How my aunty’s legacy put me back on the path to happiness
When Covid forced globetrotting career woman STEPHANIE CONWAY back to the ‘dull, insular’ Lake District, she had no idea that a bizarre bequest of old walking boots would guide her heart home
THE Lake District version of a traffic jam is getting caught behind a flock of freshly-clipped sheep as they’re herded, very slowly, back to their field by a farmer and his dog. As England’s largest national park, it gets nearly 16 million visitors but even in high season it never feels crowded. My childhood memories are of beautiful, deserted mountains, lakes and valleys.
But while the geographical landscape was vast, the human landscape seemed small. To me, the small town of Cockermouth, where I grew up, felt like a goldfish bowl where everyone seemed to know your business, even if much of it wasn’t true. I couldn’t wait to discover the anonymity of big cities.
My escape came from storytelling. I’ve always loved a good story, so I started acting in local theatre groups, then joined the National Youth Theatre at 16.
Aged 18, I won a scholarship to the American Academy of Dramatic Arts and left the Lake District for Los Angeles without so much as a backward glance.
Most working actors sustain their careers with minimum wage jobs between acting gigs, hanging on for the big break – if that ever happens.And I have tremendous respect for anyone who loves their craft enough to endure such a financially uncertain life. But reluctantly, I decided that wasn’t something I wanted after all.
After graduation – desperately not wanting to come home – I sent my CV to every HR department in LA. My English accent got me a job with a marketing agency, and I ran celebrity brand partnerships on campaigns with the likes of Nicki Minaj and Ariana Grande.
After eight years of that, I started a freelance business and left for south-east Asia to work as a digital nomad. I spent two years based in Lombok, working from the beach while learning to surf. I loved the carefree, rootless life I had created.
BUT then came coronavirus. Everything ended overnight. Clients no longer had funds, friends fled to their home countries, and the Indonesian hospitals weren’t Covid-ready.
With a sweeping global pandemic and the subsequent closure of international borders, I found myself with no choice but to return to the dull, insular place I’d vowed never to come back to. After 10 years abroad and about to turn 30, I reluctantly went back to live with my mum and step-dad Jeff and tried to rebuild my life from zero.
My mother, Anne, is an avid fell walker. When her sister Gillian died of cancer at 53 recently, it became her escape. A former nurse who became a health visitor, mum went back on to the wards during lockdown to support nurses on the front line. After a difficult day she would lace up her boots and set off up a fell to clear her mind and disconnect from the world.And her instincts clearly told her that was what I needed too. “Come with me up Sale Fell?” she suggested.
“I don’t have the right shoes,” I whined, as if I were 15 again.
“Yes, you do,” she said. “Aunty Gillian left you hers.”
I went downstairs to the garage to find a pair of hiking boots. They fitted me perfectly. We were the same shoe size and we also shared the same birthday. It’s almost as if she had left me an invitation: “Welcome back to your roots, Steph.”
Aunty Gillian was my mum’s only sister, and they were best friends. A care worker, she had repeatedly complained to her GP about a bad cough but kept being turned away. When finally she saw a specialist, it was already too late – stage 4 lung cancer and less than six months to live.
She immediately took off on a train around Europe with the love of her life, my uncle Tony. They made the most of every last moment together. A gift that not everyone is blessed with before they die.
So for her sake, and to cheer up my mum, I laced up Aunty Gillian’s old boots and we drove to the village of Wythop Mill, where we parked in one of the narrow, muddy pull-ins. As I looked towards the summit, I wondered if I could keep up with her. But as we made
‘I left the Lake District for Los Angeles without so much as a backward glance’
our way up the well-trodden path, with no distractions, I became lost in our conversation.
“Do you miss her?” I asked. “I miss telling her things about my day,” mum replied sadly. “But it hurts the most on beautiful days like today. She doesn’t get to experience this.”
Breathing in the fresh air, and seeing sheep grazing in front of a cascading view of lakes and fields made me feel suddenly grateful to be there.
I didn’t think about how long we had left to walk or how out of breath I was. Or even about the exciting, cosmopolitan life I had left behind. I simply lived in the
‘Bright lights I’d chased blinded me from what matters… family, home and natural beauty’
moment. Just me, my mum and the fells. By the time we reached the top, I was converted.
An only child, growing up I’d had a complicated relationship with my mum. I realised in that moment that it took me moving away for us to develop a strong relationship because we realised – at a distance – how much we truly valued one another. She has always supported my travelling and living away, but she has always wanted me to come home. Standing there that day in my blue windbreaker, thick red woolly socks and green waterproof trousers, it struck me that just a few short months ago, I wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing an outfit like that.
But nature doesn’t care what you look like. It simply rewards you for making the effort to climb with a breathtaking view from the top. A reminder of how small you – and your problems – are compared to the big wide world. Now, my favourite part of the week is putting on my Aunty Gillian’s boots and joining my mum up the fells I once rolled my eyes at.
With fresh air in my lungs, tears on my cheeks from windchill, and the breeze in my hair, I am overwhelmed by the natural beauty that I once took for granted.
With your own two feet, carrying only what you need on your back, you can discover the world at your pace. It’s also a great release of endorphins, known to make us feel happier. Environmental psychologist Lee Chambers, has
aconsidered take on why a good walk is so beneficial to mind and body. He said: “In a world of ‘busy,’ moments of solitude remind us of our humanity and just how important it is to bond with those close to us.”
That is where I had gone wrong. I’d been so busy travelling around the world trying to “experience life” that I’d failed to appreciate what had always been waiting for me. I don’t regret it because in leaving and spending time abroad on my own, I learned so much about myself and became a better person for it. Living in Bali, I saw abject poverty which changed my entire outlook on life and made me less materialistic. I’ve developed confidence in myself and my abilities through successfully working on high-profile celebrity campaigns in Los Angeles, and being trusted by Hollywood elites to bring projects to fruition.
But the bright lights that I had been chasing blinded me from appreciating what matters… my family, my home, and the dazzling natural beauty that surrounds it.
Now I want to live in the moment and enjoy what life has to offer in a locked down world with my family and childhood friends.
And it is all down to my Aunty Gillian and the legacy she left me. Her old walking boots were just the key that unlocked it.
In her final days on earth, she didn’t worry about money, or success or social status. The love she had cultivated in the people around her was all that mattered. I’m grateful to her and, ironically, to Covid. Between them they stopped me wasting my life and showed me where to look for true happiness.