There are places in the world that do something to you. Places that feel less like somewhere you visit and more like somewhere your soul recognises.
For me, Ireland, and particularly Killowen and Rostrevor along the magnificent Carlingford Lough, is where my soul responds. Nestled beneath the beautiful Mourne Mountains, this part of the world is where I call my spiritual home: a place of family, memory, belonging and connection. It is also a place I introduce to readers in my book, Fierce Love: Essential Lessons in Coaching with Courage, Compassion and Connection.
Perhaps it is no coincidence that my connection to this landscape sits alongside another discovery, Anam Cara, which has also stayed with me throughout my life. Both have shaped my understanding of what it means to feel connected, to belong and to be met by something deeper than words alone.
My relationship with the idea of Anam Cara began in Dublin in 1999, during a challenging time in my life. It was then that I first discovered the work of Irish philosopher and poet John O’Donohue, and his writing about the Celtic tradition of the soul friend. This spoke to something deep within me. It offered a way of thinking about friendship that went beyond advice or reassurance. It introduced the possibility of being met more deeply, and of being in relationships where we could bring more of ourselves and feel understood in our humanity.
Perhaps because I discovered the concept of soul friend at a time when I needed it most, it became more than a philosophical concept. It became a way of understanding the importance of the people who walk alongside us through life, particularly when the way ahead is uncertain. It continues to remind me of the significance of our connections with one another, and of the places and people who help us feel more fully ourselves.
In the middle of October this year, I returned to Killowen, Co. Down, to celebrate my 60th birthday. My whole family joined me. Unexpectedly for this time of year, the sun was bursting out of the heavens and lit up the magnificent Mourne Mountains in all their glory. It felt as though the landscape itself was joining in our celebrations.
Cnoc Sí: A place of remembrance
One of the mountains above Killowen is Cnoc Sí, meaning Hill of the Fairies, and it is where my dad rests. There is a deeper story behind this place, which I explore in Lesson 13 of Fierce Love.
Whenever we come home, we walk up the mountain together. We sing, laugh, pray and spend time celebrating as a family and remembering our dad and how much he means to us all. It is a simple ritual, but one that holds so much meaning: both for the people who are still with us and the person who may be gone in body but remains part of us in spirit.
As we walked together beneath those October skies, I was reminded that love does not simply disappear when someone dies. It becomes part of the places we return to, the stories we tell, the rituals we keep and the ways we continue to belong to one another.
This too is connected to the spirit of Anam Cara: the relationships that shape us, the bonds that endure and the ways we remain connected across the different seasons of our lives.
But the weekend celebration brought another reminder of connection, one that came from a rather unexpected direction.
When a whole community shows up
I had planned the birthday celebrations one year previously, with the usual mixture of excitement and optimism. I booked a restaurant for 20 people on the first evening, ordered a birthday cake in advance and arranged a buffet for 40 for the party night.
When I made the bookings in 2025, not one of the businesses asked for a deposit or any money upfront. There was a level of trust and generosity that felt remarkable.
When everyone arrived, I discovered I had forgotten one rather important detail: transport for 20 people to get to dinner in town and then return to our dwellings!
I contacted Didi Baxter, the owner of Rostrevor Cottages, where our family always stays when we visit home, to ask whether she could recommend a taxi company.
I called and spoke to a lovely woman called Deirdre. Unfortunately, she could not help us herself, but she gave me several other numbers to try. When those calls did not immediately solve the problem, people offered to ask around their own contacts and get back to me.
Would they get back to me at such short notice? Of course they would!
A man called John called me to say he had arranged for a driver to collect us all. We could simply let them know when we had finished our meal and celebrations, and someone would come back to take us home.
What struck me was not just that the problem was solved. It was how these generous people responded. They could have said they were unable to help and left it there. Instead, they made calls, reached out to others and found a way.
The community had no obligation to help us. Yet they were willing to give their time and draw on their own networks to make our celebrations possible.
I doubt they would describe what they did as anything out of the ordinary. They may simply see it as being helpful. But to me, it was an act of generosity I will not forget.
Where Anam Cara meets Fierce Love
This experience brought me back to the central ideas in my book: courage, compassion and connection.
We often think of love as something expressed through grand gestures or reserved for those closest to us. Yet the love we experienced in Rostrevor was practical and unassuming. It showed up in people who were prepared to go beyond what was expected of them.
Courage was there in the willingness to make another call and keep looking for a solution. Compassion was there in recognising that someone needed help and choosing to respond kindly. Connection was there in the network of relationships that linked us to people we had never met, creating a sense of belonging where we might least expect it.
There was also a lesson for me in receiving. I had forgotten to arrange the transport, and I could not solve the problem alone. I needed to ask for help and trust that others might be willing to offer it.
As coaches, leaders and people who are used to supporting others, we can become very practised at being the capable one: the person who organises, solves problems and has the answers. It can be less comfortable to admit that we need help ourselves.
Yet relationships deepen when we allow room for our own humanity, uncertainty and vulnerability. We cannot always do everything ourselves, nor do we need to.
Sometimes we need someone to sit beside us when life is difficult. Sometimes we need our family to walk up a mountain with us and remember someone we love. And sometimes we need a stranger who is willing to make one more phone call.
All these moments remind me that connection is not simply an idea we talk about. It is something we experience through the way we meet one another.
Sixty years, and what matters most
Celebrating my 60th birthday beneath the Mountains of Mourne gave me an opportunity to reflect once again on the people, places and experiences that have shaped my life.
I feel deeply grateful.
The weekend reminded me of what matters most: the relationships we nurture, the communities that welcome us and the small acts of kindness that can make an enormous difference. Our lives are shaped by the quality of our connections and by the moments in which we feel seen, welcomed and cared for.
To Didi Baxter at Rostrevor Cottages; Deirdre at AV Taxis; John, our taxi driver; Corn Dolly in Warrenpoint, for the amazing cake; Peter Quinn from the School House, Rostrevor, for the delicious buffet; and everyone else who helped us along the way, thank you. You gave us far more than a solution to a problem. You reminded me of the extraordinary generosity that can exist within a community and the fierce love that resides in everyone.
Some places reconnect us with where we come from. Some people remind us of the goodness in the world. And sometimes we are reminded that love is all around us, often in the places and people we least expect.
Marie Quigley
Author of Fierce Love: Essential Lessons in Coaching with Courage, Compassion and Connection