Finding peace when things don’t work out as expected. Making space for the not-so-comfortable but ever-so-necessary feelings.

Throughout my life, I’ve got slightly excited when things go a bit wrong. First up, it allows me to think in the moment, on my feet - it allows me to improvise.

That doesn’t mean I don’t still go through the feelings of sadness, anger, disappointment, embarrassment or the likes. I do. I simply allow space for them. I’m prepared to feel them. With presence. This is something I’ve become more and more comfortable with, and it allows me to hold the same kind of space for the children’s inner turmoils. I don’t just tolerate them - I can welcome each individual emotion with curiosity, allowing its right to be there, and listening to the message it’s trying to convey. I have space to listen and to feel into it.

When things go wrong and we are able to open up, feel and share - even or especially the vulnerable moments - the magic happens. The people come together, and there is love, kindness, compassion, humour, and humanness. Two particular memories come to mind. One is very recent and the other a long time ago - they’ve become my favourite memories of receiving and sharing the kind of light that won’t ever let me shy away from my belief in the fundamental good in people.

That night in Granada

It was my last night in Spain, in Granada. I walked through the streets soaking up the atmosphere of the city I love so much. I looked at the architecture, cherishing the artistic details of love on the buildings, the narrow streets and cobbles - all soaked up in the golden light of the street lamps. I was on my own, and I loved it. I had this immense feeling of love within me.

I overtook someone, as I had a little skip in my walk. That someone grabbed my bag. My bag - with my ID card, which I needed for my flight, and my last five euros, which I needed for the bus to get to the airport the next day. So we fought over the bag while I also screamed. He got the fiver, I kept my ID.

Well… all the emotions came over me in a big sob. How was I meant to get to the airport?! Hitchhike?

And you know what? I can’t help but feel a little sorry for the guy who robbed me - the poorest tourist around. All that effort for a fiver!

All the screaming got about 15 people out of their homes, ready to support me - a stranger who did not speak their language except for a few words. Did it matter? Not one bit. I could feel the compassion, the love, the care, the connection. You know… that sparkly connection. It was beautiful. People gave me water and waited with me for the police.

In that time, I recovered emotionally. The police came and took me to the station so I could give a statement. They looked for a German/Spanish translator but couldn’t find anyone that late at night. So my statement looked like this: “Un hombre quiere mi bolso y yo AAAAAHHHHHHH.”

There was so much humour and laughter at the station. I think the reason this experience hasn’t scarred me is because of all the incredible people who came to be with me. It was straight-up healing. There was so much light.

And then there was the other day.

Not a big dramatic event like that, but meaningful. Important to me.

We went to this small festival - full of creative people, child-friendly, just a beautiful vibe.

If you know me in Oxford, you probably know my car - it’s got loads of wonderful kids’ drawings all over it. Little words of kindness, encouragement, celebration - spreading love.

So I had this glorious idea. I made an open invitation for people at the festival to join in. I mean, who gets to draw on a car, right?! I created a poster inviting people to add something that might make someone smile.

What I hadn’t factored in was that we might have different views on what’s smile-worthy - especially teenagers, who have their own unique ideas. When I came back to the car in the evening, it was covered in swear words (some actually terrible), and of course… penises. And (!) ovaries.

Of course I was disappointed, sad, and embarrassed - not because of what was on the car, but because I started doubting myself. Was this a silly idea? (It wasn’t.)

I made space for those feelings. I felt them. Even felt those one, two, or three tears run down my face. It was good. It was right to feel this. I took time. I had kind friends who listened and were there, helping me not feel alone in it.

Later, I lay on the car bonnet and looked at the night sky. Disappearing into the vastness of the stars. And it opened me up.

What happened down here suddenly felt like such a tiny little thing. If this hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have taken that moment to look up at the stars. And I wouldn’t have seen that one shooting star.

I don’t think I made a wish. I just felt peace, and I felt grateful for having seen it. There was joy, wonder, and awe. I made space for those feelings too. I wrapped them up and took them to bed with me.

The next morning, I bumped into a whole bunch of wonderful kids I know from one of the schools we go into. I told them what had happened, and asked if they wanted to help me fix it.

They were in, with so much enthusiasm and positivity. (I’d already removed the worst bits!)They covered the car with so much kindness, positivity and love.

Do you see what I’m talking about?

When we open up about the not-so-glamorous moments in our lives - when we share with vulnerability, ask for help, and sit with the discomfort - we make room to receive so much light.

I guess what I’m trying to say is: In my experience, the goodness that comes after a downer is immense.

These were just two small examples, but I’ve been fortunate enough to have had similarly strong light shine into much darker moments in my life.

My point is: trust in the power of the goodness that is all around us, and in all of us. We are made to come together in moments of difficulty, and in moments of joy.

There is hope, love, and community always ready to jump in, shine, and wrap us (wrap you!) in warmth and joy.