Reflections from the Retreat January 2026

They say that 'absence makes the heart grow fonder' and I think that is true in some ways. I don't think I love my children any more or any less than I used to, but I think I am more aware of valuing our time together, now that we live so far apart. When we all lived together in the UK, I tended to take family life for granted and I was just focusing on the busyness of the moment. There were times when we paused to be grateful for each other, cherishing a shared memory or laughing together around the kitchen table, but I was usually focused on what needed to get done.

Now that I live here and my two children are in the UK, we are so grateful for WhatsApp to keep us in touch, but nothing beats quality time together. So having seen my daughter, Hayley, in the Summer I was so pleased that my son, Josh, wanted to come and stay for Christmas and New Year. My natural tendency to be busy meant that we enjoyed some trips out to Mt Carmel waterfalls, various beaches and some nice meals out. Josh brought out a few Christmas treats for us to eat as well as a small Christmas tree to get us into the festive mood. It was a novelty to eat a traditional Christmas roast dinner together and then go for a swim at the beach. One of the highlights was a trip over to Sandy island to enjoy being on a deserted island and swimming in crystal clear water. Josh also enjoyed the weekly Hash - a walk or run at a different location each week. We walked the first one together but on the second one, he joined the runners, while I took a more leisurely pace with friends. His trip here was a very special time and I will leave the rest of this blog for Josh to describe it in his own way.

When I arrived in Grenada, my mum asked me what I wanted to do while I was there. I said I wanted to spend time with her and talk. On that first day, that’s exactly what we did. From morning until evening, we talked—about her life, my life, memories, work, and things that mattered without needing to explain why. There was no rush or structure, no sense that the day had to deliver anything. We were just there together. It’s a memory I know I’ll cherish, and one I already hope we’ll repeat.

What struck me was how rare that kind of uninterrupted time has been for us. We’ve never spent much time together, just the two of us. This trip—two and a half weeks—was the longest stretch we’ve ever had like that. Not every moment was intense or profound, but the continuity itself mattered. Waking up knowing we’d see each other again, talk again, sit together again. That rhythm was unfamiliar, and I realized how much I’d missed it without quite knowing I had.

Grenada itself seemed to reinforce that steadiness in small ways. I met Luna, the friendliest dog I’ve ever met in my life, and Cosmos, a cat who moved through the house like he knew exactly where he was going—except at dusk and dawn, when he slipped into a focused, hunter mode and seemed to belong to a different rhythm altogether. Luna, in particular, was impossible not to like. She greeted everyone as if it was the best part of her day and made even doing nothing feel companionable.

There was also something about the island and the people that worked on me quietly but constantly. The blue of the sky felt brighter, more rich than I’m used to. Everything was green in a way that didn’t seem decorative, just alive. People waved as they passed, smiled easily, and lingered in conversation. At the beaches, the water was so clear it barely looked like it had a surface at all. Grenada makes being calm feel natural.

Before the trip, I don’t remember having strong expectations. I didn’t arrive hoping for a breakthrough or resolution. I just knew I wanted to spend time with my mum. I also assumed I’d get a lot of work done on a project I’d been thinking about and planning for months. What I didn’t know was that the idea was almost identical to the work my mum had done in the early stages of her career. When this became clear, it felt reassuring, as if it was a continuation of a path laid out for me. Her input wasn’t just feedback—it was context, and it gave me confidence that I was moving in a direction that made sense.

I did get work done, but not in the way I usually measure productivity. I didn’t come back with a finished outcome. Instead, the project became clearer. It was refined rather than completed. I had a sense that I should have more to show for the time, but also a recognition that the clarity I gained couldn’t have come any faster.

There were smaller moments too. On Christmas Day, I saw a hummingbird for the first time in my life and it was on the balcony at the Hummingbird Retreat, which felt very fitting. That same day, we found my dad’s spaghetti bolognese recipe—my favourite meal growing up. He passed away a few years ago, and soon after we found it, my mum made it for me. There was nothing ceremonial about it. We just ate. But the convergence of that day settled into me more than I expected.

We played Wii Sports, and I broke every record on the games I played. It felt good to share something playful rather than meaningful which, in a way, made it meaningful - to just enjoy the moment without needing to think about the future.

Grenada reminded me that closeness comes less from intensity but rather more from time and attention. And with that clarity, I look forward to cultivating more moments like this - moments of serenity.

Thank you Grenada. Thank you Hummingbird Retreat. Thank you Mum. Love you.