I find myself on a SAGA cruise, amongst ‘seasoned cruisers”. It’s our third time with SAGA and you meet people, this time of average age 78 with stories that can make you admire the way these people reach the ages they do. I’m 66 and my wife Teresa is 64, so we are not so ‘seasoned‘. Here’s a term I come across a lot these days , "He's so comfortable in his own skin." It's meant to be a compliment—a sign of inner peace and confidence. But what happens when that comfort zone becomes a prison? When we're so comfortable, that we never have to face the inevitable storms of life, we lose our ability to grow.

The truth is, life is a constant series of crises. I've faced my own share: probably not so much as some of the 998 passengers on this ‘Spirit Of Discovery’ . There is Derek, who had booked a cruise last year with his now late wife, who told me that he had obtained permission, (from the Captain) to scatter his wife’s ashes from deck six after her in December 2024. Then there is Stella, 95, who seemingly has the stride of a young gazelle every time I see her. Each person, we talk to has been through their own crises point and no doubt some of my readers have gone through their own personal situation too.

I remember the death of my father,(aged 86), which occurred over a painful marital separation after decades of service in the Navy, and the profound grief of losing my mother two years later and who never enjoyed the pleasures of cruising or being able to gallop around cruise ship decks like Stella.

I speak to people who have survived into their eighties to “carry on cruising”, the expense seemingly not a problem. Some who were born in 1930’s, or were children during the Second World War, those who have had a busy NHS, keeping them alive through cancer diagnoses, the pandemic and the loss of loved ones through the years some during the pandemic and I reflect on my recent episode with my own prostate cancer diagnosis in 2023.

Such life events can feel like an assault on our very being, a "bad news breaking the skin." But what if those breaks aren't a sign of weakness? What if they are an opportunity to cultivate a deeper, more resilient self, for us to “carry on cruising”; so to speak? In this blog I thought I would reflect on a few crises points in my own life. I hope some of the thoughts resonate with those who are also experiencing such events and that you can also find your own way to move on through the storms of life itself.

A Garden of Grief: Tending the Soil After the Storm

When my father passed away, he had spent his last months in the compassionate hands of a hospice. I was going through my own personal storm, leaving the Royal Navy after 28 years and facing the end of my marriage. I had a new job and felt unmoored.

After he passed, I collected his belongings in a small box, a painful reminder of a life that was now gone. But in that moment, something shifted. Watching what was left of this proud, kind man—a Burma veteran who had lived a full life—I realised life was too short to stay in a state of comfortable numbness.

I decided to see my grief not as a wound to be hidden, but as soil to be tended. My own skin became the land, and my inner happiness, the garden. When bad news hits, it's like a harsh frost or a destructive storm that seems to kill everything. But the roots—the core of who you are and what brings you joy—are still there. Grieving is about pulling the weeds of despair and tending to the soil, waiting for new shoots of hope to emerge. The goal isn't to pretend the storm never happened, but to find beauty in the garden that grows after it. Today, my father's ashes are in my garden, and he is always with me.

The Kintsugi of the Soul: Highlighting the Cracks

Two years later, another crisis arrived with my mother. I had moved her closer to me, hoping she would be happier, but she was not. During a heated argument, she threw a glass of water at me. The glass broke, and in that shattering moment, I felt our relationship crack.

She passed away around Christmas that year. Her death left another painful crack in my soul, but it also taught me a profound lesson about healing.

The Japanese art of Kintsugi is the practice of mending broken pottery with gold, silver, or platinum lacquer. The breaks are not hidden; they are highlighted, becoming a beautiful part of the object’s history.

When grief breaks you, it creates cracks. Instead of trying to hide them, you can see them as places where light and gold can be added. The pain is real, but the process of mending can make you even more beautiful and resilient than you were before. My mother now rests with my sister, and I find comfort in the white feathers that sometimes appear, a sign that her love is still with me.

Finding Your North Star: Trusting the Light Within

My 2023 prostate cancer diagnosis presented another storm. When you're "comfortable in your own skin," you've found your North Star—that unshakeable inner compass. Bad news can feel like a storm that obscures the night sky, making it impossible to find your way.

I got lost temporarily in that storm, after being sacked from job for being honest and telling my boss, I had to go for an MRI, after a prostate examination by my local doctor advised it. In this start up company where I had “death in service“ in the contract, (which means that, if I died in work, my widow would be paid three and a half times my £65k salary) and having passed my three month probation period, (I hadn’t quite done six months), I thought that I was doing okay. I got this new ‘start up‘ business through their ISO9001 (quality assurance) and ISO27001 (information security) awards and set up their customs systems for quantum computing operations after five months of hard work.

When I got back from the MRI, my boss brought me to Human Resources and informed me that my work was not up to standard and they were to let go before Christmas. At Christmas, I was informed that I had PC stage 2.

Grieving is the process of navigating that storm. It's about remembering that even though you can't see your North Star, you know it's still there. The work of grieving isn't about getting rid of the storm, but about holding onto the belief that your inner light will guide you through it until the skies clear. In the case of the job, a lawyer got me some money, (£5k) from the business as a “good will gesture“. I saw this as an admission of guilt and contrivance to avoid any kind of caring attitude to an employee as essentially it was an unfair dismissal. However, it’s difficult to prove and after six months an employee terminated is not entitled to anything if you are let go for some HR demeanour.

The phrase "comfortably numb" from the Pink Floyd song takes on new meaning here. This isn't just about an insulating detachment; it's about moving through pain to find a deeper understanding of yourself. Professionals can help, but ultimately, the journey is our own.

All of these crises test our resolve. They break us, but in the end, they reveal our resilience. Being comfortable in your own skin isn't about avoiding the storms—it's about knowing your garden will grow again, your cracks will shine like gold, and your North Star will always be there to guide you home. Keep on, keeping on, get comfortable in your own skin.

Poem

Breaking the Skin

Hi, it's me, I have some news.

It's up to you. You can choose.

Do you want the bad or the good?

Give me the worst—I'm ready now.

I can't explain it in one word.

Perhaps it's not my place to say.

Just bruise me and batter me, I know my own face.

"Are you okay?" I hear the refrain.

Thanks for telling me, I'll deal with it.

Another crisis point. Things come around as we grow.

I'm comfortable in my own skin, comfortably numb—you know?

I'm okay, you're okay. Remember that book?

Remember, we will find a way.

[inspired by hearing the Pink Floyd song ‘Comfortably Numb’]