This month’s journal is a reflection on proactive grief – choosing movement, connection, and small joys to live alongside loss. And how I’ve been doing that.
It’s the start of October, and the air is shifting. Okay, I’ll say it… it’s shifted. Summer is done. And the cool edge of autumn didn’t just creep in, it leapt in with both feet. We’ve now got the kind of weather that makes me want to wrap my hands around something warm and stare out the window a little longer than usual. As you might imagine, I’ve been thinking about grief again. Not in the heavy, all-consuming way I feel it sometimes. But in the quieter, persistent way it lingers. Like background music you didn’t choose but have learnt to live with.
This month, I’ve found myself leaning into something I’m calling proactive grief. Not a fix or a cure or a clever strategy. More a gentle yet purposeful nudge, a way of choosing things that help me stay present in the ache, without getting swallowed by it. Things that remind me I’m still here, still me.
I have somehow managed to fit in a good handful of little experiences that have provided some pleasure over the last handful of weeks. A hike in mid Wales to see some waterfalls. A mushroom-shaped cabin. Quality time with friends and family. Trips to the theatre. And a new Velvetiser that’s already earned its place in my evening rituals. All of it part of the same story. All of it held in the same breath.
On Proactive Grief
This idea of being intentional and proactive in grief has found its way into my thinking and conversations a lot this month. I’ve always been a practical person, a doer who finds satisfaction in completing tasks well. And while I am not naïve enough to think that grief can be tackled like a project I might run at work, the act of choosing to meet it with movement feels sensible. With small acts that help me stay connected to myself, even when I’m not quite sure who that self is anymore.
Losing my husband, my person for 23 years, the one I built my whole adult life with, has left me untethered in ways I didn’t expect. I have already learnt so much, but there’s still so much to learn. I mean, I knew from the moment I heard the news that I would grieve. I knew I would ache. More recently I learnt about the bone-deep sorrow that penetrates everything. And that grief makes me act in ways I don’t recognise.
But I didn’t know I’d also need to consciously work at still being me. That I’d have to choose – again and again – not to sink into a deep pit of sadness. To not let grief become the only thing that defines me. That consumes my whole being, so I have no other thoughts. Because that would be so easily done.
Even the things that were already mine – hiking, this blog, One Hour Outside, my daily habits – feel different. Like I’m relearning them. Relearning myself. And that takes effort. Choice. Saying yes to things even when I’d rather curl up and disappear for a while. And that just adds to the exhaustion that grief gifts people who are facing what I’m facing.
Little Adventures, Big Intentions
I know it sounds strange, but I’ve been consciously trying to be proactive. To do things that allow me to sit in my grief without getting stuck in it. Things that give my life some balance. Some reasons. Some connection. Some joy. Saying yes to dinner with friends, to walks, to coffee, to visits. Not every time. But a lot of the time. And planning things on my own; a trip to the cinema, seeing a show, packing a day pack and getting out all day. Because each yes, each activity, is a thread. A reminder that I’m still here. That I’m still becoming. That grief doesn’t get to take everything.
One of the ways I’ve been doing that is by planning little adventures – like my Quirky Stays. Even I thought they were a bit odd when I started, and I worried people might think I was either running away from my grief or coping so badly I couldn’t be at home.
But these two-night trips, dotted through the summer and into the autumn, are about looking for a pocket of peace, a bit of nature, and the kind of quiet that lets me think and feel without the weight of home pressing in. They’re not grand gestures or big adventures. But they are exactly what I mean by proactive grief: doing something that gives sorrow – gives me – somewhere to go. As well as a new memory to savour. Places where I can be alone but not lonely. Places that remind me I’m allowed to seek beauty, even now.
Something Bigger
I admit I’m craving something bigger, too. Something that stretches beyond the edges of this season. Quirky Stays are fun, and I see myself keeping those up for quite a while yet. But I want more.
Christmas is looming in the distance, and part of my proactive grief strategy is to do something very different with that time. Not just logistically, but emotionally. I need to mark the season in a way that claims it as mine – not as something to endure, but as something I can shape. Something that holds both memory and possibility. That feels like a choice. That feels like it could somehow take me forward.
