Six ways to beat the autumn / winter blues

How to beat the autumn / winter blues

Every October I find myself sinking into the autumn blues. At the end of September I sense it coming; a grey cloud over the hill, a muddy puddle to trip into at the next step. My energy fades with the dying light and all I want to do is hide in my bed, curled up like a mouse.

This year is no different. But I’m doing my best to shake off the blues.

1) Get outside

Being outdoors and being active is the best kind of medicine. It feels like there is magic in the waters when I swim (wrapped up in my wetsuit) and in the trees above me when I walk. I take deep breaths of air and I feel the blues get blown away on the breeze like they are no heavier than feathers.

2) Or bring the outside inside

Fresh flowers on the table, autumn leaves pinned to my noticeboard. Following outdoorsy people on instagram. Putting up pictures of nature – places I’ve been, places to go. There are ways to bring the outside inside, even when it is dark and cold beyond the window.

3) Cups of tea

There is nothing quite like the sound of tea being poured from a pot into your favourite mug and watching the steam rise as the cup fills. Wrapping my hands around a mug of freshly brewed tea I feel safe and calm.

Fresh mint from my balcony, with a dribble of honey. The apple and cinammon teabags I first tried on a pottery-making workshop in an atelier in Montmartre (the smell of cinammon makes me think of Paris and wet clay). Green matcha tea – because the packet tells me it will ‘restore magical powers’.

4) Plan for the summer

I recently bought a 2017 calendar with the sole purpose of planning adventures for next year to look forward to during the winter. I flick through the pages to remind myself of all the possibilities – empty pages to be filled, sunny days to be enjoyed.

5) Lunchtime walks (or runs)

It seems unfair that the only daylight hours we get during the winter are spent at work. I’m trying to combat that by heading out for some fresh air on my lunchbreaks, either for a walk or run. Last week I ran from my office to the top of Primrose Hill. Standing at the top I felt like a superhero. I looked down at the park, painted shades of autumn, at the zoo, busy with families, and across at the buildings making a scruffy horizon. I am not a runner, but my very slow plod up the hill felt like my mountain. And it felt good to be at the top.

6) Make the most of the season

What does winter have that summer doesn’t? My favourite knitwear, unfolded and taken out of hiding. Scarves that feel like hugs and remind me of my mum. Slippers. The warm, orange glow of candles that smell of birthdays when they are blown out. Hot water bottles. The ‘winter duvet’ that feels like a giant marshmallow. Mince pies. Warming my bum against the radiator. The smell of wood-smoke from the boats on the canal. Pumpkins with smiley faces. Wellington boots with frog faces. Frosty cobwebs. And a grey sort of sadness. But also an opportunity to be kind to myself, to find big joy in the smallest things, and to spend time focusing on making myself happy.

How do you shake off the autumn / winter blues? Add your tips in the comments below

 

Discovering the Thames

 

Seeing a river from a duck’s level is completely different to seeing it from the bank. The Thames stretched ahead of us in an elegant curve, looking much wider than it had from the side. All along its length were plump trees that jostled each other and bulged over the bank into the water.

You notice things at this level that you don’t when you are walking along the edge. The pattern of the water stretching ahead of you, rumpled like a crinkled tablecloth; the size and awe-inspiring nature of the trees and the sky; waterboatmen swimming their crazy backstroke beside you, and the reeds blowing gently at the edges of the water.

It was a busy stretch of water, and as we swam we tucked in under the trees to let barges, river cruisers and little motorboats pass. The captains and their passengers waved at us and we waved back.

We swam up and down our little stretch and crossed over to the other side, looking back and forth in each direction as though we were crossing the road and watching for traffic. On the other side was a National Trust property and grounds (Cliveden) and people sat eating their sandwiches and watching us. A beautiful stone staircase swept down from the bank into the river, ornate with carvings and flourishes. We swam to it and wished we had a camera with us.

At points we swam with our heads down, Alex in front and me just behind and following in her bubbles. We swam in bursts to keep warm. I looked down into the water beneath me. It was mostly a milky green and too deep to see the bottom, but then a patch of weeds would loom out of the darkness, reminding me that water does always have an end. I wondered what other creatures shared this river. I didn’t want to see them – I was happy keeping ourselves to ourselves – but it was nice to know that other animals were with us in the water.

The cold clutched at my forehead and squeezed, feeling like the brain freeze that you get from eating ice cream too quickly. But then we would stop our front crawl and lift our heads like ducks bobbing up from under the surface. We lay on our backs, lazily watching the sky and the boats. Because for us, wild swimming is not just about swimming. Thinking that’s all there is to it misses the point.

It’s about the shock of the cold and the sense of adventure at leaving our dry clothes on the land and stepping out like explorers into an unknown stretch of water. It’s looking up at the sky that looks somehow different from the water, and realising how small you are but that it’s okay. It’s feeling part of nature, not just an observer on the shore. It makes me feel more alive than anything. Wild swimming is living.