My winter circuit breaker

I have come to spend January in Tenerife. I was feeling distant from the sun and from myself. This winter was doing strange things to me; weakening my resilience; making me doubt my decisions; reinforcing the darkness around me with extra (and earlier) darkness. I found myself getting upset by the everyday brutality of London, which usually brushes over me like water off a duck’s back. Like never before, the sorry sight of a shoeless man, traipsing the tube, begging for pennies, was weighing on my heart and my stomach like the tragedy it is. I felt the struggle of a tired mother pushing her baby past me, whilst her other child screams from her hip, almost as if it were my own. I was feeling life’s pain acutely, with a sudden sensitivity that felt alien and concerning. I have always hated the winter for its effects on my skin, my mood, my tense shoulders, my numb toes…but this time it felt heavier than usual. I wondered, not for the first time, if I am perhaps not made for winter in the UK.

All of the sadness I was absorbing from my harsh surroundings was getting soaked up by an already-sodden emotional immune system. Recently, I haven’t been doing nearly enough to nourish myself. I haven’t been writing, exercise has been pretty minimal, work has been a little bit stressful and each weekend I was choosing late nights and inebriation over rest and recuperation. There was a glaring disconnect between the way I had been living my life, and the life I want for myself. How can I hope to build the life I hope for, if my daily actions don’t reflect that vision? For too long I had been putting off addressing this uncomfortable question.

It had crossed my mind to skip the dismal month of January by spending it elsewhere – thankfully my job is flexible enough for me to do that. A couple of friends and I had toyed with the idea of summer in the southern hemisphere - Argentina or South Africa - but in the end it was too expensive. Then, during a particularly cold snap of late November, I was feeling beaten down and at the end of my tether. I decided to revisit the idea of escaping London, and I looked at Tenerife. Flights are cheap, there is no time difference, and the temperature usually doesn’t drop below 20­°, even in winter. I had heard in passing of co-living communities, which are spaces where remote workers and digital nomads can live and work together. It turns out that Tenerife has quite a few. I found one which was reasonably priced and I booked it there and then, with half a mind to utilise the free cancellation which was available for the following couple of weeks.

In early December I got sick with a tight chest and full-body aches, and later developed a hacking cough that kept me up through the night. It turns out that my illness was a result of black mould which had been growing in my bedroom. This did two things to cement my trip to Tenerife: it gave me the drive to confirm the booking I had made, and (after a very lengthy and - if I may say so myself - very impressive email to my landlord) delivered me a rent reduction which afforded me to follow through with the plan.

I have decided to use this time to reset my lifestyle. I needed to remove myself from that environment which was making me feel stuck in habits that were getting me nowhere. I am trying to use this time almost like a retreat. Although I will be working, I plan to be strict with my screentime; I am not going to drink whilst I’m here; I will take advantage of the daily yoga which comes included in my stay; I will maximise time spent outdoors, with the sun on my skin. I also felt the pull of a space which convenes people from all over the world, young travellers hungry for new experiences and connections with random strangers. I thought I felt at home in spaces like that. Then I arrived.

I have been transported back almost two years to the time I arrived in Guatemala, alone, pale and self-conscious. Having not slept in a dorm since I left South America in 2022, the dust and dank of this shared space seems kind of gross, even though I know I have spent months on end in much worse conditions. The people around me seem unfamiliar and I keep finding myself performing unusual social backflips that make me cringe to play back in my head. I have been biting my nails again. In this place, my skin looks so white that I get a shock when I see it in the mirror. And yet, I can feel the dust settling around me with a more informed and relaxed awareness that I am OK. I am watching myself squirm with a detachment that feels more confident than before. My older, wiser self is saying no wonder you’re discombobulated, you bullish thing, slow down, take it in, and trust the process.

This evening, I went out for dinner with some new friends and sipped a Fanta Limón whilst staring enviously at their wine, but I’m glad that I stayed strong in my decision. When we got back to the house just now, I removed myself from the group. They’re watching Spirited Away and I’ve seen it and even though most people say they love it, I don’t love it at all. Instead, I came up to write in the quiet of the island’s night-time. It feels good - it has been too long since I focussed my words this way. I came to Tenerife to reacquaint myself with reflection and intention, and the effects are already unravelling before me.