And yet, even as I imagine booking some kind of outdoor adventure over the festive period—something that sounds like the best possible thing for me right now – it also makes me feel sick. Worry and doubt are constant companions. My confidence is being tested in ways I didn’t expect. I’ve never claimed to have it all figured out, but I’ve usually been pretty good at shrugging off the anxieties when they threaten to get in the way of living life to the full. This time, though, it’s harder. Harder to trust myself. Harder to quiet the noise. But I’m still trying. Still choosing. Still reaching for something that feels like mine.
In the Choosing
No one really talks about this part of grief. The part that sits somewhere in the middle, between the emotional extremes. It seems people expect me to either fall apart completely or bounce back and be totally fine. I’d go as far as to say that some people seem to think it’s strange that I’m coping. And others seem to think I’m deep in that pit of despair I mentioned earlier. I guess both are right. And neither.
I still don’t know how I really feel about it all – and I certainly don’t know how I’m meant to feel. The circumstances surrounding what happened to my husband are still being worked through, and it’ll be a long time yet before there are answers to the many questions that swim around my head. But there’s nothing I can do to change what happened, speed up processes, or influence outcomes. So, the only thing I can do is choose to live now. To do my best, even while all that goes on around me.
I’ve purposefully placed myself in the proverbial no man’s land. A slow, deliberate choosing to make decisions that keep a level balance in my mind and body. A kind of calculated stoicism, so the emotions at either end of the scale don’t take full control. And that’s where I am right now. In the choosing.
The Everyday Effort
Choosing to get up and make my morning cup of tea, even when the silence in the kitchen feels louder than it should. Choosing to reply to the message from a friend, or accept an invitation to meet up, even when I’m not sure I have the energy to talk. Choosing to pack my bag for a hike, knowing I’ll probably cry halfway up the hill, but also knowing I’ll feel more like myself at the top. Choosing to book a little break away, knowing I will have to check the details twenty times more than normal because my brain can’t hold onto logistical information for more than a second. And choosing to think about what adventure might look like for me in the future, even though the thought of not having my partner in crime to go with eats me up inside.
This kind of choosing is a form of proactivity. Not the loud, motivational kind. But the quiet, persistent kind that says: I’m still here. I am learning. It’s okay for me to want things. To plan things. To make an effort to live well. And to enjoy the things I choose. Even though it feels like the hardest choice I’ve ever made.
Some days, the choosing feels like a whisper. Other days, it’s a full-body effort. But every time I say yes – to movement, to connection, to small rituals – I’m reminding myself that I still get to participate in this life. That I’m not just surviving grief, I’m actively living alongside it.
This Month
So how have I been proactive this last month? What have I been up to? Well – a lot. Maybe too much. Possibly. I am very tired.
But tired in that good way, the kind that comes from saying yes to things. From choosing that movement and connection I talked about above, along with a very cute mushroom-shaped cabin… This past five or six weeks has been full of little adventures, big emotions, and a cow’s worth of milkshakes. All of it part of my ongoing attempt to live alongside grief by doing things that help me feel like myself, even though everything’s changed.
There was a fantastic walk to see waterfalls with my friend Emma, the kind of walk that leaves your legs aching and your heart a little lighter. My sister visited twice, which meant laughter, comfort, and the kind of conversations that only siblings can have. There was that Quirky Stay in a mushroom-shaped cabin which was all about relaxation, and a weekend in that there London to celebrate my cousin Ivan’s wedding. I saw Calamity Jane in Bristol and The Producers on the West End – two shows in one week, because why not? And I saw The Studio Orchestra perform their magical Animation programme, and took myself to see The Thursday Murder Club at the local posh cinema, complete with plush armchair and warm popcorn (I’m never going to a normal cinema again!).
Oh, and I bought the new Velvetiser, following my musings in my Derw cabin Quirky Stay vlog (you’ll find the Splodz Blogz YouTube channel here!). Now that’s proactive grief if ever I heard it. I resisted the original version for years, but when I saw the new one also makes perfect milkshakes? Well. That was me done for.
Not Enough Hiking (But Actually, Plenty)
I nearly called this section Not Enough Hiking, because technically, I’ve only managed about 20 miles this month. But I’m trying to stop counting the miles and start counting the moments. And when I look at the list of adventures as a whole, it’s all good.
