Tag Archives: Emotional Health

If I Could Live Anywhere… Don’t Expect a Beach!

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If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?

For anyone who knows me, you’ll know I come alive when the temperature drops. Give me crisp air, snow-covered landscapes and somewhere I need a proper coat, and I’m a happy man. You can keep the tropical beaches—I start looking for somewhere cooler.

So if I had to choose somewhere to live, it would come down to two places: Norway or Iceland.

Norway will always have a special place in my heart because it was the first adventure Mrs Bob and I took together.

Norway where it all began

It wasn’t just any holiday either.

We found ourselves sailing through the Norwegian Sea during a total solar eclipse. Watching totality from the deck of a ship is one of those moments that reminds you just how spectacular our universe really is. It’s impossible to describe unless you’ve experienced it.

As incredible as that was, it still wasn’t the highlight.

Later, inside the Arctic Circle, we sat for hours simply watching the Northern Lights dance across the sky. No phones. No distractions. Just nature putting on one of the greatest shows on Earth.

Those are the memories that stay with you forever.

An added bonus? Mrs Bob can almost speak the lingo, which would certainly make settling in a lot easier than relying on my Yorkshire charm and enthusiastic hand gestures.

Then there’s Iceland.

Every time I read something new about the country, I find another reason to admire it.

For starters, they’ve mastered something most countries are still trying to figure out: making use of the natural resources they already have.

Geothermal water is pumped directly into homes, providing heating in one of the coldest climates on Earth. Even better, many pavements and sidewalks are heated too, meaning winter doesn’t automatically equal icy paths and broken hips.

Now that’s using common sense.

But what really stands out isn’t the technology.

It’s the attitude.

Following the financial crash in 2008, Iceland took a very different approach from many other countries. Rather than simply rescuing the financial system and moving on, several senior banking figures faced criminal investigations and prosecutions. Whether you agree with every decision or not, it showed a willingness to ask difficult questions about accountability instead of pretending nothing had happened.

Then there’s one of my favourite stories.

In the northern town of Akureyri, after the financial crisis had hit morale, the council fitted heart-shaped filters over the red traffic lights. Instead of glowing red circles, drivers were greeted by glowing red hearts.

It sounds like such a small gesture.

But sometimes small gestures matter the most.

The hearts were there to remind people what was really important and, hopefully, give someone a reason to smile during difficult times.

I love that.

So… Which One?

If you forced me to pick today, I’d probably still struggle.

Norway gave Mrs Bob and me memories we’ll never forget.

Iceland continually impresses me with its ingenuity, resilience and ability to think differently.

Maybe that’s why the answer isn’t really about the country.

It’s about how a place makes you feel.

Somewhere peaceful.

Somewhere beautiful.

Somewhere cold.

That sounds just about perfect to me.

What about you?

Stay safe 

Bc

Northern Lights

The Value of a Little Chaos

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Is a little chaos actually good for us?

If you’d asked me this question twenty years ago, I’d probably have said no.

Chaos was something to be avoided. Something that interrupted plans, made life difficult, and generally arrived at exactly the wrong moment. Like seagulls at a picnic or printers five minutes before a deadline.

These days?

I think chaos gets a bit of an unfair reputation.

Don’t get me wrong—I wouldn’t recommend living in constant turmoil. None of us thrive under endless stress. We all need moments of calm, stability and routine. They allow us to recover, reflect and simply breathe.

But the opposite is equally true.

Too much order can become its own prison.

Nature understands this far better than we do. Every ecosystem exists because opposing forces work together. Growth and decay. Creation and destruction. Day and night. Even at the smallest level, the universe is a constant dance between order and randomness.

Without variation, nothing evolves.

Without disruption, nothing adapts.

Without a little chaos… life becomes remarkably stagnant.

As artists, I think we understand this instinctively.

The perfect photograph rarely happens because everything went exactly to plan. Sometimes it’s the unexpected shaft of light breaking through the clouds. The bird that lands exactly where you weren’t expecting it. The rain that forces you to see a familiar landscape from a completely different perspective.

Poetry works much the same way.

Some of my favourite lines have arrived uninvited, usually while my brain has wandered off somewhere else entirely. They weren’t carefully engineered. They simply appeared, carrying truths I hadn’t consciously realised I was thinking about.

Chaos has a habit of introducing ideas that routine never would.

Science even backs this up.

