Sometimes life slaps me in the face with the reminder I need to prioritise joy.

Twice a year, Brighton is blessed with ultra low tides. At the edge of our shingle beach, for a couple of hours, a stretch of sand is revealed like a magic trick.

It’s my favourite time of year when I can walk to the swim buoys. 

I missed the first day of the low tides. There was a bitter wind and I was exhausted from ferrying my kids between school and swimming. There was so much nagging at my attention, it was easy to convince myself not to bother. 

The next morning I crept out of the house, while everyone was sleeping. My only company as I walked to the beach, the full moon drifting down the street after me. 

When I reached the promenade another world opened up: dog walkers, runners, fellow water lovers all crowded onto the newly revealed sand. People were smiling at each other, chatting to strangers in the collective joy at this unusually low tide.

These unusually low tides only last a couple of days. They happen twice a year in the autumn and the spring. This year, the combination of the equinox and the position of the moon has meant these are lowest tides we will see for ten years or more. 

Do I love these low tides because they are so rare? Would I appreciate them less if they were a monthly occurrence? Is that why I feel moved to tears when I realise this will be the last time I walk on this sand (anyone walks on this sand) for eight months?

Within minutes it will be hidden under the surf for another half a year.

For an hour, I am perfectly suspended in this moment. My feet blanching pink in the cold as I splash through the surf.

Treasures I rarely see are revealed. Hermit crabs scuttling along the sand. A starfish in the grooves of the wave-worn sand. An abundance of shells: cowrie, razors, screw, mussels, triton and scallops. And less romantically the rotten carcass of a fish the seagulls are pecking at.

I stole away before breakfast, and when I returned I was filled up by that experience. For four days, I went down with the kids, by myself, with neighbours – and I felt restored.

It is easy to let my life nibble away at me. To fulfil my obligations to others, to let the days pass in a blur. To stop seeking out experiences that pause time, that make me feel alive and fully in this moment. Here and now.

It was a caregiving summer. (It has been a caregiving heavy decade.)

My eldest sister stuck in hospital with a broken hip. My mother fading away in a care home. My youngest child acting up, needing more attention that I can give him. My eldest needing extra support with his additional learning needs. A friend’s child dealing with a serious medical condition. 

And me, not centred in my own life. Existing for what I do for others, a human support system. And not as independent person in my own right.

My nervous system was set like a clock in early childhood. I see danger everywhere, orienting myself to what is terrible in this world. It can stun me into a functional freeze, living my life as if I am in a constant state of emergency. Neglecting the tiny joys that make life worth living.

It takes such an effort for me to turn towards the sun. So I need to prescribe myself the antidote. I need to prioritise joy and schedule it in as if they are vital and essential. Because they are.

Everyday joys

For me, joy is found near the water: swimming, sea-glass hunting, snorkelling. It is writing in my journal, in blogs like these, in poetry hidden away on my harddrive. It’s travelling to places I’ve never been before, seeing new sights and soaking in new sounds. It’s quality time spent with the people I love. It’s living a life which has enough spaciousness to it that I can notice the world around me.

Let me be clear. This is not toxic positivity, gas-lighting myself or false consolation. This is holding awareness of both sides of life, the brutal and beautiful. Because of how my nervous system is finely attenuated to danger, I need to stack the deck with everyday moments of joy, peace and attend to what feels good.

I want to overdose on joy. Make myself replete with wonder. Overwhelm my awe circuits.

Because yes, sometimes this world is shocking, terrible and cruel. But equally it is also surprising, beautiful and full of grace – let me turn myself towards that.

What ways are you prioritising joy amongst the hustle and bustle of life? Share any ideas in the comments below.