A Day of Renewal

A Day of Renewal

Yesterday almost never happened.

I woke just after six and, despite trying, couldn't get back to sleep. After coffee and toast I settled onto the sofa, drifting in and out of a light doze. I felt tired, heavy and distinctly unmotivated. Four days had passed since my last visit to the gym and part of me was already convincing myself that one more day wouldn't matter.

I know how easily one missed day becomes two. Before long the pattern quietly starts to unravel, so eventually I stopped debating with myself, packed my bag and left.

An hour later I was glad I had.

My working life is almost entirely lived in my head. Every day revolves around solving problems, making decisions and constantly thinking ahead. The gym brings me back to something much simpler. Muscles work, breathing deepens and attention settles on the next repetition rather than the next meeting or tomorrow's jobs.

As the session went on, so did my energy. Some of the weights that had challenged me only a few weeks ago now felt surprisingly comfortable, enough that I increased them slightly without much difficulty. Progress had happened almost without me noticing.

Like most people, I found myself occasionally looking around the room. Some people were lifting much lighter weights than I was and yet looked considerably leaner and more defined. There was a brief flicker of frustration before I caught myself smiling. It is easy to compare journeys when we only see a single moment of someone else's.

By the time I left, the tiredness that had pinned me to the sofa had disappeared and I drove straight to St Helen's Spring.

The first step into the water always brings that familiar shock. For a moment it feels intensely cold, almost painful, before something changes. The resistance fades, breathing steadies and the water becomes refreshing rather than hostile. I slipped beneath the surface almost without thinking, emerging with that familiar sense of wakefulness that only cold water seems able to bring.

Afterwards I sat beside the pool listening to the steady dripping of water into the spring. It is a sound that never seems to end. I have often wondered how long I could sit there before losing all sense of time. Minutes become impossible to count, while the world beyond the trees grows strangely distant and the small pool in front of me becomes an entire landscape in itself.

Each visit seems a little different. Birds move through the woodland almost unconcerned by my presence now, as though I have gradually become another quiet part of the place rather than something passing through it. Even after all this time, the spring still has a way of surprising me.

Back at home I made myself something to eat.

Halloumi, chorizo, peppers and red onion went into the air fryer while I mixed cooled new potatoes with mayonnaise, Greek yoghurt, herbs, spring onion and a little horseradish. I had enjoyed a friend's potato salad recently and wanted to experiment with my own version.

It would certainly have been quicker to put a ready meal in the microwave, but I enjoyed the process of making something. Wondering whether the flavours would work together and looking forward to finding out was all part of the pleasure. Living alone makes it easy to settle for convenience, yet there is something quietly satisfying about taking the time to prepare a proper meal simply because you want to.

Later in the afternoon I headed over to Fairlight.

Walking barefoot across the Downs, the wind was impossible to ignore. Normally I associate strong winds with losing warmth, but this one felt different. It carried the freshness of the sea while remaining surprisingly warm. The higher I climbed the more exposed the path became, yet the breeze never once felt uncomfortable.

Rosebay willowherb had gone to seed, sending countless white tufts drifting across the hillside where they caught amongst the brambles in delicate clusters. A tiny mouse darted through the undergrowth before disappearing just as quickly.

By the time I reached the beach I realised there were fewer people than I had expected. The sea stretched away beneath the cliffs while the wind moved steadily across the shoreline. I left my clothes behind and walked slowly across the stones, feeling their warmth beneath my feet and the breeze across my skin.

For a long while I simply sat watching the waves.

Driven by the wind, they rolled towards the shore in long lines before breaking against the rocks with a deep, resonant boom. As they crossed the offshore sandbanks the water changed from deep blue to cloudy brown, lifting the seabed before settling again. Each wave seemed to gather an immense amount of energy before releasing it all in a single moment, only for another to arrive behind it.

Without noticing, my breathing gradually settled into the same rhythm and time became less important. I read a little more of Wild Spirituality, although before long I found myself putting the book down simply to watch the sea instead.

Eventually I wandered across to one of the larger sandstone boulders and, without really thinking why, rested my hand upon it.

It felt rather like completing a circuit.

My attention seemed to travel beyond the stone itself into the cliffs behind me, the layers beneath the beach and the landscape stretching far beyond what I could actually see. The sandstone beneath my hand felt solid and enduring, yet I found myself thinking how deceptive that appearance really is.

The cliffs are changing even now, grain by grain, winter by winter and storm by storm. Their movement is simply measured in timescales far longer than a human life.

Standing there barefoot, feeling the warmth of the rock beneath my feet, the wind moving across my skin and the scent of salt carried on the air, it became impossible to separate myself from everything around me. For a few quiet moments I wasn't looking at the landscape. I was simply standing within it.

Not far away a broad, flat slab of sandstone still held the warmth it had absorbed throughout the afternoon, so I stretched out upon it. The rock released its warmth slowly while the sea breeze cooled the air above me. Between the two I found myself completely comfortable, and before long I drifted off to sleep.

When I opened my eyes again, the sun had begun to sink behind the cliffs. Long shadows stretched across the beach while golden light scattered across the restless surface of the sea, each wave catching it for the briefest moment before carrying it away again.

I stood, brushed the sand from my skin and began the walk back to the car.

The same wind was still blowing.

The same waves were still breaking.

Nothing around me had really changed.

Yet everything felt different.

I had left home that morning tired, reluctant and lacking energy. Driving home that evening, I no longer thought about any of that. I simply found myself looking forward to doing it all again.