Love Letters From Arran:

It's been a little over a month since I arrived on this precious island, and already it feels so far away from my inland life. 

A world away in distance, but the winding rivers that led me to this place are still at the heart of everything. 

When I was in England, I lived in the very middle of the land: almost as far from the sea as you could be. Ironic for a girl who made sand angels on her first ever beach and spent years of her twenties dreaming her way back to the ocean. And now, here she is. 

Standing out on the open deck on the ferry crossing from Troon to Brodick as I left my mainland life behind, I caught myself watching the waves. The way they lapped hypnotically against the side of the boat; reflecting tiny stars that danced on the surface, each one a memory of the puzzle pieces that led me here.

I'd built a community back in my inland home. Away from the sea, I connected deeply with those who yearned for it too. A shared knowing that the sea was the place we felt most alive.

The pull of something blue.

And here I was, on the edge of an island community that knew the answers lay within the seabed. A community that, for 30 years, has understood the ocean's value in a way the world is only just beginning to understand. 

When the pull of something blue felt too strong to set aside, I poured my dreams into Cornish beaches. I shared pieces of my wishes in voice notes and I wrote into life the vision that had kept me company on every riverside walk. I took tiny steps. Tiny steps that for years seemed invisible.

And then, all at once, I was on a ferry, grinning in disbelief as I watched a Minke whale break free from the depths, invisible it seemed to everyone but me. 

As I scanned the horizon, open to the wonder, my eyes had landed in exactly the right place, at exactly the right time. 

That moment echoed the little voice in my head that wasn't so little any more. 

‘Go to the ocean’.

Following the footprints of the little girl that made sand angels on her first Cornish beach, this was the path shaped by every barefoot paddle at the water's edge. 

I'd heard stories back home about this island. A land of scenic views and breathtaking blue, a charming taste of Scotland in miniature. Tales of friends with houses here, seeing with clear eyes those elusive stags, and secondhand stories of a man solo walking the island paths. 

Arran entered my life before I even arrived. Crossing the threshold from one life to another, this was only the beginning of the adventure. 

Something Old: Machrie Moor stone circles

Something New: Mountain running 

Something Borrowed: "Does the song of the sea end at the shore or in the hearts of those who listen to it?" 

Something Blue: Eas Mor Waterfall