come from and what has nourished the lives of others. Listen patiently and seek the truth which other people’s opinions may contain for you. Avoid hurtful criticism and provocative language. Do not allow the strength of your convictions to betray you into making statements or allegations that are unfair or untrue. Think it possible that you may be mistaken.
Quaker Faith & Practice, Advices and queries 17

Listen

We all find it hard to listen to what others say and especially when our minds are clouded by our own prejudices. If we are honest with ourselves, we often hear nothing the speaker says when we have a negative view of them. Our thoughts are too full of proving them wrong, looking for flaws or simply despising them.

Though we are unlikely to have chats with world leaders any time soon, we are going to have conversations with our friends and neighbours. Brexit, in the UK, caused serious rifts; Trump did the same in America. Whatever side of the divide we fall on though, at least half the country will fall on the other. Race issues are resulting in further fissures, but the truth is that somehow, we all need to get along.

We can work towards reconciliation, or division. I know which I prefer and it needs to start here, with us.

I hear you Image: Mimi Thian on Unsplash

Listening is an active rather than a passive act. It is important that we engage physically with proper eye contact and body language and that we indicate in some way that we have heard. Perhaps we need to paraphrase what was said, ask open questions or pick up stitches of their words and knit them into our own discourse. We need to allow room for expression and avoid my worst habit of jumping in before they finish.

Stick to the facts

As tweets and retweets fly and posts on social media bombard us, it is very difficult to know what is true. These platforms have no fact checkers and we are often subsumed with confusing and often contradictory information. Mainstream media doesn’t seem to do much better – shouting in headlines and emotive pictures and giving very little space to the rather less thrilling facts and figures.

Fortunately, we do have access to the truth, should we wish to take the time. And it is utterly vital that we do. Whatever position we take, it should be an informed one. Our arguments have no power, if we do not understand what we are advocating; our ability to change opinion rests on our understanding of why someone holds an opposing point of view. Perhaps, as is often the case, their position rests in fear. If we take our task as allaying those fears, we might well find they change their minds. If we ridicule or ignore their concerns, no number of fine words will sway them.

Keep calm

With inflammatory issues, where people have passionate feelings, it is extraordinarily difficult to keep calm. Most of us are able to restrain ourselves from physical violence, but it is well to remember that violence in the mind can be equally toxic: to ourselves and others.

It is in states of anger that we are most likely to exaggerate, be hurtful or bend the truth to our argument. None of this ultimately helps. Assuming that our goal is to achieve positive change, we will never do this through aggression and conflict. Violence begets violence and I am more than a little perturbed that many young people feel it is a valid path. Even the most cursory look at history will show that violent reform leads only to misery. Stalin, Chairman Mao and Pol Pot provide the most striking recent examples.

The fruits of violence are misery, orphans and widows Image: Randy Colas on Unsplash

Be the change that you wish to see

Change starts with each individual. And it starts with action not speech. We must first look to ourselves, our failings and and our own foibles before we look for those in others. Then, and only then should we act. We must let our lives speak for us. And if we do, we will find our voice is considerably more powerful and persuasive. A more just and compassionate world is within our grasp. Let us reach for it.

The Unsolicited Sabbatical

This has been a challenging week. Lock-down is easing and folk are returning to an almost normal existence: visiting friends, going for walks and picking up plants at the nursery. For a few days, I too ventured out into the world. And despite the low level hum of anxiety, it was exhilarating.

Then I spoke to my lovely new MS nurse on the phone. She urged me not to risk infection, since it would invariably cause an MS flare up and quite possibly a relapse from which I may or may not recover. Since I am functioning at the very edge of normal, I certainly do not want to tip over to full disability. I knew all this, but the lure of ordinary existence and connection with friends made me wish to disregard it (and at some level still does). How strong the siren song to meet up with those we love; how strong the voice that whispers that there really is nothing to fear.

Except for me, there is. My husband has to work, but I do not have to socialise. Worse still, if, through my ignoring my nurse’s advice I fall ill, it is my husband who will have to deal with the fall-out. We are not old enough to retire and I’ve volunteered long enough at Citizens Advice to know what life is like for those who are forced to leave full employment to become carers.