There was the waterfalls walk at Penpych Woodland Park in Rhondda, Wales, with my good friend Emma – a very hot day, big views, stunning falls, a picnic lunch, and plenty of chatter. We even repeated the first section just to revisit the first waterfall so we could put our feet in, because why not? It was one of those walks that felt like a proper summer send-off.
Then there was a long local loop over Cleeve Hill with friends, to mark this year’s Heritage Open Days. Nine miles, one very steep hill, epic views, a proper storm, and tea and homemade cake inside two churches. Donations went to the Gloucestershire Historic Churches Trust, which felt like a lovely way to support the buildings that quietly hold so much local history.
And from the mushroom cabin at Dodford, I did a 5.5-mile loop including a stretch of the tow path along the Grand Union Canal at Weedon Bec. This was much-needed movement on an otherwise feet-up kind of trip, and a chance to test out the new KEEN Zionix NXT waterproof hiking boots my friends at KEEN sent me for this season. First impressions? Very comfortable. Full review to come once I’ve put more miles on them.
I’m still walking most days, even if it’s just a quick loop on my lunch break. It’s harder now the evenings are shorter, but it’s always worth the effort. Especially when there are views to be had.
Quirky Stay Teaser: The Magic Mushroom Cabin
I’m not sure I’ve ever stayed anywhere quite so cute. The Magic Mushroom Cabin in Dodford, Northamptonshire – booked via Canopy and Stars – is exactly what it sounds like: quirky, hand-built, and nestled in a garden with a pond, a vegetable patch, and the kind of quiet that makes you exhale without realising you were holding your breath.
Honestly, this one came at exactly the right moment. Forty-eight hours away from everything, in a place that offered my tired body and mind somewhere to retreat rather than venture.
It’s a one-of-a-kind wooden cabin with grass on the roof and fairy lights everywhere. Just one room inside, but super cosy, like I was living amongst the fairies. Unlike some of my other Quirky Stays, this one was on-grid: electricity, a kettle, a fridge, even someone on hand to do my washing up. Yes, really. The bed was comfortable, and the wood-burning stove made everything feel extra snug. I could have stayed there for a week.
Just behind the cabin was the ‘butt hut’ – a shed-turned-bathroom with a proper hot shower and a flushing loo. Honestly, it was nicer than some hotel bathrooms I’ve used.
And while the inside was lovely, I spent most of my time outside, soaking up the peace and watching the fish in the pond do their thing. They made me giggle so much, as you will see in the video, when I get round to editing it. There is, of course, a full Quirky Stay blog coming soon; I still owe you the Talliston one too, I know! But I won’t make you wait too long, promise.
That’s Entertainment
Time for my regular round-up of the things I’ve seen, done, and listened to lately. Not just what I thought, but where I was, how it felt, and what else was going on around it. Because sometimes the experience is just as memorable as the entertainment itself.
Show: Calamity Jane, Bristol Hippodrome
This was a bit of an experiment: can I squeeze in a midweek theatre trip without taking time off work? A 5pm to 9am micro adventure – not quite what Alastair Humphreys meant, but with the same sentiment. And it worked. I got the train down, grabbed a burger at Squeezed in Cargo 1 on Bristol Harbour (SO good, especially the lemonade, which I’d go back for alone), saw the show at the Bristol Hippodrome, stayed overnight at Brooks Guesthouse (yes, the place with the Rooftop Caravan Quirky Stay, though I was in a normal room this time), and got the train back early the next morning.
Calamity Jane itself was really very good. I loved the reimagining of the classic musical, with the orchestra-actors fully part of the story on stage. It was clever, energetic, and well-paced. There was a brief show stop early in the second act for about ten minutes, no idea what went wrong, but it didn’t spoil the experience. I did spare a thought for the stage manager though; those moments can’t be easy.
Carrie Hope-Fletcher was, of course, fantastic in the lead role. A really fun show, and I’m glad I made the midweek-trip work. I’ll absolutely do it again.
Show: The Producers, Garrick Theatre, London
This was just superb. You probably know the story, and how the writers of The Producers saw ‘the line’ and leapt right over it. But it works. It’s cry-laughing funny, proper silly, and gloriously camp. Think old-school Broadway: tap dancing, big song-and-dance numbers (right from the off), and enough sparkle to light up the whole of London. I felt like I had the best seat in the house – dress circle, front row centre – and honestly, I grinned through the whole thing.
I was in London for my cousin Ivan’s wedding and decided to make a full weekend of it. Apart from seeing the show, I also ate at two of my favourite places – Dirty Bones at Carnaby Street (chicken and waffles, obviously) and Where the Pancakes Are at London Bridge. Both hit the spot.
There was definitely sadness in my soul that my husband wasn’t with me this time. London was one of our places. But I also know this: seeing shows in the West End is something I can continue to do to fill me up. It’s part of me now. And The Producers reminded me that joy and absurdity still have a place in my life. That laughter, especially the kind that makes you snort, is healing in its own way.
Concert: The Music of Animation by The Studio Orchestra
I’ve written before about how music brings me joy and comfort in ways few other things can. It reaches something deep in my soul. This concert was no exception.
My sister came with me to see The Studio Orchestra at the Centaur, Cheltenham Racecourse; a 70-piece symphony orchestra made up of freelance professional musicians from across the UK, specialising in music from film, theatre, and television. Last time I saw them, it was a Hans Zimmer special. This time: The Music of Animation. Think Beauty and the Beast, How to Train Your Dragon, Ratatouille, Chicken Run, Shrek, and some Studio Ghibli magic thrown in too.
It was spectacular. A great choice of pieces, played with real heart and precision. My goodness, that pianist was superb. And apart from the emotional whiplash of programming Watership Down followed by Up (honestly, who signed that off?!), I left feeling uplifted and full.
It was a shame to see the Centaur nowhere near at capacity for this one. These musicians deserve a packed house. I hope the orchestra returns soon – I’ll be keeping an eye out for their next programme. Because this kind of evening, being wrapped in music that stirs memory and imagination, is exactly the kind of soul-filling joy I want more of.
Film: The Thursday Murder Club, Everyman Tivoli, Cheltenham
This was a Sunday afternoon treat. I saw The Thursday Murder Club at the Everyman Tivoli in Cheltenham, one of those sofa-and-seatside-dining cinemas with smaller screens than the big chains, but a much more luxurious feel. I was super comfortable, with loads of room and warm popcorn delivered to my seat just as the film started. More expensive, yes, but £20 for that kind of experience now and then? Worth it.
My sister recommended the film, and I’ve read all the books (review of the latest one coming up in a minute). Since I don’t have Netflix, this was my chance to see it, and I’m glad I did. It was good. Not perfect, but good. Like many others, I found the acting a bit stilted at the start – almost school play levels – but it settled down, or I stopped noticing. And I was disappointed by how one of the main characters was handled in the screenplay’s departure from the original story. It felt like a bit of a coward’s way out, and I hope that’s addressed if there’s a sequel.
Still, it was a nice, easy watch. A gentle story with lovable characters and a sensible runtime that didn’t leave me wishing for an interval. And paired with a comfy seat, popcorn, and a quiet afternoon, it was exactly the kind of small joy I’ve been learning to say yes to.
Three Audiobook Reviews
Audiobooks (via Audible) have opened up a world of literature I never thought I’d access. Reading – at least in the traditional sense – is just not something I ever fell in love with. But audiobooks? They come with me. On my lunchtime One Hour Outsides, on long car journeys, and this month, even on the bus to and from London. They’ve become part of my rhythm, part of how I process and reflect and escape.
And while I know some people still think audiobooks are the lesser cousin of physical books, I don’t subscribe to that at all. Not even a little bit. This month I listened to three; each one different, each one memorable in its own way.
The Stranger’s Guide to Talliston by John Tarrow
The Stranger’s Guide to Talliston at Audible, Amazon, Direct from Author
I downloaded this as a direct result of staying at Talliston House & Gardens over the bank holiday weekend in August. The story follows teenager Joe, who finds himself trapped in a labyrinth protecting the last magical places on earth, trying to work out not just how to reach the centre of the puzzle, but how he fits into it all.
