There is a beach…

There is a beach that I don’t visit very often, that I have a soft spot for. I can’t quite work out why I like it so much, why I feel such affection when I think of it. Often, places hold special meaning because of the experiences that you’ve had there. My favourite beach (that I frequent often) is one such place, having spent many wonderful hours with some of my favourite people there. But this beach, just 20 minutes from me, isn’t one of these places. I’ve been there maybe half a dozen times and have no strong memories of it really, save spending an afternoon there with my lovely friend Claire and our kids. But we’ve spent many lovely afternoons wiling away the hours on beaches and I don’t recall anything particularly special about that occasion.

It’s location also leaves quite a lot to be desired. This tiny cove is tucked away at the end of a long stretch of sand which is bordered by concrete steps and a promenade. Above the promenade is a noisy main road, where cars are constantly loudly driving, manoeuvring and reminding us of our proximity to the urban town this beach sits on the edge of. At the end of this promenade, the road curves round and is bordered by restaurants, ice cream stands, and souvenir shops before it hits the marina and main shopping centre of the town.

But the cove itself seems like a separate place, miles away from the bustling tourist town it’s technically part of. If you sit with your back to the town, you could get away with thinking you were somewhere beautifully remote. When the tide goes out, two wide flat pillars of rock pools emerge, marking a very clear channel to the beach, protecting it from the world outside. The beach itself is littered with sea glass, miniature shells, and interesting pebbles. The water is clear and you can see life teeming below you as you swim.

I found myself swimming there today by convenience after meeting a friend at one of the aforementioned restaurants for brunch. The sun was beating and after I couldn’t take its warmth anymore, I made my way down to the water’s edge, giving two dozing swans a wide berth. The water offered welcome relief, both from the oppressive heat and from an overactive busy mind. I waded until it was deep enough to swim and slid into the cool crystal clear waters.

As I swam, I glanced over my shoulder and spotted that I’d awoken the swans who were curiously following me. Not being the hugest fan of birds, I decided to swim out, between the flat pillars of rocks and into the bay beyond. I swam along the coast until it was time to turn back and slowly made my way back to the beach. As I wondered along the sand, my attention was caught by another swimmer, heading my way, about to dip herself. As she saw me, relief washed over her features and she gestured to my belongings, asking if they were mine. Once I confirmed this, she explained she was worried that someone had gotten into trouble at sea (or had chosen to swim out until it was too far to come back) as she couldn’t see me swim.

That stuck with me as I drove home. The innate goodness of people, her concern for an unknown person, the way she was clearly lingering until she saw me to make sure someone was OK. I don’t have much more to say on this but I’m still ruminating on it. (Clearly I didn’t stay in long enough to completely calm the busy mind!)

I doubt I’ll swim at this cove again for a while but it will remain in my mind, a particularly lovely spot for a dip.

Why Outdoors?

I’m lucky that as part of my role at work, I get to host a podcast. This gives me the opportunity to search out opportunities to have conversations with people about the things that they are passionate about, about what makes them tick, about what they’re willing to take a stand for. My remit is relatively broad, anything to do with education, the outdoors, or climate change and environmental protection. Among others, so far I’ve spoken to other Forest School provisions, a swift-water rescuer and trainer, an adventurer, and people from a range of educational environmental organisations. It’s my favourite part of my job, I just love talking to people about something they care about, of getting an insight into their story, of amplifying their voice or cause.

In preparation for this, I did a lot of research and among others, got hooked onto ‘Raising Wildlings’, a podcast from Wildlings Forest School in Australia. At the end of each episode, they ask the same set of questions and I liked this idea and so borrowed it (they do know!) One of the questions I ask is ‘why is being outdoors important to you?’ It seemed like an obvious way to finish each episode on topic but recently, I’ve felt a little bit unsure about whether it was the right choice. (Particularly when someone questioned the validity of it as a question!) Is the question open enough, does it elicit a variety of responses? Is the answer glaringly obvious to most people I ask?

But now I’m 30 episodes down, I feel more confident in this question. I’d say that there are two major themes to the answers from interviewees, but that the responses are still varied and beautifully unique to each person asked. The two answers tend to be a version of ‘it gives me a sense of perspective’ or ‘it’s just natural, it’s where we should be’. This week, I’ve been lucky enough to spend some time in the Lake District and it’s got me ruminating on the question myself.

I didn’t arrive in a good place. We had to say goodbye to a gorgeous friend, far too soon last week. It was cruel, brutal, and heartbreaking. I could write an essay on him but I think this is too public an arena for that, perhaps? I’m not sure. Needless to say, he’s left a huge hole in the lives of so many people. So when I arrived here, I arrived emotionally worn out, physically exhausted, and feeling empty.

I wouldn’t say that much has changed over the last five days. I still feel achingly sad, for him, for his family, for the many lives he was part of. But I do know that spending so much time outside, walking, running, swimming – just being in such a beautiful place, has given me some much needed respite and hope that we won’t always feel like this. It heals, nourishes, soothes. It’s provided both perspective on what really matters (the people you love and the relationships with them) and felt like the only place I should be right now.

It’s a relatively recent phenomenon that we shut ourselves away from the ‘natural world’ as much as we do. We’ve created a barricade between in and out, a barrier to cross when we want to leave our insulated boxes and venture ‘into the wild’. But it wasn’t always like this, and arguably, it shouldn’t be. Our ancestors would have lived in sync with the natural rhythms of the world. They would have slept more when it was dark out, been more active in the long summer days. They would have been more resilient, used to getting wind swept, soaked in storms, knowing how to stay safe in both extreme heat and cold.

And I know, there will be plenty of people reading this that aren’t as obsessed as spending as much time outside as possible as me and I’m not minimising their experience or preferences. I’m merely musing (from my very biased viewpoint) on how perhaps that barrier should at the least, be more permeable, if not completely removed. I’m not suggesting we all go and live in the woods (although if my kids would allow us, I’d be there before you could say ‘dirty hippy’) but I do think that spending time outside, in whatever way is accessible to you, can have the most incredible impact on your mental health and general wellbeing.

But for me, why is being outdoors important? It’s what helps me stay well, physically and mentally. It’s where I feel like I can be fully present in the moment, in myself. It’s where I feel at home. It’s where my mind finally stills.