Which leaves me here. Literally.

Home sweet home or house arrest? Image: Jeff Costello-McFeat

How long?

Of course, no-one knows how long this pandemic will last nor how soon we can hope for a viable vaccine. As a result, my self-isolation could last 6 months, a year or even two. When I first noted the 12 week lock-down in my diary, it seemed an eternity. Now it seems like a brief break. Hence the difficult week. There are no good options here – only risk assessment.

The spectre of depression hovers always. The best way to send someone mad is to place them in solitary confinement. In my bleakest moments, that is exactly how this feels. Except, of course, my situation is hardly like that. I have a comfortable home, a fabulous garden, the company of my husband and via technology, all my friends. What I need is the energy and self-discipline to turn this around. What is ostensibly most people’s worst nightmare, could equally be a dream come true. Lock-down is an opportunity like no other to do all the things you plan to do before life gets in the way. It is a sort of enforced sabbatical.

Glass half full

Once I got over feeling sorry for myself, I started to think of this as a gift of time. How would I spend it? Following the advice I would give my students when planning an essay, I embarked on an elaborate spider diagram with each leg representing all the things I like to do (and including domestic tasks, which no-one can escape from!) My diagram included eighteen distinct categories with everything from gardening to calligraphy. I then translated this into a sort of schedule with hourly slots only to discover that there were not enough hours in a day. My slots would need to be vague enough to include a number of activities. So the creative one might mean art, or sewing or writing a poem.

Then I started thinking in blocks of time. What if I made Tuesday my teaching/volunteering day and Wednesday my writing one? What if I gave myself goals such as make an entirely new dish each week? Or finally work out how to join together all those granny squares I crocheted and which are now lying mournfully in a basket?

My days are already book-ended with morning exercise /meditation and evening Swedish and journal writing. These long days are beginning to look shorter and more precious.

Some of you reading this are over-whelmed with work and no doubt would love the luxury of time that is available to me. Many of us have a great deal of time. If that is the case, and this is a sabbatical from normal life, what would you like to do with it? Answers on a postcard please…

The Sound of Silence

Most of us have a very ambivalent view of silence and for many, it is something to be avoided at all costs. It is indicative of boredom and loneliness. Some of us are so uncomfortable with silence that we surround ourselves day and night with the distractions of radio, television and social media alerts.

Silence, perhaps, recalls wet Sunday afternoons when we were told to play quietly, or when we were reminded that children were to be seen and not heard.

Yet, silence is also bliss, yearned for by those of us caught in the whirl-wind of modern existence. Like the Chinese symbol for Yin and Yang, it is both beneficial and detrimental, active and passive, good and evil. Like solitude and loneliness, how we perceive silence and how we work with it will help determine which of these two opposites holds true.

When silence is harmful

There are few things more damaging to an individual than to have their voice unheard or dismissed. To the speaker, it can feel like they have been gagged and they are likely to either act out or become more silent as a result. Silencing others is easily done and often unintentional, but it can be just as easily remedied. If we can listen with sensitivity and play back what we have been told, we can relieve their stress and strengthen our relationship. We don’t have to agree with what they are saying either – simply acknowledge it. So if your child, partner or friend is being especially quiet, it might be the time to check that they are feeling heard.

Be quiet! Image: Scott Umstaddt on Unsplash

The silent treatment

One of the most powerful punishments is to give the silent treatment. By blocking all communication, you remove the chance for the person to apologise (if that would be appropriate) or even find out what is wrong. It is the most pernicious of punishments and the rise of ‘ghosting’ on social media is a worrying one. Painful though this is, it is a result of immaturity on the part of the ‘ghoster’. Should we encounter this treatment in the real or virtual world, we are best to get on with our lives and without them. Nothing feeds their power more than your insistence on interacting.

