Reality, vulnerability and humanity.

More than a beach journal, 30th April 2026

West Pier, Brighton. 10.45am. 17°C, sunny, moderate easterly breeze. Tide low.

I have been away. On the train home from Dorset, I shared updates with a friend in short text messages.

I shared enough to let her know we are ok but not so much that I bare intimate details of a loved ones situation. It feels safe to let on about my own worries but not so much that I appear selfish or lacking perspective. I offered my thanks for recent support but say I’ll be fine when I get home.

There’s no details passed about a family cancer diagnosis or the long days caring for someone I struggle to be with, despite the blood ties. I miss out the discomfort of our troubled past and how heavy and inevitable it feels that I am the only one stepping up to do the work that is needed.

It is easier to share these thoughts with strangers than closer people who know to look for the cracks beginning to form and the tears swallowed. The line here between privacy and connection begins to blur because I care about discretion but honesty matters and vulnerability is a thing that has become public.

And I want to write about how I tip-toed my way through concern and care with a hint of frustration, toothache and a looming test of my own for the “it’s-probably-nothing-but”. Maybe it’s too much for public consumption but I’ve been holding my tongue and it’s where I’ve been, what I’ve been doing and it’s life for me, for my family and for so many of us. Just getting through the days, just trying to stay connected to other things that matter when they are not the priority. But it’s fragile and raw.

So I’ll tell you that despite the worry and the tense relationship, there was a view that reassured my heart. I am not a country mouse, although not squeamish over mud and wildlife. There’s love for ancient trees and lambs hopping in the sun but at heart I am a salty, seaside soul.

Still, there were green fields with sheep, violet clouds and birds from dawn til dusk. The rooster across the valley, pheasants outside the kitchen window, sparrows nesting, barn swallows chattering, adding a backing track all day. Some people dream to wake in such a place.

It’s a place full of memories for me. The garden still displays the roses, herbs and shrubs that my father planted. The magpies still sit on the now empty garage roof and the shed door still sticks in wet weather. The spiders he disliked still inhabit every corner of the cottage and sparrows nest under the thatch that he had repaired.

I was a visitor in a place that keeps him alive but without his welcoming presence I felt like an alien. Staying there was at times a lovely reminder, then a heartbreaking grief.

I tried journaling but except for a short record every night of the days progress, I didn’t write. Every morning I woke to the birds and knew it was a wonder and I did what was needed until it was done.

Now, back in Brighton for a few days, I’m catching up with myself.

The days are warmer than when I left although strong winds howl around my top floor flat, creaking the windows. My first night back is unsettled.

Then there’s a dental appointment for the painful tooth, the appointment for the “it’s-probably-nothing-but” and the final tax return on my closed art business as the full moon approaches. Overdue chores fill the hours, I pick up prescriptions, shop for birthday gifts and at last, I am close enough to surrender to a stroll down to the beach.

Coming down the slope I hear the windy clanging of rigging on masts. It’s not a calm day but the sea is a beautiful deep jade. The tide is coming in and every wave seems like a rush up the shingle to meet me.

I’m warming under the sun and sit for a while sifting small stones through my fingers, perhaps hoping for a little sea glass to cross my palm. Sighing deeply in the salty air I let my shoulders drop a little.

A golden curly-haired dog is digging holes until sand flies high behind them. A couple in deck chairs drink coffee and laugh loudly. A woman picks a sheltered spot near the sailing club hut to sunbathe. The beach is surprisingly quiet considering the blue sky.

This is home.

Life will keep on sending unexpected stormy weather. But I long for peace and calm, for a sleep that isn’t interrupted by anxious dreams and mornings that don’t demand more than I have spare.

Beach journals have always been about sharing my favourite view with sea lovers, beach walkers and those that cannot visit the beach as they would like. There’s also a part of me that shares these moments by the beach because I want to be recognised, or something like that anyway. In the end I think we all just want to have someone else think, yeah, me too. Because we can all feel alone and weary sometimes.

I suppose sometimes that means sharing the aches of life, not with an apology or looking for pity but with humanity and compassion. Because these days are all of us. Riding the waves.

If you need, I wish you calmer waves.

Kore x