This morning, I did something stupid.

This morning, I did something stupid.

It was a careless, momentary lapse of attention that led to something precious getting broken.

It was early(ish) in the morning and I’d just got up. There was a fly in my bedroom. Just a regular housefly. The annoying but harmless kind. And it was doing that thing flies do when they’re buzzing around at the window, trying to get out (why do they always go for the window that doesn’t open?!)

Anyway, the fly was buzzing against the window repeatedly and I was trying to flap it towards the open window beside it - but to no avail. Then, all of a sudden it changed direction and hurtled towards another window: a small one that does open.

So, without thinking, I grabbed the handle and flung it open wide. As I did so, I realised with dismay what was about to happen.

Unable to stop the event I’d unwittingly put into motion, I watched, aghast, as my beautiful, stained glass dolphin (that had moments earlier been hanging from that same window handle) was catapulted out into the air.

It fell to the ground below with a sickening clunk.

I gasped in horror. What had I done?!

Desperately hoping it had somehow escaped unharmed, I ran downstairs and opened the back door to see it lying all forlorn on the metal boot scraper.

Tentatively, I picked it up and surveyed the damage. Miraculously, it was somehow still intact but the glass had splintered in a number of places and the large crystal that was hanging from the bottom had broken off.

I let out a mournful cry as a wave of anguish washed over me.

You see, it may merely be a stained glass dolphin, worth only about £10, but it has great sentimental value. I bought it from a little gift shop, in a small New Zealand town called Hector, about three years ago.

And that town has a very special place in my heart. I first visited Hector twenty years ago as part of a round-the-world trip that came about as a result of a difficult time in my life.

I was going through a divorce, dealing with a broken heart and was generally feeling pretty lonely and lost. And then, one night I was out in the pub with a good friend of mine when I mooted the idea of spending the proceeds from my divorce settlement on a gap year. I fantasised about traveling the world to have an adventure, get away from it all and go on a voyage of self-discovery! To my surprise, my friend agreed to come with me.

Fast forward about a year and I found myself sat on a beach in a little town called Hector, partway through the trip of a lifetime. I’d been having an incredible time, meeting wonderful people and having many fantastic experiences but throughout it all was an undercurrent of sadness that I seemed unable to shake.

So, there I was, on the beach, all alone, looking out to sea, reflecting on what had gone wrong in my life, feeling lost, depressed and fearful of facing the future as a single woman.

And, as I sat there contemplating life, I noticed some movement in my peripheral vision a few metres away. I turned my head to see a baby seal peering at me from behind a rock. Noticing that I’d seen her, she ducked back behind the rock and then, a few moments later, she peeped out at me again.

She did this back and forth peekaboo game for a good ten minutes or so, looking at me quizzically before disappearing back behind the rock, only to reappear moments later from a different vantage point. It was as though she was saying to me, ‘Hey! Cheer up! It’s not all that bad!’

This was both amusing and endearing and, as I watched this young seal doing her best to cheer me up, something in me suddenly shifted. It was as though a profound sense of calm came over me and I realised that, although I was heartbroken, I would get past this. I would put my heart back together and I would be happy again. I walked away from the beach that afternoon feeling happier and more peaceful than I’d felt in a long time.

That day on the beach in Hector was only a brief moment in a year-long trip that was packed with many incredible moments but it was a very profound moment and, because of this, Hector will always have a special place in my heart.

I’ve always felt a connection with New Zealand – even before I’d ever been there. When my travels were over, I’d intended to return as soon as I could get the money together and a visa sorted. And I always hoped I would one day call it home – at least for a year or two. But life got in the way and it never happened.

Then, three years ago, I finally got my wish to return to the ‘Land of the Long White Cloud’ on an extended holiday with my husband, Alistair, and our two daughters, Charlotte and Ava. When I planned our ten-week adventure, a trip to Hector was an important feature on our itinerary.

After many months of excited planning and waiting, the time to return finally arrived and as we touched down on the runway in Auckland, I cried. I was so overjoyed to be back.

Some weeks later, we visited that small, quiet, seaside town on the coast of the South Island. There is not really a lot there but it was the one place I was most itching to get back to as it represented such a significant moment in my life.

Once we’d looked around together for a bit, I wandered onto the beach to have a little time to myself. I sat down on a rock and reflected on how much my life has changed for the better since my last visit in 2001. I reminisced about that day on the beach and imagined how my thirty-year-old self would have felt if she’d known she would one day be returning with a (different) husband and two daughters. After I’d sat there for a while, my heart full, I walked back up the path towards my family.

As I was nearing them, Alistair suddenly started exclaiming and pointing out to sea. Following his gesture, I let out a gasp as I spotted a large pod of Hector’s dolphins leaping through the water. We stood there together and watched them, entranced, as they danced their way out towards the horizon. It was another truly magical moment and seemed a fitting way to end our visit to Hector.

A short while later, on our way out of town, we stopped at a wonderful little art studio (The Torea Gallery & Studios) packed with arts and crafts from local artists. I wanted to buy something to take home with me – a little piece of Hector. As soon as I saw the beautiful stained glass dolphins hanging in the window, I knew I had to have one – even though a glass souvenir was not the most practical choice. I was so relieved that I managed to get it home, halfway round the world intact.  

Back home in England, I hung my treasured souvenir in pride of place on the window handle, where it would often catch the sunlight and cast dancing rainbows across the bedroom. Every time I saw that dolphin it reminded me of that special time and brought a smile to my face.

So, there I stood, on the doorstep, broken dolphin in hand, feeling truly upset and cross with myself for being so stupid and clumsy. Straight away the jackal language kicked in: ‘You’re such an idiot!’ ‘How could you be so careless?’ ‘What an idiotic thing to do!’ ‘This is so typical of you!’ On and on I ranted to myself, feeling more and more upset.

But then I caught sight of the giraffe picture on my wall. And I stopped.

I realised that jackaling at myself was only making an unfortunate situation even worse. Telling myself what an idiot I was wouldn’t change what had happened, nor would it fix the dolphin. It was just making me feel even more terrible.

So I paused, took some deep breaths, and connected with my inner giraffe.

I stepped into my giraffe skin and asked myself what I was feeling and why.

And I realised that I felt sad.

Sad that I hadn’t paused to remove the dolphin from the handle before opening the window.

Sad, that, even if we can glue it back together, my dolphin will never look the same again.

Sad that the sunlight won’t shine through it in the same way as before.

Sad that something had happened and I couldn’t undo it.

And then I shed a few tears.

And I allowed myself to do so without judgement; without telling myself I was ‘being silly’, ‘overreacting’, that it ‘doesn’t matter’ or ‘I can get another one’.

I just put my jackals aside and let the emotions flow through me.

And then I forgave myself.

Because, I realised that…

This morning, I did something human.