by Stephanie Dale | Nov 28, 2024 | Being human, Longing, Pilgrimage, Walk & Write, Wellbeing-through-writing, Writing
Turmeric latte, extra hot, extra frothy, large, takeaway: this is my current order at the local coffee shop. It has long been this way, since MacDonald’s came to my town when I was a teenager and I’d argue for my cheeseburger with no pickles – I...
by Stephanie Dale | Nov 5, 2024 | Ageing, Longing, Pilgrimage, Walk & Write, Wellbeing-through-writing, Writing
In 2007, I flew to Rome to walk with my son across Italy and through the Balkans. In sublime understatement, you might say the pilgrim bug had bitten him, hard – he had walked from Canterbury and was on his way to Jerusalem. On our third night out of Rome, just...
by Stephanie Dale | Oct 31, 2024 | Being human, Longing, Pilgrimage, Un/silencing, Walk & Write, Wellbeing-through-writing, Writing
A wise old woman once told me about FEA. Anna is a mystic whose life is a prayer to wisdom, and she is old, of the legendary kind. It was Anna who told me about FEA – fucking enough already. It’s only when we’ve had enough, said Anna, that we make...
by Stephanie Dale | Sep 8, 2024 | Ageing, Longing, Pilgrimage, Un/silencing, Walk & Write, Wellbeing-through-writing, Writing
It was not until my mother died that I learned who she had been in life. She was many things my mother: a teacher, a tennis champion, a politics obsessive, a great grandmother. In her 80s she was famous for getting off the lounge and back on the tennis court and...
by Stephanie Dale | Sep 8, 2024 | Longing, Pilgrimage, Un/silencing, Walk & Write, Wellbeing-through-writing, Writing
It is timely to speak of longing. I had many responses to last week’s missive about the inner self: the liar, the thief, the monster within – the one running around declaring ‘my’ truth and ‘my’ reality to a (not)listening world. ...
by Stephanie Dale | Sep 8, 2024 | Longing, Pilgrimage, Un/silencing, Walk & Write, Wellbeing-through-writing, Writing
We live in vicious times. With all the resources and riches, material and otherwise, available to us, we have turned on ourselves. A couple of weeks ago I wrote a post titled ‘Help, my book is eating me’. It was code. Message in a cyber bottle. For it is...
