Mindfulness

I’m lying on a sun lounger mourning my lost youth

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It’s summer 2019 and I’m lying on a lounger staring at a Cretan sea. Around me the beach life thrums. Fit boys and girls bop to a tinny pop tune. I’m pretending to read but tears pool behind my shades.

I should be HAPPY. We’re away, we’re together, others are less lucky… I berate myself between chugs of tepid water. An adonis comes for the sun bed fee – I mumble in Greek except he’s looking anywhere but here.

I am HOT – must be 90 degrees. Sweat pools at my back and belly. I’ve no patience for sunning and I need a wee. I’m trying to ignore the thought of strangers melting on this bed before me. I reach for the suncream.

Bronzed girls run past, a whirl of giggles, their barely there swimsuits struggling to hold onto curves. I suck my tummy in, hide myself beneath a bikini past it’s prime.

What is WRONG with me? I try to breathe it out. But I’m buttoned up tight; I feel invisible. I want to shout, at the top of my lungs, “I’m still here!!” Instead, I reread the same line.

Once I was an English rose. My fairness drew compliments like confetti, “Meryl Streep!” they’d fawn. But (oh the irony) I thought I was ‘ugly.’ They say “The youth is wasted on the young,” and they’d be right.

Only now, looking back at old snaps, I see my beauty. How I missed the chance to flaunt it – the nectar to bee pull of it. My firm, line-free skin taunts me from history – “Look how you shone!”

Is it true? Am I passed it? Or am I stewing in self pity. A midlife meltdown maybe? I’ll buy a sports car, dye my hair, surrender to the needle, anything to banish this creeping age.

And then she arrives, a goddess in green, grey hair piled high, movie star shades – smoothing a sarong over lounger. She is magnificent. The beach takes a breath, as she lays down.

Catlike she preens, people pause, lips loosening. But she gives no f*cks about onlookers. Instead, she eyes the ocean like a hungry mermaid. And then she stands. People sly peek over papers as she strides to the sea.

Then from nowhere, a singsong voice and water sprinkles, “Mummy! Come on!” And he’s pulling me out of my malaise. Tugging me free of thoughts, as we hot foot over stones to the waters edge.

And so we dive – the cool steals my breath. In that moment I am happy. I look for the lady in green but she is far away, powering towards horizon. I lie back in the water, my ears submerge and beach hum fades. Finally I’m at peace – at peace with myself.

The forest is my happy place

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As I walk through the forest I feel myself unfurl. The path is strewn with pine cones – I pick one up, press it to my palm.

Ahead, my son hollers as he spars invisible knights. The dog plods by my side, nosing the leaves for something edible. He’s always hungry, unfazed by old age spread.

I’m hungry too but not for food. It’s the green I crave. I synch my breath with my tread; my lungs fill with loamy air. It’s as if the forest heals. The trees reach to me, like the arms of a mother.

These days I’m tightly wound. I bid myself to relax. Yet the months that lie behind have taken their toll. I move with a coil inside me. My husband watches, he knows the signs – the anxious tick.

Rain falls through the forest leaves. We are in no rush. Instead we turn our faces upwards. My son opens his mouth to catch a taste: “God is crying mummy.” I’m not sure where this religion comes from. I am a heathen, still unchristened at 44.

We come to a clearing and standing stones – a Druid’s dell. We move in between granite columns and altar. It is a spiritual place. We sit a while, taking in the ancient view.

Then we discover the plaque – it is a folly built for wealthy men. Maybe the ‘sirs’ wore robes and prayed to the moon. We imagine them there, in the fading light.

No matter, it is still magical. We are happy that we found this place. Damp discoverers, we trudge back to the car. I still hold the pine cone in my hand. My lungs still full of forest air, my heart is happy.

Remembering to breathe

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It’s easy to forget to breathe. Too often, we plough through, riding the worry wave. This year has brought us to the crest more than once. The UK’s Office for National Statistics says that coronavirus has impacted on our wellbeing – no real surprise there.

Isolation, relationship strife, curbed freedoms – it’s unsurprising that we’ve felt tense. For those of us at high risk, disabled or living alone, lockdown can be endless. In 2020, a rise in mental health issues has been seen globally.

These days, we have become masked, antibac crusaders, twitching at a close-to cough. It’s no wonder our heads are in a spin. Learning how to manage our stress has become a daily necessity.

It makes sense that meditation and mindfulness app usage has surged this year. I am a convert to Insight Timer but the well-being market is full of options. Ten minutes a day has helped me through dark moments. Relearning to breathe has been a revelation.

I’ve been surprised at how often I forget to truly breathe. How I move, shallow breathed through my days. If only I’d learnt the art earlier; I could have skipped some teenage angst!

Mindfulness, coupled with yoga has given me new life tools. Adriene Mishler has been my guide here. Her warm and natural style has coaxed me through flows that have set me right.

It’s ironic that, out of a shitty year I have become better at looking after myself. Oddly, I have coronavirus to thank for that. At first, self care was about survival. Now, as I look to autumn, I face uncertainty with a little less fear. If anxiety builds, I can return to the rhythm of my breath.

“Breathing in. I calm my body and mind. Breathing out. I smile. Dwelling in the present moment. The only moment.”

Thich Nhat Hanh