Alone with your thoughts

Finally, silence can be a frightening place, as it leaves us alone with our thoughts. With no distractions, it is easy to spiral into the old grooves of negative thinking. Our brains do not like the quiet and without training will simply fill the void with random images – most likely anxious or upsetting ones. I’m sure this is why we so often fill our lives with sound – as a barrier to thinking. However, the sound we introduce only drowns out thoughts; it does not resolve them. A better way, is to gradually acclimatise yourself to silence – making quiet times for reflection and growth not worry and regret.

When it is right to make a noise

Oppressive regimes are the first to silence their populace. No tyrant wants your feedback on his governance. Fortunately, if you are reading this, you are in a place where free speech is valued and protected. It is a privilege that far too little of the world enjoys. But with that privilege comes the responsibility to speak up when the times require it.

The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.
Attr. Edmund Burke

We all moan about the world and its injustices, but we seldom act on our complaints. If we want to see positive change, we need to speak out against injustice wherever it may be. However, a word of caution. For our voices to express the right message, we first need silence. In the Quaker tradition, this waiting in silence for the right course of action is known as discernment. Hasty shouting and the clamour of outrage seldom result in the best outcomes. Quiet contemplation, listening to all sides and giving time for reflection before we speak is much more likely to have a positive and long-term impact.

A bullhorn or a quiet word? Image: Photo by Clem Onojeghuo on Unsplash

Perfect silence

Much as we avoid it, we all need silence. Spend a few hours listening to noisy neighbours, building work or a barking dog and you soon realise its value. Depriving ourselves of it is ultimately like depriving ourselves of oxygen or sleep. We are failing to give our bodies and minds a time to recharge, reflect and simply reboot.

Getting comfortable in silence

I have always worked in silence, but learning to live in it for the majority of the day was hard. Ones thoughts are not always good companions and I had to calm the increasingly panicked cacophony in my head. I had to learn to make friends with silence and pacify the background chatter.

If I were to suggest this was easy, I would be lying. It has taken literally years of practice to reach my present stage and I have much further to go. But what I have discovered is that now I actively seek moments of quiet and relax into them as into a warm bath.

You can achieve this comfortable silence in any number of ways: prayer, meditation, walking or yoga style exercise. You do not need to sit cross-legged chanting ‘Om’. The good news is that they all work equally well. Whatever works for you is the one to pursue.

I have used all the above, though my favourite, long walks, is now denied to me. But I’m not one to give up. Part of the joy of a ramble is interacting with nature and we can do that whatever our situation. We only need to get outside.

A wonderful exercise, when you’ve found a quiet and comfortable place, is to try a listening meditation. The paradox is that we still the mind by focusing on noise and the more quiet we are, the more sound we will hear. More advanced practitioners will not be perturbed by someone using a weed whacker in the garden next door, but I am certainly not at that stage and I would advise you try without disturbance.

Just the other day, I was doing this. Sitting by myself on the bench, I started identifying all the sounds I could hear. Some were obvious such as the hum of conversation from the neighbours’. Then I stretched to hear other noises. There was the insect buzz of a lawn mower in use hundreds of yards away; the ebb and flow of traffic; the ceaseless chatter of the birds, with individual voices becoming distinct; the gentle breeze brushing over my cheek; my breath and finally the barely perceptible backtrack of my tinnitus.

Within the time it took to hear all this, my body was moving into an ever-more restful state. There were no distressing thoughts or worries, purely a sense of calm. The sound of silence is strangely not silent after all – it is the glorious, ever-changing melody of life.

Let nature provide the sound-track Image: Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

What’s the use of worrying?

This is a question I often ask myself (whilst worrying away) and thought I would go ahead and explore it here. Living with precarious health brings constant anxiety. The Corona virus and world craziness is adding more still. I suspect that most of us are worried at the moment – and now seemed a good time to see if it had any real purpose.

Everyday worry is often harmless enough, but we all need to guard against it becoming a major facet of our lives. Unchecked, it results in debilitating mental and physical health. Worry is so normal that we think we know it, yet, I would argue that it is more complex than we imagine.

Magical thinking

Worry, at its heart, is fear about unfortunate outcomes in the future. It is about losing control, since no-one knows the future.

Mark Twain famously remarked:

“I am an old man and have known a great many troubles, but most of them never happened.”
Mark Twain

The irony is, as Twain jokes, most of those dreaded outcomes never actually come into being and our worry brings us nothing but sleepless nights.

However, this phenomenon can feed into a kind of magical thinking. We can, if we are not careful, come to associate the not happening as a result of our worry. Sounds crazy, but it has a sort of insane logic. If, the brain faultily reasons, I worried about something and it didn’t happen then my worrying prevented it. Should I stop worrying and something bad happens, this confirms my belief. Parents are perhaps the worst offenders in this (mea culpa). We come to believe that our very worrying is what keeps our child safe, so we keep on worrying to the detriment of our health and perhaps theirs.

I hold you in my thoughts and keep you safe. Image: Steven Van Loy on Unsplash

Virtue signalling

Perhaps the most pernicious sort of worrying is the one used to suggest that you care. How often do we hear people say they are ‘so worried’ about x,y, or z and yet we see nothing in their behaviour to suggest that their worry would translate into any action. How often do we see celebrities who ‘worry’ about the environment and then travel by private jet to a climate change conference?

The unfortunate irony is that they probably do worry and thus use valuable mental and physical energy on the matter. But worry without action is detrimental to everyone. We may gain a little kudos from our peers for our seeming concern, but the issue is not resolved and at some level we feel ashamed of our own inability to act. Our worry brings no positive outcomes at all.

However, if we worry about something and act upon it, our worry lessons. The issue may well be far beyond our capabilities to solve, but any steps we take to ameliorate it inevitably brings us back a sense of control and self-worth. No individual can save the planet; however, if we make a conscious decision to tread as lightly as we can, we will feel empowered by that. Similarly, if a friend is unwell/unhappy and we visit, our worry is dissipated by the joy of reunion. We may not be able to make our friend better in the physical sense, but we will certainly have made them feel better emotionally.

We can make each other feel better! Image: Photo by NONRESIDENT on Unsplash

The price of worry

Worry is the socially acceptable form of anxiety, but we can tip from one to the other with surprising ease. The mind is like a cooking pot filled with everyday concerns, but it only has so much capacity. As we burden it with more and more, it is like both filling the pot and turning up the heat. Eventually, it will boil over.

For some, like returning soldiers from a war zone, the source of their stress will be obvious. But severe anxiety affects even those with the most comfortable lives. By catastrophizing over minor and fairly insignificant events, a similar level of anxiety can be achieved.

Whatever the cause, the effects of anxiety are extreme. In some cases, it will trigger long term health conditions like my own; in others, it will lead to levels of distress that makes life mentally unbearable. Hopefully, neither of these apply to you, but we are wise to work towards ensuring that they never do.

Keeping worry under control

Worry is about helplessness in the face of the future. Though we can’t do much about the future, we can do much to improve our present. We can embark on practices that work towards restoring calm: whether that be meditation, prayer, yoga or any other centring activity. Ideally, we need to do this daily, since worry takes so little time to take hold.

We might like to take stock of what triggers our anxiety. Anything that feeds on our fears and insecurities is not good for us and should, as far as possible, be eliminated. Currently, the media seems determined to whip their audience into a frenzy of outrage. And though this brings a certain frisson of excitement, it also destabilizes us. Acts of extreme injustice, inflammatory language and exaggeration may make good television, but not happy watchers. I’m going on a news fast for the foreseeable future. Anything truly vital will filter through via my husband or friends – the rest I can do without.

Overwhelmed by the news. Image: Photo by Bruno Bučar on Unsplash

Social media platforms like Facebook and Twitter can also be a source of worry with people posting inflammatory comments and others thoughtlessly replying. If we submerge ourselves too much in these, we are likely to have a very poor and very frightening view of the world.

And it is not just in the virtual world that we are susceptible. Our friends and family members can also feed our worry. Though I would not advocate cutting these people out of our lives, a little judicious use of social distancing might be in order. We can come armed with interesting topics of conversation to avoid being derailed into their current concerns or simply change the subject when the conversation starts spiralling down a rabbit hole. If this does not work, try to only see them when you feel you can face that level of anxiety. You are not obliged to act as a sponge to their fears – it is unlikely to help them and you even less.

