Transitions, Transitions, Transitions…

In the spirit of a slow burn… this blog comes to you a day late (and a week behind schedule), but hear me out — we’ve just moved from Oxfordshire to Glasgow, and life has been full-on. Thank you for your patience — we’re back on track!

We’ve just made the move to Glasgow after 10 years of living abroad and in England. Honestly, I never thought I’d move back to Scotland — least of all to Glasgow. It was never quite my city when I lived here before, and I still feel a bit like a tourist in it now. It’s familiar but foreign at the same time.

Nevertheless, we made it.

It’s been just shy of two weeks, and in that short window, it’s been a whirlwind: shopping for house necessities, applying for jobs, multiple interviews, welcoming a new baby niece to the family, a few tears, studio hunting, and trying to sleep with a heavy mind full of questions about how we’ll manage the next little while — especially when so much still feels uncertain.

And yet — I’m pleased to be here.

As of today, I’ve signed the contract for my first new studio in the city after months of being without one! I won’t be able to move in until October, but it’s locked in — waiting for me to return to the work that matters most.

To be honest, it feels like my life has been in transition for ten years.
And… it still is.

Some semblance of stability has come my way over the last six months, but even now, life continues to hold loose ends — waiting either to be tied up or moved forward into their next chapter.

As I head into August, I’ll be closing a couple of doors and stepping through new ones. Another transition begins.

I’d like to think that, in a few more months, things might settle for my family. But if I’m being honest — that might not be the case.

What I’ve learned, alongside many friends on similar paths, is that we humans crave control. A sense of certainty helps us feel okay, balanced, like we can handle what’s ahead. So, when things shift — when life moves us — it can feel like we’ve lost our footing.

My mum often says, “I think it’s time you settled down, stopped moving, and knuckled down now.”

But the truth is — most of my moving hasn’t been part of a nomadic dream or an artistic pursuit. It’s been out of necessity.

Sometimes we move because the situation no longer serves us.
Sometimes we move because it’s the braver, more honest thing to do.
And sometimes we move because rent becomes unsustainable, and we need to make practical choices.

Whatever the reason, I’ve been in motion — trying to locate “home,” not just for my family, but for my work. For a life that feels rooted and aligned.

Now, another big move is behind us. And after two years of transition — and a brief window of what felt like stability — I can’t quite say whether this move will be a lasting one.

And that makes me pause.

How am I thinking about that? If it unsettles me — does it need to?

It’s already a cliché to say that nothing is certain or truly within our control. But instead of hoping the sea calms and that I’ll arrive at some peaceful destination, maybe the kinder thing is to steady myself for the next wave. To soften into what comes, rather than resist it.

If things must change, the greatest gift I can offer myself is not to label that change as bad, difficult, unfair, or off-course.

If I can allow it — truly allow the transition in its fullness — then maybe there’s room for possibility. Even peace. Even love.

Allowing is, in its essence, an act of love.
A quiet, intentional gesture of care.

So I’ll try to sit here, in a state of allowing — for whatever may come next.