finding a New Life

It still seemed extraordinary to her that life could change so much …

Leaving her old life behind had always been about giving herself a chance to be happier.  But it was a huge leap of faith, and took more courage than she knew she had in her.  Life since then had been both terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure … and the most terrifying and exhilarating thing of all was that she never knew how it would all turn out.  Of course, none of us know that, but sometimes something happens that stops you in your tracks, a life defining moment where what happened before, was before, and a new chapter begins …

It had already been a year of change.  She’d finally been able to move on from a job which was beginning to suffocate her – to a job that offered a better quality of life, less stress and more freedom of time … and spirit.  Not long after that, an opportunity came unexpectedly to move home, and she decided overnight that this was a chance to live on the coast – something she’d always dreamt of.

So within a fortnight, she’d packed her bags and moved to a tiny studio flat overlooking the sea.  She knew the town, but hardly knew anyone who lived there.  So this really was a chance to start afresh, put heartache behind her, breathe in the sea air and embrace a new life.  There’s something empowering about being brave.  It’s confidence giving and it’s a shift of mindset, where anything seems possible … she knew she’d be fine.

When you live by the sea, it’s always there.  It somehow dictates the pulse of the day. The sound of the waves filtered through her window – sometimes fiercely wild, sometimes a gentle lap on the shingle … always hypnotically pulling her out to walk along the beach, breeze tousling her hair, sun caressing her face, a new life waiting for her to let it in with all its possibilities and hope …

It was her first weekend there. One of those glorious July mornings when sun catches the sea like a path of diamonds out to the horizon, when the beach is already dotted with early swimmers, day trippers eager to find their spot on the sand, locals meandering down to the promenade for a coffee.

She’d been walking for a couple of hours, exploring,  pinching herself that this was now the place she could call home.  There was a small cafe by the beach, nothing more than a beach shack, but near enough to where she lived that she’d figured she’d meet some of the locals there.  There was a friendly buzz about the place.  She ordered her usual latte, and spotted a line of orange deckchairs fluttering in the breeze looking over the sea. There was just one empty deckchair.

“Do you mind if I sit here?”, she’d asked the man sitting next to it.  He looked up. And time stood still, and in that moment, her life changed.

Fate’s work was done.

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finding Him

 

 

Unwittingly

 

They had each held the end 

Of the invisible string of fate

Connecting them

 

All the while

The string coiled tighter 

Pulling them in

 

Closer and closer

 

That day

Life held its breath

 

Their bodies so near now

The distance between them

No more that a moment in time

 

“Can I sit here?”, she’d said

 

He looked up,

The day stood still

All that went before, was before

 

This was their time

 

Fate’s work was done

 

finding Dubrovnik (2018)

The view of the medieval city walls was quite different to how it had looked the day before, when they’d walked its perimeter over several hours, taking in, from above, the maze of narrow cobbled alleyways within.  The old town had suffered its fair share of conflict over the centuries, not least of which the bombardment in the early 90s, when over two-thirds of the historic town’s buildings were hit by artillery during the break up of Yugoslavia. It took a UNESCO led initiative to reconstruct the town back to its former splendour, its turbulent history sand-blasted out of the stone, topped with new terracotta tiles adorning the roofs.

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However for the first time in history, the city walls had themselves received over one hundred direct hits, and from their new vantage point, the scars were there to see.

The opportunity to see the city from the sea was too good to miss, despite the reservations of her girlfriend who had envisaged a rather more relaxing break in the sun.  So, it was not without some trepidation (neither of them having even set foot in a canoe before), they took to the water, under the watchful eye of their tour guide and the rest of the group, far younger and rather intrigued by the sight of two women who should have known better giggling their way out into the bay, struggling to control the direction of their unruly kayak.

Once they’d fathomed how to synchronise their strokes, they’d settled into an easy rhythm, unwilling to admit to their aching backs and knees, sore arms and sunburnt faces tingling with the salty spray.  It wasn’t for the faint hearted, and 3 hours in, paddling against the current, getting back to the safety of the harbour was no mean feat for even experienced kayakers.  And wet didn’t even begin to describe the state of their underwear – perhaps wet suits would have been a better idea! But they did it, and did not embarrass themselves by floating unchecked towards the horizon (it happened) or falling overboard (that happened too)!

And they managed to keep up with the kids! So, in the end, it’s all about perspective!  Like the town wall, they might have been showing signs of having been around for a while, but they’d lived to fight another day!

 

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finding the Northern Lights (2018)

“Life is a choice. It is YOUR life. Choose consciously, choose wisely, choose honestly.  Choose happiness”

(Brionnie Ware, The Top Five Regrets of the Dying)

A new chapter had begun. A page turned.

