I’ve been thinking of moving to the Highlands, buying a small cottage by a loch and swim every morning.
There’s a river too, that haunts the glen, between my cottage and the mountains. I feel it, breathing within the shadow of mountains.
I know this is not just a pipe dream. I know someone who’s done it, made the move across the border, living a blessed life.
I’ve been thinking of an open fire where I’d bake bread with the sun rise and when ready sit sit out on the porch with thick slices, warm and buttered. Dripping butter and the air smelling like home.
My home.
I’m thinking there’s one village store miles away. I walk every other day for exercise. On the way, I bird spot. Blackbird, moorhen, blue tit, eagle.
Small talk with the store owner might be difficult after long moments of silence in my cottage by the loch. In the silence I can hear myself better.
Being a water woman and a mountain woman, I will welcome the solitude and the haunting rolling out before me as nothing would hold me back.
Last year’s word of the year got lost in the mix. It was ‘self-authority’. Not sovereignty as that has colonial connotations for me.
I might not have been intently focused on the word – ‘self-authority’- throughout 2024. But I feel as if by the year’s end I have come to some new understanding of this way of being. I have a new kind of clarity around my own power and grace and being for sure.
As always I will continue to carry my word of the year along with me for the rest of my life and practice. My words of each year do become part of my arsenal, part of my way of moving through this world for ever more.
So what is my word for 2025.
LUSH.
Lush is my word for 2025. I’ve always loved the word ‘lush’ since I was a child. Especially after I moved up to the North -East of England when I was 10. Lush was the in word and it was used to describe anything that we thought was good, and inspiring and exciting. It was our go to word to describe anything that was positive and good. Lush has stayed with me, even though it might have fallen out of fashion over the years with others.
What do I mean now though when I use the word ‘lush’? First of all I just love the song of the word as it sizzles off my tongue. LUSH. LUSH. LUSH. So even the word itself is lush to me. But why do I mean when I use it in my life?
Lush usually refers to nature. To the lavishness of the vegetation. Green is the colour that comes to mind for lush. There’s a sense of abundance to it. Lush can also refer to the loveliness of a a person, their vitality as well as their sensuality and sexuality. Back in the 18th century say, lush also referred to a person who was in the habit of getting drunk. Maybe this gives the impression of lushness being to the excess. Like too much, too green, too beautiful.
For me, I’m picking up lushness for its sense of vitality and abundance. It’s innocence and child-like wonder and pleasure it brings me when I say the word as well as use it to refer to something as being ‘lush’. It could be a lush vista while I’m out with nature. It could be a lush colour. It could be a lush feeling. And this is where I’m starting with lush within my feelings.
This year, with carrying lush with me, I want to feel the thrills and pleasures of lushness. I want to feel the joy and exuberance of lushness. I want to feel the sparkle and abundance in everything and everyone I come into contact with.
This image is lush. Lush because of the way the water reflects the blue of the sky. Lush because of the dusting of snow on the mountain peaks. Lush because it is a moment of stillness and beauty and I’m part of it. Lush because I am present in the moment. Lush because I’ve grateful to be there. Lush because it’s the start of a new day. So much lushness to draw upon within each moment, each snapshot of my life and this is what I want to be tapping into more times than not. Lush is my anchor, my reminder, my mantra.
LUSH. LUSH. LUSH.
Do you have a word for the year? Please share in the comments if you do, I’d love to hear about it.
Do you play in your daily life? What says “playtime” to you?
Glencoe, January 2025
Yesterday within the snowy embrace of mountains I entered the River Etive.
For the past few days, with the wind and rain and now snow, this river has been swollen and running rapids. It’s the fullest I’ve ever seen it on my many visits to the area. I knew it would be stupid to enter the river during the storms. But I could hear its calls; its incessant chant to come and play.
With the snow falling over night on higher ground, a calming hush descended on the glen. The river was still swollen but took on a slower pace. This was my time to play.
I walked a mile or so up river to a point I’d sourced out would be easier to enter. A gentle slope leading in with stepping stones just off to the side of the major flow of water. A place to sit and rest and allow the water to course over, around and through me.
The walk raised my body temperature so by the time it came to strip down to my swimming costume a sheen of sweat layered my skin. But as soon as flesh hit the air it started to chill. But the outside air was nothing compared to the chill/ cold/ freeze of the water.
I didn’t hesitate as the longer it took to undressed the more time I stood a chilling. I mistakenly judged the temperature of the water on my first few steps in. Making the mistake of saying to myself, ‘This isn’t as cold as I thought it would be.’ Sometimes our minds can get in the way of our bodies. Creating excuses for not doing the things we love. Creating obstacles when really there are none except maybe our fears.
Of course my mind and body were both wrong but I didn’t realise my mistake until I was all the way in, sitting on the rocks, water flowing up to my waist, covering all of my lower body, hands, arms and elbows.
My life! The cold. The pain. The joy. I was laughing into the icy ripples of water. Laughing at the absurdity of it all and the thrill of it all as the cold instead of numbing me, electrified me through my body.
Thank god no one else was around to hear the screams or squeals or the colourful language. What was worse was I’d forgotten to put on my neoprene gloves. My hands were red raw. So I retreated to retrieve the gloves. This could have been my chance to stay out and get warm. But fool that I am, I squeeze my now wet and frozen hands into those gloves and walked right back into the flow. And this time I walked in on my hands so I was on my front. Spread out and immersed. This was me making sure everywhere, all of my body had been hit by the water. Had been hit by the cold. Had been brought back to life.
