Sanare

This weekend I am retreating in Sark.

It fills me with great joy to be back here with like-minded friends, enjoying the delights of Stocks Hotel, wonderful company and, of course, lots of yoga.

Usually when I come here, I have been battling burnout. In previous years I have rarely left the hotel. I would rest, enjoy the facilities, use the amazing baths if I was lucky enough to have one in my room, sometimes catch up on work, sometimes use the quiet time to order Christmas presents, and sometimes simply disappear into a good book.

This time feels different.

This time I have left the hotel.

In fairness, I didn’t go very far and I had my amazing support team with me.

The oracle cards over the last couple of days have been remarkably direct. Their message has essentially been, “Go outside” and “Swim.”

So I did.

After yoga and brunch, we packed our bags and set off through the ethereal beauty of Little Dixcart Valley towards Dixcart Bay. Sunlight filtered through the trees, birds sang overhead, and everything felt just a little magical.

I realised as we walked that I had never actually been there before. In fact, despite all my visits to Sark over the years, I had never swum in Sark either.

But I had decided that perhaps it was time.

In recent years my comfort zone has grown smaller. Illness, exhaustion and life’s challenges have a way of quietly shrinking our worlds if we’re not careful. Yet as I get older, I find myself increasingly wanting to step beyond those boundaries. Not in huge dramatic ways, but in gentle ones.

To surprise myself.

To prove that I can.

To find the joy waiting on the other side.

One of the great pleasures of these retreats is always the company. Everyone is there for the yoga, but the friendships that form are every bit as nourishing. We talk, we share, we support one another, and we laugh.

Sometimes we laugh so much that tears stream down our faces.

There is something wonderfully heart-opening about genuine laughter. The kind that bubbles up unexpectedly and takes hold of everyone around you. The kind that makes your stomach ache and your worries disappear, if only for a little while.

As it turned out, the universe had one more opportunity for laughter planned.

We reached the beach, stripped down to our bathers and stood looking at the sea. The sun had come out, the water sparkled invitingly and the bay looked beautiful.

I started making my way towards the shoreline.

Without swim shoes.

Across a pebbly beach.

Already, this perhaps wasn’t my finest decision.

A couple of the seasoned swimming ladies were straight in, confidently making their way into the water while I was still carefully negotiating the stones beneath my feet and trying to find something resembling comfortable footing.

Then the waves arrived.

Not gentle little waves.

Proper rolling waves.

One after another.

The sea surged towards me, then dragged itself back out again, taking me with it.

I screamed.

The waves crashed over me.

I screamed some more.

Then I laughed.

Then I shrieked.

Then I laughed even harder.

Before I quite knew what was happening, I was unceremoniously dumped onto my bottom and dunked into the cold, clear water.

And I could not stop laughing.

The sheer joy of it.

The freedom.

The ridiculousness.

The carefreeness.

I wasn’t worrying about how I looked. I wasn’t worrying about getting wet. I wasn’t worrying that my sunglasses and hair were now thoroughly coated in seawater.

I wasn’t worrying about anything.

I was simply being.

A turtle stranded on its back came to mind as I flailed around in the surf.

As soon as I managed to get upright, another wave arrived and down I went again.

Still laughing.

Still shrieking.

Still finding the whole thing utterly hilarious.

There was something so liberating about it all.

For those few minutes, there was no overthinking, no analysing, no planning, no responsibility.

Just cold water, sunshine, friendship, laughter and joy.

Pure, uncomplicated joy.

When we finally emerged from the sea, dripping and exhilarated, my very first thought was:

“When are we doing that again?”

And perhaps that was the lesson.

Sometimes healing isn’t found in stillness.

Sometimes it isn’t found in meditation, journaling or quiet contemplation.

Sometimes healing looks like being knocked over by the sea whilst surrounded by people who are cheering you on and laughing with you.

Sometimes it looks like doing the thing that feels a little bit scary.

Sometimes it looks like stepping beyond the edges of your comfort zone and discovering that on the other side is delight.

I am finding so much joy in gently pushing those boundaries. In saying yes to things I might once have declined. In surprising myself. In collecting moments that make my heart feel fuller and my spirit feel lighter.

So, another magical weekend in Sark.

Another memory made.

Another lesson learned.

And perhaps the most important reminder of all:

Never underestimate the healing power of cold water, good friends and laughing until your sides hurt.

🌿 Wherever you are this week, may you find a little joy waiting just beyond the edge of your comfort zone.