She’d left a job of the last thirteen years to take another that, she hoped, would give her a better quality of life.  It was a time for change. It felt like the stars were aligned … and she was feeling brave.

Feeling brave is feeling empowered, and so, in that precious week of freedom between leaving one job and starting the next, she pushed her boundaries just that little bit more and booked a flight to the northern most parts of Norway to follow a life long dream to see the northern lights.

Research shows that to stand the best chance of seeing them, there needs to be darkness, and lots of it.  And the best way to find that is to head just about as far north as civilisation allows, to a tiny city called Tromso.  Linked to the main land by a elegant arched bridge, the island of Tromsoya is located over 200 miles north of the Arctic Circle,  where, during the polar night lasting from November to January, the sun does not rise at all.

The darkness apart, never having been a skier, she had also never before experienced a landscape eternally shrouded in its winter coat.  It was difficult for her to imagine, therefore, a land where it is like this for months on end, which is why she wanted to see it for herself.

The flight out of Oslo gave her the first glimpse of what she had been looking for.  In the eerie twilight blue, the jagged crevices and undulating contours of the bleak barrenness were outlined in every detail by the snow, norwegian firs piercing through, standing proud and defiant in this unforgiving landscape, so much more beautiful here than the one she’d left behind still holding up the gaudy remnants of the festive season at home. On they flew, two hours north of Oslo, on and on, north and north, leaving behind day light hours, and speeding towards a land of perpetual dark.

On her first morning, a violent noise, like someone throwing grit at her bedroom window, woke her with a start.  What she’d noticed when she arrived the night before was how quiet everywhere was.  Not only does a colder climate discourage anyone from venturing out, but the snow muffles any sounds, from passing traffic to voices, thus amplifying the strange and foreign sound, which turned out to be the snow plough doing its morning rounds, clearing the road outside her room after several feet of snowfall while she’d slumbered in the early hours.

In the south of England, on a “bad” year, we might do the depths of winter, or at least our perception of it, for a week or so. We momentarily marvel at the white, sparkling beauty of  a couple of inches of freshly fallen snow, then we grind to a halt. We moan that the trains don’t run on time (if at all).  We begrudgingly clear our drives and slip-slide our unresponsive cars onto roads often ill prepared for a cold snap, with gritting lorries cajoling the main arteries into life, but anywhere else left to the eagerness of its residents to get to work with a shovel.  We dig out our warmest clothes, raid the food stores as if the cold snap is unlikely to ever end, become neighbour friendly in ways we never do in “normal” times, start making homemade soup …. and wait for the thaw.

So different there … they are prepared and several feet (not inches) of snow is the norm. As is the multiple layers of clothing required to even step outside the door.  It certainly takes longer to get ready to go out for the day!

Apparently the way to walk best on frozen ground is to walk like a penguin … not something she ever really mastered and even had to be rescued from the middle of a cross roads when she froze on the spot (literally) trying to decide in which direction she would least likely end up on her derriere!  A kindly octogenarian, came dashing across the road with astonishing nimbleness, and came to her rescue.  It seems the key is not to walk like a penguin, but clip on spikes! She needn’t have worried though – by necessity everything moves slowly – the people (it’s all those clothes) and even the traffic!

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Tromso, dotted with centuries-old painted houses, was a centre for seal hunting, trapping and fishing, and later a launch pad for several notable Arctic expeditions. A truly fascinating place to explore in the mornings, the blue twilight creating an enchanting and surreal landscape before darkness set in, and the town retreated to snug indoors by candlelight, in front of cosy fires and generous bowls of steaming reindeer stew.

Afternoons were for sleeping …  for the real reason for her visit happened of course, at night.

She had three chances to see the northern lights.  Three nights to find what she had dreamed of seeing for as long as she could remember …

The first two nights were too cloudy, so she awoke on her final day knowing that it was now, or probably never.  To cushion the potential disappointment of not seeing them at all, she had booked a husky sleigh ride for that morning.  Two to a sleigh, with a team of excitable barking huskies straining at the reins, they left the city lights behind and headed into the snowy barrenness. It was one of the most exhilarating moments of her life – Wednesday mornings would never quite be the same again.

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And so it came to the last night.

Two minibuses set out in search of the elusive lights, higher and higher, deeper and deeper into the icy wonderland, then stopped to set up campfires and wait.  And wait.  And wait.  It was approaching midnight, by which time she had retreated into the warmth of the minibus and closed her eyes, resigned to the fact that it wasn’t to be.  Then there was a loud banging on the door. “Come quick! The lights!”.  And there they were, drifting across the night sky before her eyes in their magical dance, a green luminescent cloud, shifting and undulating like a flock of murmuring swallows.

There were no words …

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