The Reward is the Journey

I wouldn't say that it keeps me awake at night, but I am aware of a low level hum of a concern that I have been sitting with for a while now...    To become a mindfulness teacher I undertook one of the most rigorous trainings I could have stumbled across (and which, truth be told, I probably rather underestimated when first applying).    I was given fair warning at my interview.  Sat in front of me were three individuals whose names I had been familiar with for several years, whose thoughts and opinions I had read and respected.  Ascertaining what cognitions were around for me at that particular moment was none too tricky.  And naming my feelings would have come very easily there and then.     It had been a while since I sat in a panel interview situation and I can't recall ever jumping for joy on discovering that such a scenario would feature in any recruitment process.  I was daunted.  But the...

This week I have been giving particular thought to the role of resilience in stress reduction, and the benefits of a mindfulness practice in the development or enhancement of resilience. I was delighted to have an opportunity to present some of my ideas to in-house lawyers at the BBC on Wednesday and inspired by some initial research have given the subject a little more thought, formulating some of this theory into a (hopefully) digestible form for a 'Staying Mindful' workshop I held this afternoon for individuals seeking to refresh their mindfulness practice.   Were I to introduce myself and my work, I would say that I am interested in the reduction and/or alleviation of suffering.  This is a common thread across the different contexts I move between, as a psychotherapist and as a mindfulness teacher.    I have, I think, developed something of an understanding of the territory of depression and, collating the evidence gathered both from a pe...

  It's been a long time coming.  But it's done now.  Yesterday evening I made my debut at the Lido.  My first outdoor swimming experience of the year.  Somehow, my routine has seemingly not permitted me to spend nearly enough time exercising outdoors.    I have, I know, been a tad busy...    Yesterday was great.  I swam just under 2k which was, in fact, probably a little more than 2k.  Swimming lengths of 91m (that's 100 yards, in old money) in a pool without lane ropes means I likely clocked up quite a bit more as, I now realise, I struggle to swim in a straight line.    Keeping on the straight and narrow has, historically, been something of a challenge.    These days, I like to think I do it better.   Until I'm in a pool in which I can't see from one end to the other (for all the swimming gizmos and gadgetry I do not, yet, have prescription goggles so must remain chronically short ...

I was pleased to offer her a seat.  My eyes could barely leave the pair of them.  Rather out of place - on the busy tube, crowded full of commuters - thought I...   Grandmother and granddaughter.  Grandmother visiting granddaughter who has not long arrived in London - I thought...   They were, I could see, equally enthusiastic to see one another.   It was beautiful. They were beautiful.   Grandmother could not resist but remark on granddaughter's dress.  A little too short not to be wearing tights.   Granddaughter (managing well in her skyscraper high heels) only smiles in response.   The love between them so apparent I feel I could reach out and touch it.   It made my journey.  It made my day.  It will stay with me a while longer.        Art on the Tube - Central Line Series - Michael Landy's project 'Acts of Kindness'     ...

I was thrilled to realise that we were in the right place at the right time.  The World Press Photo competition has been an exhibition I have now appreciated viewing a few years in succession.  'Enjoyed' probably isn't the right verb.  Many of the images hit home hard.  That's the point.  The journalist communicates without words.  The pictures speak for themselves.   And this year was no exception.   I was mystified by 'Signal' the winning entry and stood confronted by it, as though frozen to the spot in De Nieuwe Kerk, the imposing Church situated on Dam Square where the 2014 exhibition has begun its tour which will visit 45 cities around the globe.        Signal is an image of technical ingenuity.  But, beyond this, it really is an image of our time.  It portrays African migrants on the shores of Djibouti City raising their phones in the moonlight...

There is no shortage of things to amuse the discerning visitor to Amsterdam.  Tucked between the less salubrious merchandise and experiences on offer are some truly magnificent pearls of culture which I cannot help but inhale deeply each time I come here.    This trip has been no different in that respect, and high on my list was a return visit to the Stedelijk where we stumbled across an enormous exhibition charting the career of one of the Netherlands' most renown designers, Marcel Wanders.  The basement was the perfect setting in which to show off this design guru's vision-made-real.      If poetry is about love and art is about love and theatre is about love and if opera is about love... why do we think design is about... functionality? Marcus Wanders   Marcel Wanders - Pinned Up, at the Stedelijk Museum (2014)     We are all poets, secretly engineering. Marcel Wanders    ...

Amsterdam has, for a few years now, been a place of retreat for me.  I have frequented the city on vacation more often than any other and have loved spending time exploring the many sites, and discovering those not found in the guidebooks I once purchased and perused as I first got my bearings in Holland.   I was drawn to the nation of tulips and windmills by a very dear friend, herself now an English expat who has, with her husband, (and now 14 month old daughter - but more about this little snowflake later) made Amsterdam very much home.  And now, having enjoyed such wonderful times in this city, coming here has become, for me, something of a homecoming.    We met 6 years ago this month, in the pleasant surroundings of a country house retreat centre where we were both attending/undertaking the Hoffman Process.  Our friendship was one of the several precious gifts I left with at the end of the exhausting...

