So the past few months have been strange ones. For a start I had what would turn out to be the last Christmas with my dad, as he passed away on the 20th January after a year-long fight with leukaemia. Long weeks followed, of not being on my beloved island, staying with my mum and helping her sort out the myriad things that need to be dealt with when someone has passed away. (And finding out that after 60 years of partnership, my dad knew where all the important paperwork was and never told my mum).

It seemed for a while I was a visitor here, just popping back to grab some clean clothes or to check on the flat and my leopard gecko (who to be perfectly honest would be indifferent to my presence anyway). I was getting a few hours here, an overnight there. My running routine went out the window, I was tired all the time, in short I wasn’t keeping up the looking after myself whilst I was looking after others.

It’s taken three months to even begin to feel relatively normal again, and then that’s only sometimes, and never guaranteed when. Being back at work and getting into practical work helped a bit, but some days just felt so tiring, and an uphill struggle. I still wasn’t running….I just wanted to sleep in the mornings instead. (I haven’t managed 15k a week since December).

But this is where the island comes in. I realised that instead of hiding away and sleeping, I could be getting out there, breathing the crisp winter/spring air, listening to the birds, watching the sunrise and sunset. And gradually, slowly, that’s what I’m doing. The past week I have started trying to run again, and when I’ve not run, I’ve got up early and just gone for a wander to watch the sun come up, sporting the classic ‘ski-jacket and pyjamas’ look, and thankful that I’m highly unlikely to run into anyone else at that time of the day.

And little by little, it helps. There are still days, anxious, full days, where I feel like there are just too many things to do. Relatively mundane things, normal boring stuff like washing up, changing the bed, hoovering, that freak me out more than I know they should, but they still do. There are the days where I think I’d rather just curl up under the duvet with my book or just sleep and forget everything else for a few hours.

But then, if I feel up to it, I take myself outside.

I’m so lucky that a mere 5 minutes from my door I’m thrown into a rich mosaic of life. At this time of year, with summer approaching, and the breeding season getting underway, I can hear the screeching of black-headed gulls and Sandwich terns from my bedroom window, enticing me to come outside and see. And if I do, I find myself surrounded by a cacophony of noise, mad screeching, display diving, posing and posturing. I’m sure most black-headed gulls are slightly unhinged,  but that just makes me like them even more.

And if I tune in over the din of the gulls, then I hear reed bunting in the reedbed, water rail squealing like mini pigs, a Cetti’s warbler shouting his piercing song as I pass by the bush in which he skulks. The geese on the lakes seem to think a constant barrage of urgent honking is the thing to do, and when I walk by they eye me suspiciously and up the volume. The first mallard ducklings have started to appear, and the smaller woodland birds (and the lumbering wood pigeons) are collecting nesting material from trees and the ground. It’s all going on out here, and I’ve been missing it. Like missing an episode of your favourite soap and having to catch up, a day or two out of the loop at this time of year can result in missing many a drama and a twist and turn in the story of mad joyous life that goes on just outside my window.

So here I sit, suddenly inspired to write this whilst sitting at my kitchen table, looking out of my window at the last grey light of the day, punctuated by the white and dark trunks of birch and pine. The robin who sings outside my window every night is delivering his usual performance, full of gusto and not a small amount of ‘get a load of me’. He’s the last bird I hear before I sleep, and he always leaves me smiling. In the morning the tiny, feisty wren who is staking his claim to the tangled territory of bracken outside my window will be shouting his trilling call, his whole body shaking with the effort. He’s small, sure, but try telling him that…

And as if by magic, the wildlife of this island has helped me twice. Once when I see it, hear it and experience it, and again when I write about it. It’s amazing how just getting a few words down in black and white, how sharing something wonderful, can help. And hopefully not just help me. I was up at 6 this morning, heading out for the sunrise. It’s now 8pm and I’m ready even this early to crawl under my duvet with my book, listen to my robin, and spend a couple of hours just winding down.

It’s true. Nature is the best remedy.

Today was one of those days. I woke up tired, tried to have a lay in, felt even worse for it, hung around feeling restless but also not having the energy to get up and do something. Anxiety got the better of me and I felt spaced out and stressed.

In the afternoon, I attended tbe final live update for the nature guide training course I have been on for three weeks. I have struggled to keep up with the course. Too many distractions to get in the way. Busy working weeks, worries about family and friends, not having the time or energy to fit it all in.

But having watched the final live review today I felt inspired. To get out there and feel better.

So thats what I did. The sky was a flat, whitish grey, there was a light breeze through the mostly bare trees, and a fine drizzle began when I’d only been outside for a while. I wandered up the steps outside the Villa, to the top of St Andrews Hill, and stopped.

And thats where I felt it. A transformation, a relaxing of my senses and a letting go of tension. I stood at the top of the hill, looking over the lagoon, watching the birds wading and feeding there. A breeze ruffled my hair and moved the material of my clothes. A red squirrel noisily skittered its way up a pine next to me, the pine needles whispered in the breeze. Leaves crunched on the ground, and I felt calm.

This immediate relaxation came as rather a surprise to me, albeit a pleasant one. After three weeks of studying nature guiding, I was learning to notice, to slow my pace and to take in my surroundings, and never had it been more evident than today. Despite what I thought, the training had sunk in.

I carried on walking, along the track through the birch woodland, surrounded by the silver boughs and golden leaves of the young trees, and I breathed, and felt at peace. The sound of the waves lapping on the north shore travelled up to me from the base of the cliff and I felt myself smiling.

It took only a few minutes in nature to change my whole day. Only a little while of noticing to brush away all the anxiety and tiredness. I carried on with my walk, going where my feet would take me, no plan or destination in mind.

As the evening drew in, and the sky tuned to dusk, the nocturnal creatures started to appear. Owls called from the woodland and the eerie wail of a sika stag drifted across the reedbed. The piglike cries of water rail followed me along the Villa road

A small heard of sika hinds eyed me suspiciously and daringly, standing their ground as long as they could bear before turning their white tails and running into the reeds. The gull roost was in full swing, with thousands of birds issuing their forlorn cries across the lagoon. The cormorants could be heard in the midst of their usual chattering discussions.

Returning to the Villa I felt calm, quiet and relaxed. Lighting the fire and sitting down with a book, everything felt back in perspective, the world and me in our right places once again. There is truth in nature as a remedy. Anyone who doesn’t see that just needs to step outside…..

As I write this, I am embarking on a new chapter. In this world we call home, there is busyness, noise and movement, but there is also calm, quiet and stillness.

For a few years I have been practising tai chi, qi gong and yoga on and off. But it was only when I began to practise these martial art and meditative forms regularly that I really started to see the benefits they held.

This year has been a chaotic one. Its ups and downs have been out of proportion. There have been moments of peace and clarity, moments of madness and frustration, and feelings of loss and sadness. As it approaches its end and we move into yet more unknowns, the least I can do is try to balance myself.

This is Day One. The start of a new, mindful journey into life. A calmer, more present me. And the opportunity to eventually share that state of wellbeing with others. This is my personal learning and training journey. I hope to develop as I travel along the way. The journey is always ongoing, there is always something new.

On the 31st October this year I will begin a course on Natural Mindfulness Guide training. This is where I begin to help myself… if I am stronger, calmer, healthier and focused, I hope I can be so for others too. Let’s see where the path takes me……

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton