5 things I have found helpful in coping with anxiety

A few friends have posted things to do with anxiety recently, so I thought I would share what I personally find really useful, and many of my clients seem to do too.

1 Concentrating on this moment (and the next, and the next) 

When I get anxious about something which may (or may not) happen in the future, (for example,  going walking up a mountain in Wales when I don’t think I’m fit enough) I say to myself, ‘right now you are ok. everything is ok. Concentrate on this, right now it’s all ok’. And repeat.

2 Do something to get some distance

A long day dancing like a crazy person at a local music festival helped me to start to come to terms with the possibility that we may never manage to sell our house on the terms we would like…

3 Breathe and count

This is great in those moments when you feel the agitation or panic rising, sometimes without you consciously knowing why. The counting is important: it takes your mind away from doing the worry temporarily and allows your body to calm itself.

So, belly breathing, expanding your stomach like a balloon as you breathe in, and letting it collapse gently as you breathe out: in for 2, out for 3; then in for 3, out for 4; then in for 4, out for 5, and so on, to the point that feels comfortable for you. Don’t push it. This is not a test. 

4 Tell someone

It doesn’t have to be a big deal, maybe as simple as ‘I am feeling a bit jittery right now’. Choose someone you trust to be supportive.

5 Learning to not mind

This one is longer term and needs work. In my case, a LOT of work. It is also potentially the most helpful. It’s about letting go of needing things to be a particular way. For example, ‘I must get a job’, ‘I should be better at keeping in touch with my family’, ‘I ought to do more about rejecting plastic in my local supermarket’, ‘I need us to be able to sell the house soon’ (you see a theme developing here?)

Trying to let go of the ‘should’, ‘must’, ought’, ‘want’, need’ words, trying to be ok with my flaws, and to accept what the world throws at me. Kind of close to ‘everything happens for a reason’ but not so glib perhaps; more, ‘let me be ok with what happens even if it’s not what I wanted to happen right now’.  When you find out how to do this seamlessly and easily, please let me know.

Skomer’s birds, and how I found out I don’t want to be a wildlife photographer

The wildlife on Skomer island is amazing. I love the landscapes and the wildflowers, and (most of the time) the stripped-down lifestyle, but a large part of the magic for me is being able to walk out of the front door and see a small-eared owl hunting over the heathland, or hear a curlew calling from one of the ponds.

24021In fact, wherever I go, whether it be the coast of California or my own back garden I am drawn to the living world, from humpback whales to red admiral butterflies. So it makes sense that I should seriously consider concentrating on wildlife photography, right? As it turns out, wrong. Having bought a large lens (Canon 100-400mm II) plus a 1.4 extender, and a weatherproof storm cover I realised a basic design flaw. In me, not the lens I hasten to add.

This is hopefully the only thing I have in common with Donald Trump but I have very small hands. And my camera (a Canon 5D mk iii) plus lens plus converter, is heavy and cumbersome. After two days of using this combination more or less non-stop, my thumbs and wrists had the equivalent of shin splints. I am considering swapping to a super-telephoto compact but they all have very small sensors – apparently you can either have a full-frame sensor OR a big optical zoom but not both (unless you know differently in which case please let me know!)

 

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Puffin (Fratercula arctica) with sandeels in its beak, taking them back to its chicks in one of the burrows on the cliff top at The Wick.

In addition, I am a really impatient person. My undying admiration goes out to all those who perch motionless on a ledge for five hours, or even stay down crouching or on one knee for longer than a few minutes. Neither my body nor my mind can cope. Muscles start creaking and I get bored and wonder what I am missing out on elsewhere. 

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Grey seals (Halichoerus grypus) hauled out on the rocks at the Garland Stone.
Meadow pipit (Anthus pratensis) on bramble stems, Skomer Island, Wales.
Meadow pipit (Anthus pratensis) on bramble stems.
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Great black-backed gull (Larus marinus) among the wildflowers: red campion (Silene dioica) and bluebells, Hyacinthoides non-scripta (syn. Scilla non-scripta). 

I also like context. I like including the landscape, the habitat, a sense of place in my wildlife images but it seems like that doesn’t work well for ‘proper’ wildlife photography which is all about the creature close-up, particularly for small repro in social media or even this blog.

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Large colony of guillemots (Uria aalge) with a few kittiwakes (Rissa tridactyla), nesting on the cliff ledges at High Cliff.
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Puffin (Fratercula arctica) sticking its tongue out next to burrows on the cliff top at The Wick.
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Oystercatcher (Haematopus ostralegus) perched on the remains of a drystone wall guarding a nest nearby. Red campion (Silene dioica) in the foreground. 
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Wheatear (Oenanthe oenanthe) with grubs in its beak, perched on a rope and post at The Wick.
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Razorbills (Alca torda) in the sea and on the cliff at North Harbour. A puffin (Fratercula arctica) oversees from higher up the cliff.
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I’m coming to get you: Puffin (Fratercula arctica) walking next to burrows on the cliff top.

Finally, as I’ve mentioned before, I like discovering new places and exploring different cultures. So the defining moment for me came when we boarded the boat back to the mainland. We met a guy disembarking, loaded down with heavily camouflaged gear. ‘That looks like serious intent,’ I said.

‘I’m looking for the Skomer vole,’ he said. The Skomer vole is notoriously difficult to find apparently, living in the heathland undergrowth which covers the island and only emerging for brief scurrying.

His wife chipped in resignedly: ‘I really, really hope he finds it this year. This is his seventeenth attempt. Then maybe we can go on holiday somewhere else.’

Skomer Island: so much more than a rock in the Irish Sea

Sunset through the sea thrift, Skomer Head

puffin flying above the sea

I hardly ever revisit places. I love discovering new landscapes, meeting new people, seeing everything with fresh eyes. So the fact that I decided to return to Skomer, a tiny island just of the south-west coast of Wales, must mean that I think it’s pretty special.

We first visited last autumn, on a two day guided trip to get up close and personal with the large Manx shearwater colony, and I was so blown away by the place that I vowed to go back in the late spring to photograph the island’s most famous inhabitants, puffins. What I didn’t realise was that the bleak windswept heathland would be awash with wildflowers, the sun would be shining (we were lucky), and the whole place would be an oasis of calm.

sunrise over Skomer and its wildflowers

The island is a National Nature Reserve managed by the Wildlife Trust of South and West Wales. It is an important site for seabird breeding, home to colonies of guillemots, razorbills, kittiwakes and fulmars, as well as the Manx shearwaters and puffins. As such it is protected from development and just a few hardy souls live here full-time: the warden and his partner and a couple of staff, supplemented by researchers at various times of year, and volunteers who clean the hostel and undertake monitoring tasks in exchange for the chance to be in this unique place.

Stepping onto the little jetty is like stepping out of the modern world in the best possible sense. No roads, no motor vehicles apart from one tractor to take luggage up to the Old Farm, no TV or internet –  so no bad news -no distractions apart from the business of living in the moment, right here, right now.

little girl walking the grassy pathways of Skomer

At the end of May grassy pathways wind through carpets of wildflowers: red campion, bluebells,  thrift, even the occasional foxglove. All inland paths lead to the Old Farm in the centre of the island and this is where you stay if you’re an overnight visitor. Most people stay for two nights but I wanted to have the best chance of at least one dry photographing day so we opted for three.

The Old Farm at bluebell time, Skomer

The Old Farm, Skomer

 

 

 

 

 

There are very basic facilities here. You need to bring all your food and drink with you, although there was a box of Tunnocks tea-cakes in the communal lounge for the severely sugar-deprived. Bedrooms are basic and can be damp and chilly. You are advised to bring a duvet cover for the supplied duvet or a sleeping bag; I brought both and layered the sleeping bag over the duvet. I am a cold soul. The whole island is off-grid and power is solar; water in the shared bathrooms gets hotter as the day goes on, more so if the sun is shining. Power sockets are few and far between, just three in the whole building, so if you feel bereft without your devices bring a backup battery. I hold my hands up to needing my phone at all times, if only to feel like I can talk to the rest of the family if I need to (which my daughters will confirm that I very often do.)

This ‘hardship’ – my daughter calls it first-world-problems – was easily outweighed by the sense of peace which descended on me as I walked up the path on the first morning. It was like the weight of my day-to-day problems – and those of our world – just rolled off my shoulders, leaving me free to breathe for the first time in months. Admittedly my shoulders were pretty sore again at the end of each day but that was due to carrying half a hundredweight of camera and lenses on my back. 

Sunset through the sea thrift, Skomer Head

The silence, filled only by the wind, waves, and sound of bird-calls is healing. The beauty of nature, whether it be mad puffins doing a courtship dance ten feet away, the sweeping view of hills across the bay from Trig Point, the highest point on the island, or a rich sunset off Skomer Head, all these make Skomer a really special place.

puffins in a courtship exchange
puffin with sandeels, SkomerThe stars of the show are, of course, the puffins. When we were there, they were just getting into the breeding season, taking possession of the burrows they use for nesting, and a few even had chicks, or pufflings as they are so cutely known. These were hidden away but evidenced by a few adults starting to carry back sand eels in their rainbow beaks. There are spots on the island where you can get really close and other parts where you can watch their antics from further away – they waddle like diminutive penguins on the ground but fly like little torpedoes, albeit with very flappy wings. They are fast!

puffin landing, skomer island

But it’s not just puffins that are the wildlife draw – there are short-eared owls hunting, oystercatchers and curlews crying, and black-backed gulls marauding like pirates, on the lookout for hapless chicks or shearwaters. All this amongst rolling heathland, little sheltered valleys, and never-ending views out over the crashing Irish sea. I may just go back again.Bluebells on the cliffs near the Garland Stone, Skomer

Next up – Skomer’s birds and how I found out I don’t want to be a wildlife photographer

A hidden gem in the Bay Area

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A bizarre world of fantastical figures, wild gardens, concrete debris and graffitied breeze blocks. This is the Albany Bulb.

An off-the-beaten-track discovery made courtesy of my AirBnB host and new friend Edrie, these amazing sculptures are situated on a spit of land jutting out into the San Francisco Bay Area. 

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Until 1982 the Bulb was was a landfill site; after that it was populated by the homeless as well as dog-walkers and urban artists who created, and continue to create, sculptures and murals using scrap metal and wood, blocks of concrete and diverse found materials.

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Walkers interact with the statues, giving them pampas grass to hold and contemplate, playing hopscotch on brightly painted stepping stones, or walking the overgrown labyrinth. 

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After photographing and exploring a few of the pathways, I sat next to the couple on the concrete bench and watched pelicans fishing in the bay as the sun moved slowly across the sky.

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San Francisco, Berkeley and Oakland were a few miles distant and a world away.

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See my website http://www.anniegaphotography.co.uk/galapagos for more images or contact me for licensing. All words and images ©Annie Green-Armytage. Re-blogging and link-sharing on social media is permitted with full accreditation; no other reproduction of any kind permitted without written permission.

King Lear – a play for today?

What an amazing performance of King Lear last night, courtesy of a live link from Stratford to Cinema City in Norwich.
Incredibly powerful performances by the cast, but also such a relevant play for our deeply troubled times. I had never seen/read it before so I had not realised it was such a huge play, centred on man’s capacity for cruelty to fellow man, and also both deliberately plotted and opportunistic power-grabbing. And this all born of hatred/greed/envy which itself is born of resentment, anger and overwhelmingly, fear. Hmmm.
A quote which particularly resonated with me:
’Tis the time’s plague when madmen lead the blind.
Remind you of anyone?

via Annie Green-Armytage

The Referendum – or Where do we go from here?

I need to say this once, although most of it has been said already, much better, by others, so please forgive me.

I am really upset and quite frightened about what has happened and more importantly what will happen, in the immediate and long-term future.

The only people I am angry at, from the depths of my soul, are the so-called leaders, who have cynically and calculatingly manipulated the truth into scare-mongering half-facts and outright lies. On both sides.

Special mention must go to David Cameron who brought this whole mess upon us in the first place in an attempt to secure his own parliamentary position, and then walked away so brazenly yesterday. He’ll be all right, the rich and powerful always are, no matter what. He has left behind a legacy of mistrust, bitterness and a deeply divided and hurting society.

We all did what we believed to be right yesterday, from a genuine wish for a better future, whichever way we voted. We need, more than anything, in the coming days, weeks and months, to connect back with each other in any ways we can in order to to heal our differences. Whether it be through sport, music, online media, or summer street partying, let’s do something together. And build on what unites us, not what could tear us apart.

OK, I’m done. Thanks for reading.

What made my Galapagos trip great?

I received a parcel today. It was unexpected and it came from the US. What on earth could it be? And then I remembered, one of my fellow travellers from the Galapagos trip, David, had emailed me some time back for my address as he wanted to post something to me. That something was this parcel, a photobook of his best moments on the trip.

It brought the memories – for those experiences have now receded into faulty middle-aged memory – flooding back, and I felt ashamed to realise that I hadn’t even finished processing my Galapagos pictures. Or writing about my experiences. I am just starting to realise how hard this travelling-blog-writing-stock-processing-social-media-posting deal is. A relentless sea of different levels of work – paid and unpaid – for which I haven’t yet found a rhythm that works.

The other thing it brought up for me was a real need to celebrate the people on the Galapagos trip. I had left that post until last and then it got subsumed by other more immediate calls on my time (see above), but actually it’s really important to me. The landscapes, the boat travel, the wildlife, the history were all incredibly interesting and were the point of coming on the trip. But the human company is what made it truly enjoyable.

There is research out there that says that we all need to belong somewhere; it’s a universal human need to feel like we belong to a tribe of some sort. Some people find it through football, others through their political persuasion, religion, or their own local community. We were a pretty disparate bunch of people who would probably never touch each other’s lives in the ‘real world’ – from Axel, the young German journalist to Doug, the American ER doctor – but for those few days we co-existed and I was so thankful for that sense of being part of a group. I really enjoyed the company, at times quiet and reserved, at others sociable and relaxed, and occasionally, engaging on a deeper level.

So thank you to everyone on the trip, the crew and captain, Silvia our lovely and indomitable guide, and all of the group: Mark and Cynthia, Lynn and Woody, Gerry and Dominique, David, Debbie, Axel, Isaac and Doug. You were brilliant and I hope we meet again some day.

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Walking into the ravines and caves at Asilo de la Paz, Floreana. 
Crew of the Mary Anne hauling up the sails with some help from Cynthia.
Kudos to Cynthia – the only one of us women to volunteer to help with hauling up the sails.

 

David relaxing in the stern off the Mary Rose.
David relaxing in the stern.
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First sight of a Galapagos penguin, Sphensicus mendiculus, in Elizabeth Bay, Isabela island. 
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Engines off amongst the red mangroves (Rhizpora mangle) in the peaceful saltwater lagoon at Elizabeth Bay, Isabela. Darwin and Isaac paddling.
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On our way around the northern tip of Isabela to Santiago island.
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Misty morning beach walk at Espumilla, Santiago. 
Walking on the beach and lava rock grottoes at Puerto Egas, Santiago.
Last (wo)man standing: coming off the beach and lava rock grottoes at Puerto Egas, Santiago on our last evening.
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The hard-working crew of the Mary Anne, with Silvia our guide.
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The sun goes down on the lava rock at Punta Espinosa, Fernandina island.