Flowers

Come, see real
flowers
of this painful world.

Bashō

A selection of my favourate flower photos (and a fern) taken since March, either from my garden or taken on my daily local walk during lockdown.

From drifting to steering

I’ve been thinking about that moment when we take control of something in our lives.  Perhaps something we’ve dreamed about for years.  The shift in perspective that occurs when we go from thinking, for example, ‘one day I’d like to write a novel’ to actually sitting down to write the first page.  And the one after that, and the one after that.

The moment when we realise….

‘If I want to make that thing happen then I have to DO something!’

I’m sure this is easy for many people, but for me, I like to dream and think about what I might like to do but I get stuck in the realities of life (earning a living etc) and often I don’t get round to doing what I want to do!

Also I have to write about creating a shift in perspective for one of my coaching assignments, so this is also me mulling over some ideas.   I’d love to know your thoughts.


To drift: to move slowly, especially as a result of outside forces, with no control over direction.

Sometimes we drift through our lives, at the mercy of the currents and winds.  Sharp rocks and shipwrecks may await, or, less dramatically but potentially as serious, a lifetime of drifting into unsatisfactory jobs, or not quite ever getting around to doing what we really want to do.  We follow the currents of other people’s beliefs and values, other people’s ‘shoulds’, never quite getting where we really want to go.  Perhaps not even aware of where we really want to go.

And often we drift with a head full of dreams.  Our body is sitting in an open plan office in front of a computer, our head is filled with possibilities.  ‘Perhaps I’ll become an artist’.  ‘Maybe I could go self-employed’.  ‘Maybe I’ll pack it all in and go and live on a desert island’.  But we never do.

So much of our energy is focused on dreaming, on thinking, on imagining, on future possibilities, but these thoughts don’t turn into action. Looking inward, looking to something that only exists in our minds, talking about it maybe (perhaps talking about it endlessly!) but never doing.  Never changing, never growing, just…stuck in our heads.  And drifting.

And sometimes we drift with no dreams at all.  We plod along a course that we haven’t chosen, frustrated.  Drifting on the currents of life, we see no way out.

And then something happens.  Maybe we get too close to those dangerous rocks.  Perhaps a storm brings a clarifying splash of icy cold water.

Maybe we just can’t face another day at that job.   A significant birthday.  A death.  A birth. A deadline.

A shift in perspective.

This is the moment when we realise….

‘If I want to make change happen then I have to DO something.  Now!’

This is when we take control.

Now we are not drifting, we are steering.

We take the helm.  We take responsibility.

We take our boredom with our current lives seriously.

We take our dreams seriously.

We commit to change.

We take action.

To steer a course or path: to take a series of actions, usually of a particular type, carefully and intentionally.

At first, steering may look just like drifting to the outside observer.  Outwardly, nothing may change.  We may still be at the boring job, but unseen by the world we are now making plans, researching, taking action.

We question.  Is this really want I want to do?  What is it that I believe?  Where do I really want to be in 5 years’ time?  What does success look like to me…not to my mother or my work colleagues or society….to me?

We may appear to drift around for a while, trying out new ideas, but the difference is that our movement is purposeful to us.  We are deliberately choosing our direction.

We make goals and we take the steps that we need to make those goals happen.

We go from saying ‘maybe I could do xyz’, or ‘I’d love to do xyz but it’s not possible because….’ To ‘it is possible and I will take the steps I need to take to make it happen.

It might not be easy.  It will probably take courage and determination to make changes.  We might want to give up.  We might need support.

But now we know.  If we want change, we need to take action.

How does this shift in perspective happen?

So often the thing that shifts us from drifting to steering comes from outside of us.  For example, a deadline, a divorce, redundancy.  How do we move ourselves from drifting to steering without one of these external influences?

I think there are several ways, including becoming aware that we are drifting through life, that we are doing something we don’t really want to be doing and not taking our dreams seriously.   We could explore our own beliefs and values, to see if they match the life we are living.  A powerful excercise can be to explore our dreams and create a vision of the future that motivates us to make it happen.  We can structure our lives so we can more easily do the thing we want to do (eg set aside time each day to write, if writing a novel is the dream).


What about you?

I’m really interested to know what has moved you from drifting to steering.

Have you had the experience of having some dream that you wanted to do ‘one day’, but that you didn’t ever get round to doing, perhaps because you were too busy, or you didn’t think it was possible?  And then you did start to do it?  What was the thing that made you take action?

Or are you stuck right now, wondering how to steer a course towards your dreams?

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Walking in summer rain

I walk on,

aware of grey storm clouds

gathering,

darkening,

first few spots of rain.

The estuary beckons.

I walk on.

The clouds open,

rain pounding on my

waterproof jacket,

pouring streams down

my legs, drenching

my cotton trousers,

filling my shoes.

I walk on,

the estuary misty

shades of silver.

For the raindrops

bouncing off my head,

running down my legs,

I am simply a detour

between the clouds

and the sea.

I walk home,

feet surprisingly warm

as my body heats

the rain in my shoes.

This is what it is

to be

alive.

Words

Here, unexpectedly

I rediscovered my love

of words;

yours, and mine.

I take the feeling

deep within

and pour it out

across the screen

lightheartedly.

Or I wait

for the words

to strike,

to pass through,

from who knows where.

A communion

from my heart

to yours.

Rough edges

My garden,

like much of my life,

a little scruffy,

a little rough around the edges,

beautiful to my eyes

but perhaps not everyone’s

cup of tea.

Today I watched

a queen red-tailed bumblebee

dusted in golden pollen

feasting on a dandelion,

mother of next summer’s bees

sustained by my laziness,

my dislike of weeding.

Perfection may ensnare us

but it is a sterile thing,

there is treasure

to be found

in the wild,

in the untamed,

at the rough edges of life.

Inspiration

‘I want to write a poem’
never works for me.
I have to wait.
I have to go to the places
where inspiration lies.
Sometimes I glimpse it
quietly sleeping
in a grey sky full of rain,
or shouting for attention
through the flowers and birds.
Sometimes I glimpse it
within myself
and I have to be quiet enough to hear it.
A blog post from a writer I admire
sparks a train of thought,
or I glimpse an old quote in
a book, inspiration travelling
across time and space.
Or I walk.
Usually I just walk,
and the world nudges me
into attention.

River of wings

It starts with a drip, a drop, a splash

as a handful of starlings zoom past my window,

causing me to glance up from the computer screen.

I get back to work, but then

the trickle becomes a stream

and holds me, mesmerized.

Pulses, waves of flickering, fluttering birds,

hundreds, then thousands.

I cannot help but marvel,

following them with my eyes as they streak past,

just one tributary of a giant river of wings,

following them with my mind

to the nearby reedbeds

where they will join, and dance.

Thousands upon thousands coordinated

in breathtaking choreography

until on some secret signal

they descend to the reeds to roost.

Outside my window the river slows to a trickle

For a while, small flocks of stragglers whizz by

just drips and drops as darkness falls.

Sleep tight, little birds.