Choosing the right response

Though we have precious little control over the lives of others, and little enough over our own, we do have control over how we respond. Nurturing resilience – or inner strength – will enable us to react calmly even in chaos. By practising disciplines which slow our responses and allow space for measured and thoughtful action will benefit us and our community.

Accepting our limitations is another way to reduce worry. We need to make ourselves comfortable resting within uncertainty (life). We need to let go of the illusion that we are in control. In doing so, paradoxically, we gain control – not of events (though it may influence these) but of our emotions.

And finally, we would be wise to consider what we can do and if possible do it. For this we need time to research and reflect. Often the problems we see are rooted somewhere else entirely. Let us seek out the root and make repairs there. There is so much we can do quietly and purposefully.

Whilst concern will spur us on, worry often leaves us rowing in circles. It is time to charter a new course. After all, to answer the question, What’s the use of worrying? I’d have to reply, no use at all.

Caveman TV

Some days, when I was very ill, fatigue swept over me like a giant wave leaving me stranded on the shore like an unfortunate starfish slowly drying in the sun.

On such days I could do nothing. Reading was exhausting. Even watching the television or listening to radio was more than I could cope with. At the beginning, I found it terrifying. What if I would never regain any energy? What if I could never properly wake up? Fear and frustration made a bad situation worse, but I was rescued by the view from my window. I was rescued by what my husband aptly named caveman TV. There is only one channel – but what a channel it is serving an absolutely endless array of beauty and action. A word of caution: it is addictive.

Sky TV

A room with a view Photo: Karen Costello-McFeat

At that time, I had a day bed located in the bay of my lounge window overlooking the rear garden. Lying down, I could not see the garden, of course, but I could see the sky. And what a magnificent sky it was. In normal life, we seldom look up except to perhaps check the weather, but now I had hours to really look – to study the colours, to follow the clouds as they shape shifted into innumerable forms. It was magnificent.

I am not alone in my love of this natural cinema. There is a Cloud Appreciation Society which publishes books with the most exquisite cloud formations, though I am happy with the most modest ones. And if I can’t convince you of the joy of cloud watching, I urge you to look at Gavin Pretor-Pinney’s TedTalk below:

Enter stage left

The clouds provided a pretty spectacular display that calmed my frayed nerves and made me feel my bed was less of a prison and more of a viewing platform. If the clouds were an ever changing backdrop, the birds were the actors that peopled the stage; their antics were as entrancing as any high-wire act.

Since I live close to the sea, the sky is always full of seagulls. Despite their (unjustified) bad reputation, these are magnificent creatures. Their aerial skills every bit as magnificent as their more celebrated cousin, the hawk.

Joining them in the sky are starlings, crows, wood pigeons and magpies. Each has its own style. Each their own personality. Each as unique as the clouds they pass over.

Natural healing

Periods of such lassitude are infrequent now, thankfully, but my craving for the garden has never waned. If anything, it has expanded with my ability to more fully immerse myself within it. Should a morning go by without a visit outside, I start to feel unsettled and fidgety. This is cured by a quick trip to the shed, if it is cold/wet, or a turn about the garden if the weather is more clement. Though I might pick the odd weed on my wanderings, I feel no particular need to do anything more than observe.

This quiet watching has proven incredibly therapeutic. I initially thought it might be because it reminded me of so many happy hours spent outside as a child. It transpires that the reason is more scientific. Studying nature is what our brains are designed to do. The very composition of trees and flowers align easily with the pattern seeking element of our minds and quite literally soothes them. The colours green and blue also require little effort for our brains to translate and thus wash over us without creating ripples of anxiety. Urban landscapes, in contrast, with their garish colours, unpredictable movement and linear forms do. All this explains why cities dwellers are more prone to aggressive behaviours than those living in countryside settings.

A place of tranquility Photo: Karen Costello-McFeat

Some enchanted evening

These last few weeks, we have spent increasing amounts of time outside and, with few obligations, allowed ourselves to simply sit and watch the events of the garden unfold. One evening, at the end of a particularly warm day, neither my husband nor I wished to return inside. Ever the pyromaniac, my husband lit the chimenea to ward off the evening chill.