This is my playtime. Getting back into the flow of an activity that brings me joy. Swimming in the wild. Something I forget from time to time when I allow life to get in my way. Something I remember once I give myself the time and space and permission to slow down. It’s a practice. And so many variables feed into that practice but in the process so much joy and wisdom and clarity is achieved.
I’m choosing to end 2024 with gratitude. I’m choosing to give thanks for 2024 and to recognise the abundance.
Checking through my visual journals of the year and there is evidence of joy and creativity and love but there is also difficulty, scarcity and rage.
But here on the precipice of 2025, I’m choosing to focus on the present and the gifts that 2024 has given me.
In this moment, on New Year’s Eve, I am grateful to have returned to one of my favourite places in the world to bring in the New Year; Glencoe, the Scottish Highlands.
Etive, Glencoe, December 2024
Anyone following my blog from last year will know this is where I spent the New Year last/ this year, 2023 into 2024. My friend of old and I were booked into The Kinghouse Hotel here for their New Year’s celebration package. It was a luxurious affair and reminded me of a holiday camp as we were bombarded with activities, food and drink and entertainment for 4 days. And it snowed.
Alex and me, last year in Glencoe
This year there is no such luxury but that doesn’t take away from my joy and gratitude for being here now. I’m in Glencoe, for the first time, with Kiwi my campervan. This trip up in the wind and rain and dark is fulfilling a dream of mine. To park up for many nights in the shadow of my favourite mountain Etive.
Etive, Glencoe, December 2024
I’ve just been sitting in my van, watching the clouds roll over the peaks. I’ve totally slowed down and have finally started to appreciate the hibernation mode which started in November, with fits and starts as I kept getting disturbed.
I’m grateful that I have the privilege of being able to hibernate, to escape from the world of work and commitments to rest and dream. I’m tightening my belt, living frugally in certain ways, so I can have the next few months off work. Off the clock, off the colonial clock. Because I think, no I know, that 2024 burnt me out. Not just from the amount of work but also from the kind of work of was. I spent hours and energy supporting other people’s dreams in a system which doesn’t recognise our humanity never-mind our dreams. Daily I was going to battle, constantly having to repeat myself as well as explain and justify our existence and right to life/ work/ dreams/ success. It was tiring and demoralising and traumatic. It is only now that I can allow the sheer weight of it to fall away as I’ve been carrying it for a long time. And I’m tired.
So to be in the Highlands, on my own terms, in my own space, not having to see or talk or be with anyone else, is my happy place. And I’m grateful for it.
There is a severe weather warning up here. Edinburgh has cancelled its New Year celebrations because of this weather. High winds, rain, a lot of rain and maybe snow. For the last few nights, I’ve felt the wind and rain lash against Kiwi, we’ve been rocking and rolling but we’re safe and warm and I’m grateful for that.
I’m like in a little cocoon. I have everything I need to wait out the storm, two duvets and thermal clothing, water and food all help for which I am truly grateful. Because I’m living off grid as well as learning to live with less. And with that does come a lot of gratitude.
Inside Kiwi, van sounds
I recognise it in the food I prepare and eat here. Little plates of goodness which are simple but nourishing and enough.
Cooking inside the van
So as I plan to wave goodbye to 2024 and welcome in 2025, I’m cocooned within a circle of gratitude for what is now in the present moment. I’m warm and safe and have a feast for my eyes and tastes and soul to keep me satisfied. I’m very grateful to be able to continue to live out my dreams on my own terms. Thank you x
The Glencoe region of Scotland has always held a special place in my heart. When the kids were little, we’d do driving tours up there, jumping from one Premier Inn to another really just to satisfy my own cravings for the Scottish landscape. The wide open spaces, the lochs and glens and mountains.
I created a self-imposed retreat in November when other plans fell through. I took my time to drive into the highlands knowing I was returning to my favourite hotel out there. Kinghouse Hotel, Glencoe.
The plan was simple to rest, walk and create. And I wasn’t disappointed by the scenery, the service, the weather or the creativity.
It was gift to just focus on me and my creativity. A luxury I was truly grateful for. I just want to do it again and again and again.
I fell in love with a mountain and glen up there. So I’ll have to return if we’re going courting!
I’m in North Wales. On a swimming residency. The heat and crowds have been killing me though.
Planning to keep cool with water. Inside and out. But the scenery here is amazing. There’s an ancient vibe to the place. I really get the felling that these mountains have been here for centuries and will be here long after I’ve gone.
There’s a timelessness about mountains which force me to step off the busyness and into the calm and collected stance of stillness.
Just like a mountain. Over the next few weeks, as we ease into the summer holidays, I’ll be here in fits and starts. Not putting any pressure on myself to produce as I’m tired.
I’m tired and need to fall back in love with creativity. And I also need something to say. So enjoy the summer and maybe see you back here. But if not over the summer, see you in Autumn.
the snow is pristine
the water is cold
the silence is rippling
she does not come here to talk. she does not come here to appease. she is here to connect. to the Earth. to the Sea. to Herself. so she does not take kindly to the wide vacant stares that question her presence. she uses the solid rock of the mountains and the copper grasses peaking through the cracks as a special welcome just for her.
Living Wild Studios 