Finding calm in chaos

Keeping your head above water during big life changes

Shifting sands

They say that moving house is one of the most stressful things that can happen to you. And reader, don’t I know it.

A few months ago, I relocated to Silverdale, home of ancient woodlands and the bleak beauty of Morecambe Bay. My partner and I had always talked about The Silverdale House, but it was a shimmering mirage. I had visions of scrambling sweet peas and curling up with a tabby cat, reading a novel by the crackling fire.

It was never the plan to move. I couldn’t imagine a way out of my flat in Manchester. But the dream lingered.

A quiet voice asked: What if? Out of curiosity, I opened Rightmove. It was then I saw it - the stone house almost hidden by the wild cottage garden. In that moment, I fell in love. I couldn’t quite afford it, but that wasn’t going to stop me. I threw everything at it - artful negotiation, half-truths, and the full force of my determination.

As often happens, that one change brought a constellation of other transitions as I walked away from my old career, moved in with my partner for the first time, and entered unchartered waters with my business. It was a time of shifting sands.

The vision versus the reality

So, I finally collected the keys. The house was ramshackle and romantic. The kind of place people describe as ‘full of character,’ closely followed by ‘project’. And all of those things were true.

Moving into a damp house in winter is not something I would recommend, especially if there’s a small hole in the roof. Things were tight. Each day, I lived in fear that we would discover something else we couldn’t afford to fix. There were weeks of living with an unexplained puddle in the kitchen.

And worse was to come. I usually seek solace in a run, but I became increasingly breathless. My lungs rasped as I struggled to gulp in the cold air. I later discovered I had allergic asthma. In a cruel twist, I learned the triggers were three of my favourites - exercise outside, my cat Prince, and, unsurprisingly, the damp house. These were the things I had most vehemently desired in this new life. It felt like the universe was teaching me a lesson.

When I walk around the bay, I’m often shocked by its beauty. I still cannot quite believe that I live here. I experience it as a kind of disassociation. While at times my life feels like something out of Beatrix Potter, there are equally days more reminiscent of Uncle Monty’s Cottage in Withnail and I.

Of course, the reality could not match my richly embroidered vision. Life is not perfect - there are nuances, texture. Even if a change is at a surface level a positive change, it can still be destabilising. In my case, I was living my dream - I was a writer living in Silverdale. But it didn’t solve all my problems. And I was still finding my feet as this new person I was becoming.

The dangers of grasping

A friend once told me a story about navigating troubled waters. If you’re in a boat heading towards rapids, there are two ways to deal with the situation. As my Grandad might have said, you can row like billy-o, pouring everything into avoiding the rocks. Or, you can let things take their course. It’s going to be a rocky ride, so you may as well conserve your energy. I can see the wisdom of the latter, and yet my instinct is to lean into the former.

This grasping at an outcome can so often be counterproductive. When we panic, we get laser-focused and can’t see other possibilities. I’m reminded of the sinking sands where I live. People say the more you struggle, the more likely you are to become trapped.

Grasping not only rarely gets us the outcome we want, but it also wastes energy. So often when we hold onto things too tightly, it causes pain. And that’s why I’m learning to embrace acceptance. Only when we come to terms with reality can we grow.

The changing tide

Nature is a great healer. I’ve created a new ritual where I head out to a secluded spot on the estuary every weekend. The coastline here is about as far from striped deckchairs and sticks of rock as you can imagine. Instead, you’ll find gleaming shallows or empty expanses of mudflats, depending on the tide. Waves are strangely absent, except for a few days after a new or full moon.

What I find fascinating is that the channels that flow through the estuary move constantly. Over generations, the landscape alters unrecognisably. In the Edwardian period, a promenade was built at nearby Grange-over-Sands as it enjoyed newfound popularity as a seaside resort. Now, the area surrounding the front has silted up. Saltmarsh has taken over.

With the world around me shape-shifting every day, I’m reminded of the inevitability of change. I’ve now reached a place I would have seen as a dream a few years ago. But I hear another voice. And what now?

It’s a question I don’t have answers to yet. I let myself become unmoored, accepting this ebb and flow of my identity.

Finding fluidity

As I contemplate bringing my next dream to life, I wonder how I can move through these transitions with greater ease. Deep down, I sense that sometimes you feel most rooted when you embrace the flow, when you find fluidity. This is finding calm in the chaos. So often we look for external answers, but we need transformation within.

I’m learning that the secret is not to panic when we notice this change is happening, but to watch curiously, and see what unfolds.

As I’m coming out of this change, I’m beginning to dream again, only this time, more lightly. While I know the reality can never live up to the dream, I believe hope is powerful. It can sustain us, nourish us. But this time I won’t grasp onto my vision quite so tightly.

Of course, the bay isn’t the only thing that’s changing at this time of year. After a long drab winter, my cottage garden is showing signs of life emerging from the forlorn soil. I wonder what surprises this year will bring. Because that’s the thing with impermanence. From endings come new beginnings.

What have you learned from big life transitions?

I’m curious about your stories - how has change changed you? Let me know what you’ve learned in the comments.