The evening was, for both of us, one of our favourites in our long years together. It began prettily enough with a classic sunset composed of baby blue and pink clouds. Before the light had faded entirely, the new moon rose as fine and pale as an albino’s eyelash. The overture to the evening’s performance had begun.

As dusk fell, the birds’ evensong reached its crescendo. In the stillness of evening, each call was distinct. Then, gradually, gradually, their voices fell silent as they returned to the safety of the trees and shrubbery and settled in for the night. All we could hear was the gentle crackle of the fire.

Then, out of the deep blue sky, came a sudden rush of movement, wings beating furiously in an unfamiliar manner. Surely, we thought, the birds had all gone to bed. They had. These were their fellow creatures of the sky: bats.

For about a quarter of an hour, the tiny pipistrelle bats put on their aerial display. The Red Arrows have nothing on these little intrepid aviators who swooped in great circles to catch their supper of insects on the wing. We could only see them in silhouette and only very briefly so rapidly were they moving. Then as suddenly as they had appeared, they were gone.

Mr Fox feels quite at home in the garden Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

Their show over, Mr Fox made his entrance. He sauntered nonchalantly from the bottom of the garden, along the path and through the passage to the front of the house. He was terribly handsome in his thick, red coat and utterly indifferent to our presence. I imagined him giving us a nod, as if to say, ‘Lovely evening,’ before beginning his night’s adventures.

This was our last visitor. The sky was, by now, deep indigo with a smattering of stars sprinkled like freckles across her face. The solar lights blinked on; a modest mirroring of her beauty. The air turned cooler still and reluctant though we were, we stretched and headed for bed.

Why don’t you …?

When I was a child, I loved a programme called, ironically enough, Why Don’t You Just Switch Off Your Television Set And Go Out And Do Something Less Boring Instead?” In my mature years, I often do just that. I have discovered an immensely more interesting version of television – caveman TV. It is high definition, colour and surround sound, requires no electricity and has an infinite variety of programmes. It can be enjoyed in good health and poor and always, always brings joy. Which leaves only the question, Why don’t you …?

About Time

The hands of time Photo by Fabrizio Verrecchia on Unsplash

A week or so after lock-down, I took off my watch. When Blake spoke of ‘mind-forged manacles’ he was presciently describing the mechanism attached to my wrist. In normal times, I cannot imagine how often I looked at it, fretting about the amount of time I had left to complete a task or to begin the next. Like many young people’s addiction to their mobile phones, I was addicted to time.

Carpe diem

It began, no doubt, as an exercise in efficiency. Like some obsessive 1950s time-motion researcher, I was constantly challenging myself to do more, create more, and achieve more in ever decreasing amounts of time. Time was running out, and I was desperate not to waste one second. If I had a motto, it would have been ‘Carpe diem’-seize the day. If I had a poem that summed up my mind-set, it would be Marvell’s ‘To His Coy Mistress’ and its famous lines:

But at my back I always hear
Time’s winged chariot hurrying near
Andrew Marell

And I was certain that I was right. After all, this is the message of a world which is constantly urging us to buy and do everything, now! FMO – fear of missing out propels millions to cram every last experience into every day so that it can be posted online. The irony is that rushing through life brings little in the way of satisfaction and while I thought I was so cleverly using up time; it was using up me.

Hitting the reset button

And then, quite out of nowhere, came lock-down and the opportunity to reset my life. Though I didn’t fall into the extremely vulnerable category, I was certainly someone who would do well to self-isolate. Succumbing to Covid-19 may not kill me, but it would almost certainly cause complications and involve an extended recovery period and quite frankly, I’d had enough of feeling ill.

My crammed diary was suddenly empty and my days my own. Time, for once, didn’t really matter. At first, it felt a little disorientating and I kept looking at my diary for what I should have been doing and looking forward to the date when lock-down would end.

I set up elaborate structures for my day including time for exercise, learning, socialising remotely and projects. My diary was once again reassuringly full and my days too. It seems old habits die hard. But I was beginning the process at last.

