I thought about it when I wrote the date in my visual journal and then proceeded to forget about it. I never gave it another thought, until now when thinking what I was going to share today, here on this blog.
10 years is a long time. 10 years I didn’t think I’d have, survive never mind thrive. 10 years and I’m here, living my life on my own terms. Fugitively.
I walked right smack into lushness today. If not with the trees, in Iceland, the place that was once devoid of trees. Then it was visiting Perlan and experiencing the wonders of Iceland; volcanoes, ice caves, geyser and northern lights.
It brought immense joy to walk around Perlan and feed my inner child. There were many times when I was close to tears because of the feelings of pleasure and joy I experienced through learning new things and being wowed by nature.
It was a good day. I’m grateful for being here, 10 years on, when really I was never meant to survive the attempt to ruin me. But here I am, and still I rise.
The last time I was in Iceland was June 2018. I was here running a creative retreat for women. On the Thursday of the week away, I facilitated a workshop at Reykjavik Museum of Photography. Probably shared what I created during that session on here somewhere. I know it included my mum and a glacier.
It was an amazing retreat, with everything provided for the participants. Even brought in my friend Sarah as the caterer. It was a week that had great highs and achievements with the costs being me exhausted and in debt.
I’ve always wanted to return to Iceland since then but a global pandemic, divorce and financial insecure got in the way. Until, I really got sick of saying, one day, and just booked the flight back in September 2024 and making sure it happened.
Always on a shoestring, but still doing it because I’m worth it, I’m staying in Reykjavik for the week. Staying in a hostel again and watching my budget. But it’s good to be back.
My first time to Iceland was 2016, the year after the shit hit the fan experience which will be 10 years ago tomorrow.
It was standing in this photography museum that I began to see myself again as a creative. Iceland helped me heal after that episode in my life and it was here that I made a promise to get my work within this space. With the women’s retreat I achieved that dream, not only working here but also sharing my words within the space.
Things don’t happen easily. There needs to be a vision and the hard work behind it. I’m not afraid of hard work. I’m more afraid of having dreams and never allowing them to come true. Because of outside barriers and obstacles I raise up within.
I came to Iceland a ruined woman. But I still had the strength of character and belief in self to grow and take risks and invest in myself.
Investing in myself is never wasted. I’m here for a week, a week that promises rain, wind and dropped temperatures. I could allow it to stop play. But I won’t. I’m here and I’m here to fill my pot by any means necessary.
I’m keeping my journals all in one place this year as I attempt to mark how many or how much I create and play and mark each day of 2025. And of course I missed my single week/day handmade journals that I’ve shared here and here. And of course I’ve moved onto another journal since my return from Paris. But this post is a marker.It’s a start in visually representing my visual journaling of 2025.
It makes a difference when we’ve got the light. And it’s warm with it.
I’m in a three day streak of getting into the sea, straight after the school run. The tide has been in too. Which I love.
I love it when the bay is full to the brim with sea. I don’t have to walk far before I meet the water.
I give thanks when I greet the sea. Because she’s always there for me. Not judging me. Not rejecting me. Just welcoming me.
In the past, the sea has healed me again and again. The first time of any significance was when I miscarried our second child, back in 2009. We moved to the coast soon after as I needed to heal.
And to be healed is not a one time thing. Healing is a life long process. Sometimes I’m locked into my healing journey and sometimes I veer off course and need something or someone to remind me to get back into the practice. The practice of healing.
So with a new month comes a renewal. And this is the time of year to renew. Spring is well and truly with us now. And the blossom may be receding and just pink petals on the wind, or white even. But I’m catching hints of bluebells.
So my list of habits and actions to lean into for a May of Healing includes:
A high protein breakfast.
Making sure I get 8+ hours of sleep each night. Priority!
Getting lost in a few good books.
Walking each day. Getting outside into the light.
Getting into the sea as often as possible, at home and away.
Visual journaling daily.
Getting back into painting for pleasure. To hell with the results.
Increasing my fruit and veg intake.
Increasing my water intake. At least 2litres a day.
Continue on my strength training journey.
Insight timer daily.
Reconnecting with friends and family I haven’t talked to for a while.
Solo dates like to the cinema or a museum. Or a delicious meal out for one!
Acquire some new plant friends.
Create a zine or two.
Plan the summer holidays for Miss Ella and me. And also solo me!
Keep traveling for pleasure and joy instead of work commitments and responsibilities.
