Rooted in connection

There are moments that quietly mark the passing of time; moments you know you'll remember long after they've occurred.

This week, one of those moments came at a local children's theme park rather than in a quiet woodland or alongside the river.

"Auntie Carolynnnnnn!"

I looked up just in time to see my six-year-old nephew hurtling earthwards on the pirate ship, his face filled with pure exhilaration as he proudly made sure I was watching.

It made me smile, because of his obvious excitement, but also because only ten minutes earlier he had stood firmly on the ground, watching his dad and brother climb aboard while insisting there was no way he was going on, declaring that he was afraid of heights.

Twelve rides later, he was impossible to stop. He and his twin brother racing back to the queue each time they got off, holding hands as they waited to get back on. Only the ‘fear of missing out’ on a giant Foam Party broke the spell, albeit briefly, before they returned for more.

Watching him, I couldn't help wondering how many opportunities we stand beside because they look frightening from where we're standing. Children seem to understand something that many of us forget as adults: courage isn't the absence of fear; it's discovering that sometimes, on the other side of fear, is joy.

Perhaps what touched me even more than his bravery was hearing those words, "Auntie Carolynnnnnn!" called across the park. After years apart as a family, those simple moments of belonging feel even more precious.

I didn't take a single photograph that day. My phone stayed in my bag because I was too busy being present, laughing, talking and simply enjoying being together. Sometimes the best memories are the ones we experience fully rather than viewing through a lens.

The children continued to teach me throughout the week.

One nephew spoke thoughtfully about a wildfire we could see billowing smoke into the sky, explaining how dangerous they are for wildlife and why we all need to take extra care during hot weather. I found myself deeply impressed that someone so young already understood the importance of protecting the natural world. It gave me hope that the next generation may grow up with an even deeper appreciation of the environment than many of us did.

Later, over the weekend, I watched my granddaughter, who has always been a little quieter, suddenly come alive during the evening. Buoyed, perhaps, by recent sporting successes, she confidently entertained us all with one funny story after another once her younger brother had gone to bed. It was such a joy to witness. Confidence often grows so gradually that we barely notice it until one day it announces itself.

The countryside, too, seemed to be telling its own story of change.

The wheat fields have now been harvested, leaving tall, Jenga-like towers of straw waiting patiently in the fields to be collected. The broad beans have gone too, revealing ground that looks almost scorched after weeks without meaningful rain.

Walking beside the river, the dust hung heavily in the air, while thistles towered beside us, brushing against our arms and legs as though determined to remind us they belonged there rather than us.

A lone lapwing called with its distinctive kazoo like cry overhead while a green sandpiper announced its presence with its familiar sharp, screeching call before disappearing across the river. Dragonflies, so abundant only a short while ago, were conspicuous in their absence now that the pond has almost disappeared.

Then, finally, the weather changed last night.

As we walked, the heavens opened and we were completely soaked. We welcomed every drop. After weeks of relentless heat, the cool rain felt wonderfully restorative.

Almost as quickly as it had arrived, it passed, leaving behind two beautiful rainbows stretching across the sky. The colours around us then seemed richer somehow, refreshed by the brief watering.

Round bales still in the fields glistened in the returning sunshine, butterflies emerged from wherever they had sheltered, and dozens of dunnocks darted from the path ahead of us. Above us, bank swallows swooped and twisted effortlessly through the damp evening air, taking full advantage of the sudden plethora of insects that the rain had brought. Nature wastes very little time when opportunity arrives.

With the crops now gone, the deer have become easier to spot once more. One bounded gracefully into the trees ahead of us whilst two others watched cautiously from the edge of a harvested field before slipping into the towering miscanthus. Ever watchful, ever wary.

It was lovely, too, to see our friendly swan, Dyson, back on his ponds after some weeks away. Sadly, he was alone this time. I wonder what has become of the mate he nested with earlier in the year after their unsuccessful breeding attempt. I hope, in time, he finds companionship again.

Amongst all of this, I was delighted to welcome a new long-term coaching client. It's a partnership I'm genuinely excited about, not simply because they have placed their trust in me, but because they inspire me too.

Coaching has always felt like a privilege; a chance to walk alongside someone as they discover their own answers and perhaps find the courage to take that first step towards something they once thought was beyond them.

I spent time with fellow coaches this week in one of our regular conversation spaces. Every time we meet, I come away energised by the generosity, honesty, openness and encouragement within the group. It reminds me how important it is that none of us journeys alone. We all need people who listen, challenge, support and believe in us.

Perhaps that was the thread running through my week.

Connection.

• Connection with family that continues to deepen and heal.

• Connection with fellow professionals who strengthen my belief in the work I do.

• Connection with clients who trust me enough to walk beside them for a while.

• Connection with the natural world that, as always, quietly reflects life's rhythms back to me and replenishes my soul and energy.

  
  

As I searched through thousands of nature photographs while creating a birthday calendar for a relative, I found myself travelling through the seasons once again. Month after month, familiar places looked completely different, yet each held its own beauty.

It reminded me that no season lasts forever. Dry fields welcome rain. Bare branches become green once more. Wildlife disappears, then returns. Even difficult seasons eventually give way to something new.

Children have a wonderful way of reminding us of things that we've forgotten.

This week they reminded me that courage grows by trying, confidence grows by being encouraged, connection grows simply by spending time together, and caring for the natural world begins long before adulthood.

As I look back over the week, I feel grateful.

This feeling didn't arrive through one extraordinary event. It arrived in laughter carried across a theme park, in thoughtful conversations whilst sat together on the sofa, in rain falling onto thirsty fields, in swallows dancing through fresh evening air, in a new coaching partnership, and in looking back through photographs that quietly reminded me that change is not something to fear.

Sometimes growth begins with a single courageous step.

Sometimes it begins with recognising the places, people and moments where we already belong.

Perhaps that's why, as this week draws to a close, I don't just feel hopeful about what might come next. I feel rooted in it.

Like the trees I love spending time amongst, the strongest things in our lives are often those that deepen quietly beneath the surface.

Relationships.

Confidence.

Hope.

Purpose.

They all grow through connection.

And perhaps, in nurturing those connections, we slowly discover where we belong.

As you head into the week ahead, perhaps take a moment to notice the connections that are quietly taking root in your own life. They may be closer than you think!