Shetland - A Pause That Felt Like Home

Towards the end of May, my partner and I finally ticked something off our bucket list - the Shetland Islands. It had been a long time since we had a proper trip together (trips to homeland doesn't count), and this felt like a chance to rekindle the wanderlust within us. But more than that, it was a chance to do what we love most -travel, go birding, and explore - side by side, the way we always have.

I will admit I was slightly nervous. The long ferry crossing from Aberdeen to Lerwick had me worried about motion sickness. Especially because the memory of a channel crossing a few years ago is still vivid in my mind. It had left a bad taste - I was seasick the entire time. But this journey turned out to be smoother than I could have imagined. I stood on deck watching guillemots, gannets and gulls fly around the ferry as the light faded, and then slept soundly through the night. We were even treated to a few glimpses of dolphins - and I went to sleep with a smiling heart.

My partner was already in his element -striking up conversations with fellow passengers, finding out who the birders were, swapping notes and conversing easily with strangers as though he had known them for years. That's just who he is - warm, open, and effortlessly social in a way that I quietly marvel at. I am the quieter one - the calmer one in case the plans go awry (at least, that's what I think). Together, we balance each other out rather well.

Landing in Lerwick, we headed to the first birdwatching spot and were greeted almost immediately with dolphins again, close-up views of puffins, and thousands of fulmars filling the sky. The weather was foggy and wet, but I couldn't stop smiling. We bumped into a few of the birders we had met on the ferry, and that easy warmth picked up right where it had left off. There's a unique kind of bond that forms quickly among people who share that particular madness - and my partner, naturally, was at the centre of it all, making sure everyone saw as many birds as they can.

Later, we explored a prehistoric site - birds everywhere, of course, because in Shetland too, birds are simply everywhere - and came away with our heads full of both fascinating local history and yet more sightings, with a fantastic sighting of a bonxie (great skua) being the highlight.

The days that followed saw us island-hopping and driving through landscapes that felt like a different world altogether. Hardly any traffic - not a surprise given how sparsely populated the islands are - and everywhere I looked, the sea was never far (interestingly, no part of Shetland is more than five kilometres from sea). Dramatic, restless, always present.

It was on one of those islands that we had one of my favourite moments of the entire trip. We came across a young boy, already deeply into birding, peering eagerly through his binoculars. His mother was taking him around the islands to see birds. Contrary to my nature, I struck up a conversation with the mom - Nikky from Birmingham - and exchanged notes. She was very supportive of her son and had this patient pride that only a birding parent could carry. My partner and I chatted with the mom about what the boy had seen, what he was hoping to see, and by the end of our short ferry trip, we became frends. Although we parted ways then, we bumped into each other later that day and exchanged notes on where the see some special birds. It was such a lovely thing to experience - a camaraderie between birders.

Throughout the trip we encountered seasoned birders at various spots - people who knew these islands and their birds intimately, who pointed us in the right directions and shared their knowledge generously. My partner is a natural when it comes to conversations, and as I listened, I couldn't help appreciate how these small human connections added a whole other layer to the experience. Strangers became friends for an hour or an afternoon, and it made the birding feel less like ticking a list and more like being part of something.

There were also the kind souls who stopped to take our photographs when we asked - and a few who offered without being asked, sensing perhaps that we would want to remember a particular moment. Those small gestures of warmth stayed with me.

It felt as if life had simply paused. All we had to think about was how beautiful everything was. Even the seemingly barren moorlands and bogs were alive with colour, movement and quiet wonder. The eyes shone. Hearts beat joyfully. Nothing else seemed to matter.

What struck me most was how completely at home I felt with the slow pace of it all. Waiting for a ferry or holding still for a bird to show itself - neither made me impatient. Just being there made me feel alive. The walks were invigorating even when the body protested. The wind was constant - a cheerful nuisance, forever trying to steal our caps and blow us sideways - but even that felt like part of the charm.

And those walks - the long, windswept, slightly breathless hikes across the hills and clifftops - gave me something I hadn't expected. A quiet realisation of how precious all of this was. How lucky I am to have a body that can do this, legs that carry me to places of such beauty, and eyes that can take it all in. But above everything else, how lucky I am to be doing it with him - the most important person in my life. Twenty-five years together, and yet somewhere between the cliff edges and the bird calls and the cold Atlantic wind, something shifted. Or perhaps it was always there, and Shetland simply made it visible again. There were moments - just brief, quiet ones - that felt like falling in love all over again. I don't say that lightly. But that is exactly what it felt like.

The days were peaceful and the nights restful. There were no pressures other than the ones we had brought with us - and even those quietly dissolved. I forgot about everything. I lived entirely in the present, taking in every sight, every sound, every breath of the sea air. Mindfulness stopped being something to practise and simply became the way of things. Every breath brought in freshness and energy. It was something I hadn't felt in a very long time.

A week's holiday used to feel long enough, with my heart eventually yearning for home. But this time, home felt like a distant memory I wasn't in any hurry to return to. The silence and calmness suited me. The slow pace suited me more than I had expected it to. It was a delightful pause from the daily rush - and I hadn't realised just how much I needed it.

Relaxed, grounded, content, and - wonderfully -not a trace of motion sickness. The blue sky, the turquoise water, the green hills and the seemingly neverending moorland -everything felt picture perfect. And in that stillness, I became aware of a contrast I usually try not to think about too hard: none of the daily stressors of my life had followed me here. Not one.

For me, it was the pause I had been needing without knowing it. A reminder to live fully - not to rush, not to stress, not to merely go through the motions. But it was also something more than that. It was a reminder of how good it feels to share the things you love with the person you love. To travel together, to bird together, to stand at the edge of the cliffs together and just breathe. My partner's presence, the ease with which he gets along with people -it made every moment richer. And I hope that in my own quieter way, I gave him something too - a steadiness, a stillness, a hand to hold when the wind tried to carry us off.

The happiness I felt there needed no particular reason. Smiles came without effort. It was the best five days I have had in recent memory, and I wished, genuinely, that we could have stayed longer.

But of course, it was a holiday, and we had to come back to our lives here.

Still, the trip did something good to both of us. Even now, when I close my eyes, I can feel the wind on my face and that clean Shetland air in my lungs. I can see the puffins, the fulmars, the gannets taking to the sky, the group of bonxies, the little boy peering through his binoculars, and my partner smiling at me in a way only he can. And it melts my heart.

My life is beautiful ❤️