Rooted, rather than rushed.

23:58 I decided.

Scrambling from the plastic chair I’d been sitting on, I pulled on my shorts, tugged a t-shirt over my head and pulled the keycard from its slot in the wall shutting off the air con and killing the lights.

My bare feet slapped against the sun warmed paving slabs as I ran, the heat remaining despite the moonlight bathing the path. A laugh, unfiltered ripped from my chest, lost to the night air flowing past me as the still warm stone gave way to cool sand, the night having stripped the heat from it as I rushed towards the shore.

Spinning into the waves I stopped with my arms wide and took a deep breath, the first of my 30s with the swell of the sea around me bathed in the silver light of the moon, feeling both wildly alive and still.

Spending the first 30 minutes of my 30th birthday walking ankle deep along the shore was magical in itself - sitting back on the balcony with an earl grey and seeing a shooting star with the brightest tail I’ve ever encountered afterwards though - cemented it.

Even as I write it knowing I lived it, it sounds like fiction or a very romanticised version of the truth.. yet, it’s just the truth.

Over the last two weeks I’ve noticed when the heat from a day spent in the sun has radiated between my skin and a linen shirt in the evening, or has been brushed away by a breeze not much cooler.

I’ve felt the glide of water over my shoulders, the spray of the sea against my legs dangling over the side of a boat. I’ve felt the weight of salt water and its contrast to the silky lightness of the pool.

The warmth of the tiles remaining underfoot - helped by spending much of that time barefoot, and the coolness of the saturated sand when the tide has receded.

Because I’ve been present. Truly present not just in a place, but within my own body - something I’ll own up to being notoriously bad at.

I’m not convinced planting my feet beneath my desk and ‘grounding’ myself during my working day is likely to provide the same sense of stillness or wholeness via a TEAMs tune in - but it has made me wonder when I’d last been that grounded.

Because the presence did something even more unexpected - it gave answers to things I’ve long thought on and rarely reached an answer for, as though tuning in had switched something else on and thinking about it before had only served to keep clarity at bay.

There were no pangs of worry, no twists of anxiety or feelings of sadness along with them; just calmness, bittersweet acceptance in places, happiness in others and a clear idea of ‘what next’.

There’s little doubt that those experiences are far more easily achieved on a tropical island; but walking out of the airport to notice the difference in the air between here, and there or savour the taste of tea made from my own kettle were reassuring indicators that kind of presence can linger.

Because that kind of presence sets the foundation of who we are, and holds it.

When we’re overwhelmed we can easily lose our footing and find ourselves carried forward, rather than moving forward propelled by motion around us rather than knowing inside of us.

Grounding is about more than staying calm, or setting ourselves into a place in time.

It’s about standing firm in our own foundations so that we can really show up as ourselves, regardless of setting and move forward with intention.

It’s about being rooted in a world - both professional and personal - that too often feels rushed.

Though I am in a mild hurry for the ber-months to make an appearance and for the nights to close in cosy once again.