I might also be forgiving if you don’t write every day. I drafted these essays in half an hour. There was something very pleasant about that—to have a little exercise. It’s not like you’re trying to write the best thing in the world. —Ross Gay
These past 30 days have flown by. If I’d stopped and really thought about it before this month, I probably would have talked myself out of writing a poem a day. I’d been in a dry spell and not reallly doing anything to be inspired.
I’m glad I didn’t give myself any time or space to think about it as I’ve so enjoyed this challenge. And as the quote says, I wasn’t trying to write the best poems in the world. I was just trying to write and enjoy it again.
So mission accomplished.
The final task for the month is to look over the creations and to see if there’s any themes or connections to pull them into some kind of whole. It doesn’t have to include everyone. But if it was going to be a collection what would the title be?
Initial thoughts – something that includes ‘Blossom’ as it’s been a reoccurring image/ focus I think throughout the month. Just saying ‘Blossom’ reminds me of a black and white movie I watch with my mum one Sunday afternoon when I was a kid. And it was about a Welsh mining village and a black man comes to work there. Of course there’s a pit accident and the black man is killed saving the others, if I remember rightly. Anyway the black man would say ‘ Blossom’ but like ‘Blossssooomm’ really exaggerating it.
I must find out what that film was called. Hold on …
Nah, can’t find it. Found Proud Valley with Paul Robson but I don’t think it was that. But I think there was singing in it. Does this mean I have to watch the film to see if he says ‘blossom’ in it?
Blossom is only here for a short time and I don’t want to waste that time on a black and white movie when I could be enjoying the delicate textured colours of real blossom.
So the title of the poems form the month would be titled: when lush becomes blossom
they say poets are reluctant to call themselves ‘poets’. well at least the ones that aren’t famous.we all have to come to the blank page. collections, awards, residencies whatever, we carry the fear of never being able to repeat that measure of success. or that we are never ever gonna write that good again. BULLSHIT. i don’t buy into self-depreciation. there’s enough of it out there without adding to it, by piling on myself. just give me a moment, to breath, to open my body, to listen to the whispers within and the world without. then i’m bound to create something. the trick is to remain open. to have no expectation. to drop the comparison trap and to just play.practice. dive into the process and {BE}. and before I know it I’ve got this singing imagine, this hook, this solid rock stance of intuition that I’ve just nailed the essence of a poem.
This weekend saw me away from home at The Outdoor Connections weekend. It’s a weekend away for grassroots groups who are working to diversify the outdoors. Groups and organisations who connect with grassroots communities to offer opportunities outdoors with nature.
So Earth Sea Love CIC, me as Creative Director, was invited along to take part. And I went with Kiwi, my converted campervan, with the hope of camping out on the site of the youth hostel where everything was taking place.
That didn’t go plan as sleeping in my campervan wasn’t allowed on site for what reason I do not know. So each evening, I left the group to try and find a park up for the night.
Stanage Edge, Park District
I’m not complaining though as I found some lush spots to park up and rest.
Now I have returned home, I’m still a bit out of sorts. Not quite landed yet after my time away. So a way for me to get grounded is to make another handmade journal to use for my daily pages moving forward.
Well no sooner than I’d finished it, yesterday evening, that it’s full today. All I can say is that I must have had a lot to process. I know I did use it as my next to-do list after my last journal was used for the same practice. And it’s just helps me get things straight. Clear the decks and start again. Begin to work my way through the things that need to be done.
You said you would paint my nails. Red. Because red would looks good on my skin. Purple even. This man. You blew so much hot air up my arse I was floating. Floating on fucking air all the way down there. 260 miles. 260 miles of Soca hits, blaring out the mini speaker. Getting me in the mood to wind up my waist. I’ve never felt so much carnival in my blood. Jouvert, jumping up in the midnight light, throwing paint, bodies slick with sweat, couldn’t beat the heightened anticipation of our meet. Lips thick, juicy enough to suck on. Like pork belly off the bone. Thick and sweet. They could become addictive. If only you’d check your attitude. Rude. And you think you elevated. Wise beyond your years and I better listen. Educate. Please! You better check yourself because this arse is moving out faster than when I got here. As I recognise, you might not be so much one of those bots, but you sure can scam. Making out you’re the jealous type and now I’m off the market because I’m yours. Excuse me, but our time has to come to an end sooner than you might have been planning. You mighty fine, but I’ve seen your ugliness and I ain’t buying it no more. To think I wanted to suck on those lips for eternity. Fool that I am.
Living Wild Studios 