I breathed it in.  Slowly.  And deeply.   It was wonderfully restorative escaping to the coast.  I felt my shoulders drop, and my mind ease.  It wasn't as though my troubles disappeared but they certainly faded.  As though into the middle distance.  Sinking into the horizon.  The drama of late seemed less oppressive, and thus not nearly so demanding.   In that moment, very little mattered.    I felt re-connected.  To who, or what I know not.  Maybe it doesn't matter.    To myself, and to nature.  To my own true nature, perhaps.         

I was reminded recently of the importance of the right support.  When things get tough, sometimes we need to get tougher.  Sometimes we need to get stronger.  And strength, I have found, comes sometimes from the most unlikely sources.     Oftentimes I will explore with a client what their support network looks like.  There's no coincidence about my choice of words here.  I care not at all for jargon.  But in this context, 'network' means what it says.  Net-Work:  It is a net for us to fall onto, or into.  And it needs to work to be worth having.    The sales assistant knew what she was talking about (she sold me the most wonderful pocket sprung pillow).  Never before have I found a pillow like it.  The comfort is in the support.    I find enormous comfort in the support I know I am surrounded by.         

Standing there (for, what felt like, ever) emulating a mighty Warrior my wonderful yoga teacher's compliment sank right the way down through my body - through my hands, and arms, my tired shoulders, down my back (which hasn't felt quite itself for the last 24 hours; it's been so well stretched) and into my legs.    "Very strong" she remarked, as she subtly but significantly adjusted me.   In that moment, I felt grounded, and resilient.  I knew I could breathe a few more deep breaths, and felt myself rooting down, and bending my left knee a little deeper, feeling my weight distributed between each of my legs (by now feeling the workout), supported by the floor beneath me.    Yoga is non-negotiable for me just now.  It is, quite simply, an essential and immovable part of my routine.  Those 60 or 90 minutes are absolutely invaluable and whilst not always transformative, are genuinely restorative.  I fee...

I meet everyone before they begin a mindfulness course I am running.  The more I teach, the more important I believe these pre course meetings to be.    On average, I spend as much time in these individual meetings as we will spend together as a group, and experience has shown me that it really is a very important part of the process.   There is something about meeting face to face that crystallises motivation and solidifies intention - both of which are, it would seem, significant determinants of outcome, in terms of what someone approaching a mindfulness programme is likely to get from coming.   These meetings are precious opportunities for participants to meet me, their teacher, and to ask anything and everything they might wish to know before the start of a course.  From the outset, I seek to answer the enquiries I am met with from my position as a practitioner.    For this is where my teaching is born.  I, like th...

There can be no doubt that we've made some progress.  There have been significant shifts in the media portrayal of those who identify as sitting somewhere above or beyond the gender binary.  I was reminded of this at a conference organised and attended by those interested in supporting those for whom the trans* identity appeals.    For far too long, those of us who did not subscribe to, or comfortably fit into, the boxes hitherto afforded to us have been pathologised as deluded or perverted.  It is no longer inconceivable to have experiences that validate, or even honour an alternative identity.    Gender is the poetry each of us makes out of the language we are taught. Leslie Feinberg, Trans Liberation: Between Pink or Blue     Gender is, after all, what resides between your ears, not your legs.  It is not fixed and can be fluid.  It might be best regarded as a...

I can't remember the last time I went to a zoo.  I think I've avoided them, put off by overcrowded and unfitting enclosures that felt all too enclosing for the inhabitants, with too much emphasis on their exposure as revenue generators by expectant onlookers.    So this weekend's expedition was somewhat unexpected.  And wildly different to my preconceptions which were all exceeded, by a mile.    Edinburgh's zoo is simply splendid.  Spanning an 82 acre park and boasting an impressive tree collection, it lives its mission statement: "to excite and inspire our visitors with the wonder of living animals, and so to promote the conservation of threatened species and habitats."   Perfectly situated upon a hill above the city, the views are spectacular and, together with the resident attractions, have been exciting visitors for just over a century.    Currently Scotland's second most popular paid-for tourist attraction (aft...

It was a refreshingly real piece of theatre which I enjoyed from start to finish.  I wanted to applaud louder, and for longer.  The young actors did a superb job, and spoke to their parts and to the audience as though from their hearts.    The Traverse Theatre was packed.  I was not displeased with a front row seat.  Pronoun is a piece of theatre whose awkward accuracy was somehow comfortable.  Dialogue involving and exploding the constructs assigned to gender is something I cannot get too close to.   Pronoun is an utterly brilliantly articulation of the sometimes terrifying journey of Dean, a young person navigating the early stages of transition - internally and externally; at home, at school, and in the big wide world.       A love story about transition, testosterone, and James Dean. Josh and Isabella are childhood sweethearts. They were meant to spend their gap year together, they were meant to be togeth...