Listening to the body

The first thing I did was let myself sleep. With all the craziness and anxiety surrounding those first few weeks, I was exhausted. And for once, I didn’t set an alarm, but let myself doze until I was ready to face the day. There were times when I slept twelve hours straight, but gradually, gradually, I moved to something more normal (though I still need more sleep than most.)

‘Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care’ Macbeth 2.2.40 Photo: Kinga Cichewicz on Unsplash

The second major change was having meals when we were hungry rather than by the clock. My husband was home and I wasn’t making endless calculations regarding when to prepare dinner. We started when the first stirrings of hunger hit. (In my husband’s case, these were every few hours.)

Circadian rhythms

Our bodies have their own clocks known as the circadian rhythm; ‘a 24-hour internal clock that is running in the background of your brain and cycles between sleepiness and alertness at regular intervals.’ (sleepfoundation.org)

These rhythms are based on sunlight or its absence causing us to feel sleepy at night and awake through the day. This biological mechanism is strong and when we try to trick it, we suffer. Night shifts, long haul flights and even a shift in daylight saving time can leave us feeling tired and muddle headed for days.

Our body clock is amazingly powerful, but our mental clock can be more powerful still. While our physical clock ticks away in harmony with the natural world, our internal, mental timepiece tends to follow linear time rather than the cyclical time of nature. It ranges along the continuum of our existence leaping from past to present to future in milliseconds – a sort of mental time travel.

Dean Buonomano, a neuroscientist, explores this in his book, Your Brain is a Time Machine. Time travel for humans has a valuable function: our ability to predict (and therefore plan for the future) is ‘reliant on memory’ (a recollection of the past).’In fact, that’s really the main evolutionary use for memory, as a storehouse of the information needed to predict the future.’
Read more: https://www.newscientist.com/article/2132847-your-brain-is-a-time-machine-why-we-need-to-talk-about-time/#ixzz6OIANPIin

Putting it simply: we learn from our mistakes and try not to repeat them. For example, if we burn our hand on a cooking pot, our brain stores that memory and warns us not to do the same in the future. In this way, our mental time travelling aids us.

However this vital, evolutionary tool, comes with its own disadvantages.

The perils of time travel

Into the past or into the future? Photo by Andy Beales on Unsplash

Throughout most of man’s history, the work of staying alive would have engaged all our mental and physical powers. Hard physical labour would mean deep sleep at night as exhaustion took over. Now our lives are physically so much easier, many struggle to sleep and these hours (and others) are often spent in reliving moments we regret or worrying about the future. These twin activities result in the modern epidemic of depression and anxiety.

Lock-down has extended our free hours, giving many leisure time that, rather than proving restful, feels like the small hours of the morning suffered by the insomniac. Too much unstructured time simply isn’t good for us. Our brains need stimulation or they will turn inwards – seldom with good results.

Time is on my side

For me, my mindfulness practice has been my best defence. Like everyone, I have moments of sadness, despair and anxiety about the future. No-one is immune from missing those they care about – no matter how good virtual communication is. And few are spared from anxiety regarding how the pandemic will affect them – whether in health, economic stability, or in bereavement.

Keeping sane requires reminding oneself that in this moment everything is okay. There is little we can do aside from following guidelines and should catastrophe strike, we are best fit to deal with it if we ourselves are strong.

If we can, we might also use this experience to unshackle ourselves from time – allowing it to drift and expand naturally through the day. Of course, we will need to use a clock sometimes: for phoning friends, baking cakes or joining meetings. But these times can be noted on our phone – and mine has numerous alarms for different days.

Through slipping into the flow of time, we often find that it expands rather than contracts. Tasks become enjoyable when unhurried and tackled with full attention and care. We become more calm. And the greatest paradox of all is that we can achieve a great deal seemingly effortlessly. The days still fly by and though I regularly have to resist the urge to cram in too much, I am learning. Just as I trust in the arrival of dawn tomorrow, I trust that the hours the day will bring will hold the same potential for discovery and joy as any other. What I make of my time is up to me.