I admit, a couple of hours in I thought it might feel ever so long (it’s a 13-hour listen), but by the end I didn’t want it to finish. The narration was great – when I chatted with John during my stay, he mentioned the narrator had his work cut out with all the character voices, and I can see why. I really hope John gets his second novel into audiobook format soon. I’ll be first in line to listen.
Uncharmed by Lucy Wood
Uncharmed at Audible, Amazon, Waterstones
I absolutely loved Rewitched, so I preordered Uncharmed hoping for the same cosy, magical, autumnal feels. And I was not disappointed. Set in the same world as Rewitched, Uncharmed takes place a few years earlier, with a few Easter eggs for returning readers tucked in along the way.
The characters are likeable and well-rounded, and the writing is the kind that wraps around you like a warm hug. Plenty of relatable lessons, a little predictable here and there, but still – comforting, gentle, and full of charm. Lucy’s got real talent, and I hope she’s working on a third. I’d happily spend more time in this world.
The Thursday Murder Club: The Impossible Fortune by Richard Osman
The Impossible Fortune at Audible, Amazon, Waterstones
Another easy listen in the world of Richard Osman’s lovable Cooper’s Chase crew, this time with a focus on a couple of the peripheral characters. It’s got just enough mystery to keep me interested, but not so much that my brain must work overtime. And that’s exactly what I needed.
I won’t give anything away (because that’s mean), but I will say I enjoyed the storyline, especially the way it explored older people navigating complicated modern technology. The grief threads didn’t go unnoticed either, especially the line: “Always alone. And never alone. This is grief.” Indeed.
Overall, I’d say it is ‘almost perfect’ as a novel. The way the two plot lines didn’t quite resolve bugged me a little, but it didn’t spoil the experience. It’s a standalone story, but knowing the characters already definitely helped.
In the Mail
Two new arrivals this month, both self-gifted and both bringing a surprising amount of joy. Because there really is something nice about receiving something in the mail – even when you were expecting it!
The New Velvetiser
First up, the new Velvetiser by Hotel Chocolat. I mentioned it in my Quirky Stay vlog, and clearly that planted a seed because I ended up preordering it. It arrived at the end of August, a couple of weeks before it hit the shops, and I know it sounds silly, but this felt a bit exciting. I mean, I did buy it myself, but still, how early adopter of me! I got the white one, and it’s earned a permanent spot on my worktop (which is saying something, because very few things get to live out in my kitchen).
It works brilliantly. I’ve had almost daily milkshakes or hot chocolates since it arrived. My current favourites are the ginger hot chocolate and mint cold chocolate. Honestly, it’s become a little ritual – probably a little too regular but milk is good for me, right?! (Rhetorical question, thanks.) It’s probably also made my milkman happy, too!
Goodr Sunglasses
The other delivery was a new pair of Goodr sunglasses. I got my first pair for Christmas, and they’ve been some of the best active sunglasses I’ve ever had. The non-slip coating is genius; they stay put, even when I’m looking down and concentrating on where my feet are going. They’re snug but not tight, super comfortable, and the polarised lenses block 100% of UVA and UVB rays, so they’re looking after my eyes too.
At just £30, they’re excellent value. So, I got another pair. Because choice is nice. And because I decided I needed a non-mirrored option. I went for Kinda Mint Condition – green, naturally.
Both purchases feel like little acts of care. Practical, yes. But also delightful. And that’s the kind of mail I like!
See You Next Time…
As has become my pattern in these monthly journals, this blog began with some musings on grief – and this time, it was proactive grief. Not as a fix, or a cure, but as a way of choosing. Choosing things, small and big, that help me sit with and live alongside my grief. Choosing movement, connection, and joy in ways that feel manageable. That feel mine. It’s important whatever life is doing, but right now, it feels essential. I hope that’s come across.
If you’ve enjoyed this aticle, I’d love you to explore some of the others I’ve shared recently: my review of the VoiceMap app, my Quirky Stay in the wooden cabin in Wales, and last week’s hiking reflections. This month I’m hoping to publish my Talliston Quirky Stay article and video, and maybe even a new Currently Loving entry – which I haven’t done for a while, for perhaps obvious reasons.
Whatever October looks like for you, I hope you find space to make proactive choices that help you live the life you want to live, with connection, joy, and comfort. See you next time.