Binging on clean air feels nothing short of a luxury

Since I was 16, my parents have lived in France. Prior to having the balls to fully commit to the region, they would drag my sister and I to their holiday home, every summer — for weeks on end. Serious preparation was needed and the Citroen Picasso would be stacked from floor to ceiling. Any worries were deemed temporary and to be abandoned as soon as the ferry departed from Dover. Positive attitudes were mandatory; the stakes seemed too high for my parents.

The summer days rolled into one another like the clouds that endlessly covered the sky. Occasionally, a sun ray would escape, as if by accident. Once I caught the beam of light projecting onto the stone floor, I would sprint outside and launch myself onto a sun lounger. After about 45 minutes of shivering restlessly, I’d scurry inside to examine my non-existent tan lines in the bathroom mirror. Disappointed with my efforts, I’d slump around the house in my bare feet, on the hunt for something else to ‘do’.

Those ‘boring’ summers must have planted a seed. Coming home with a ripened perspective and some new priorities in my pocket makes me feel like I’m returning somewhere new. Waking up surrounded by the sounds of whispering trees, metal tea spoons tracing tea cup edges, under the gentle murmuring of my parents in conversation, feels like a precious gift.