Lately, I’ve found myself in a few gentle collisions between past and present that have brought more thoughts to the surface — especially about being truly present in the moment, about many things coming together at once, and perhaps something about mindfulness.
This week, I went to hear the Ora Singers here in Jersey. It felt like a rare treat and there were a lot of things about it that really brought me joy. The programme was one devised and brought together by the Ora Singers, and it was all around the themes of occupation and liberation, specifically around Jersey’s liberation from occupation in 1945, 80 years ago. This was wonderful for a Jersey audience, to hear a UK group conceive such a programme honouring the experience of islanders and bringing something at such a high artistic level to Jersey to share with us. To actually transmit that empathy and care about the experience of the Channel Islands in the war was really something.
There was some incredibly touching music from Tallis and Palestrina through to Howells, Poulenc (including the amazing final movement of his ‘Figure Humaine’, set to text by surrealist poet Paul Eluard, an extraordinary cry for freedom), and a new commission from Polish composer Pawel Lukaszewski, set to text by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the German theologian executed at Flossenbürg just weeks before the end of the war. A really moving programme.
Many of the singers were old friends and colleagues from my husband’s and my performing days, and we had a lovely social and catch-up at the pub after the concert. The fact that I attended with close Jersey friends made it even more special – a joyfully shared experience of live music. It felt like a homecoming. A reconnection to the world I come from and my ‘tribe’, and the sheer, wonderful power of choral sound, text, and presence.
It’s perhaps not surprising that the link I felt to my coaching practice was around mindfulness, or at least, presence. So much of coaching, especially in stress or burnout, is about creating a space where people can pause and think clearly. It’s about anchoring in the here and now rather than the past or future.
I’m struck by how many cultural and physical spaces for that kind of mindful moment have been lost. Think of bus rides, quiet walks, moments between meetings. So often now, we scroll, flick, distract. Even churches – I’m not religious, but I understand the pull of choral evensong. Forty-five minutes of ancient text, music, stillness. A ritualised, contemplative space that doesn’t ask much of you but gives a lot in return.
I’ve found this kind of presence in other places, too. Trout fishing, for example. Not just the quiet, but the focus. Observing the water, the movement, the patterns – a long, single task that requires you to be fully there. I found it healing when I was a young mother living a hectic life. (Though it’s less tranquil when you’re pulling a barbed fly from your husband’s cheek!)
A recent coffee with my fellow coach, Dr Julie Luscombe, reminded me how important it is to connect with others doing the same work. We talked about burnout and the epidemic of exhaustion. So many people’s nervous systems seem stuck in overdrive. There’s no time to stop and stare.
Mindfulness can sound esoteric, but it doesn’t have to be. It can be in choral music, fishing, standing in a queue without grabbing your phone. Letting the mind drift, then gently return. It’s not about adding more to your list – more workouts, more meditations, more practices – but noticing what we’ve lost and finding small ways to reclaim it.
As a coach, I cherish the quiet moment before a session. My mind runs fast, but I need it to slow down. To truly listen. Not to plan what to say next. To dance in the moment. These quiet, still moments are fertile ground. They make us more creative. They protect us from burnout. And I think they help us all come home to ourselves.