Complex systems often need a degree of randomness to remain healthy. Too much order leads to rigidity. Too much chaos leads to collapse. Somewhere in the middle lies resilience—the ability to bend without breaking.

Perhaps we’re not so different.

We need structure to keep us grounded.

We need unpredictability to keep us growing.

The trick isn’t eliminating chaos.

It’s learning not to fear it.

Some of the biggest changes in my own life arrived disguised as disruption. At the time they felt uncomfortable, even frightening. Looking back, many of them became turning points that led me somewhere better than I’d originally planned.

Life has an odd sense of humour like that.

It rarely asks permission before teaching us something important.

So yes, I think a little chaos is good for us.

Not because it’s pleasant.

Not because it’s easy.

But because it reminds us that we’re still capable of adapting, creating and discovering new versions of ourselves.

After all, if every painting were perfectly symmetrical, every poem followed exactly the same rhythm, and every photograph captured the obvious angle…

Art would become predictable.

And life would be rather dull.

Sometimes it’s the beautifully untidy bits that make the whole picture worth looking at.

Stay safe,

Bc

The Mealworm Café Was Open

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On Friday, with a rare day off, I took the opportunity to spend a little time in the garden. I soaked a handful of mealworms before scattering them across the front lawn and topping up the feeders at the bottom of the garden.

It didn’t take long for word to spread through the local bird community.

Over the weekend, I was fortunate enough to have the camera close at hand as a steady stream of familiar faces—and a few welcome surprises—called in to take advantage of the easy meal. There’s always something special about watching wild birds go about their daily lives, especially when they seem completely at ease, and it’s a privilege to capture a few of those fleeting moments through the lens.

These are just some of the visitors that brightened the garden over the weekend.

Stay Safe

BC

One of our pigeons
Blackbird

Sometimes Turning Around is the Hardest Thing.

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What’s a lesson you’ve learned recently that shifted your perspective?

I’ve realised recently that it’s far easier to give up on someone than it is to find a way back to them.

Walking away is easy.

Rebuilding a bridge? That’s the difficult bit.

A little while ago I had a serious falling out with a family member. They’d been rude, self-obsessed and, to make matters worse, £75 disappeared from my bank account. It would have been a lot more had the bank not stepped in. Whether they took it themselves or knowingly allowed someone else to, the trust I’d placed in them vanished overnight.

I confronted them.

They reacted.

I reacted.

Two adults behaving like stubborn children, storming off in opposite directions, both convinced we were in the right.

Now, before anyone starts polishing my halo, let me be perfectly clear.

I’m no saint.

I shouldn’t have flown off the handle. I was angry, hurt and betrayed, and those emotions rarely produce our best work. Looking back, I probably should have left it alone for a couple of weeks, let the smoke clear and the dust settle, then reached out with a simple question.

“Fancy getting the tools out and rebuilding this bridge?”

Maybe the answer would still have been no.

Maybe nothing would have changed.

But at least I’d have known I’d tried.

Life has a habit of reminding us that tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. I’ve promised people I’d see them again, only for life to have other plans. Those are the moments that stay with you, and I’d hate to repeat that mistake because pride got the final say.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Some relationships are genuinely toxic, and walking away is absolutely the right thing to do. This isn’t about putting up with abuse or pretending betrayal doesn’t hurt.

It’s about recognising that not every argument deserves a permanent ending.

Sometimes people make terrible decisions.

Sometimes we say things we wish we hadn’t.

Sometimes we’re both waiting for the other person to make the first move.

The lesson I’ve learned is that forgiveness and reconciliation aren’t signs of weakness. They’re often far harder than anger.

So if you’re in the middle of a row with someone you genuinely care about, perhaps let the dust settle before deciding the bridge needs demolishing.

Because when the emotions have cooled, it’s worth asking yourself one simple question.

In the cold light of day, is this really worth losing someone over?

Sometimes the answer will be yes.

But more often than we’d probably like to admit…

It’s no.

Stay safe,

Bc

A Good Night’s Sleep Doesn’t Happen by Accident

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What do you do to improve your sleep?

A good night’s sleep is incredibly important, and I’m sure you’re already aware of many of the benefits. Quality sleep helps bolster your immune system, protects your cardiovascular health, balances the hormones that regulate hunger, and makes it easier to maintain a healthy weight. Mentally, it’s just as important. Sleep consolidates memories, clears waste products from the brain, and improves emotional resilience, helping to reduce stress and anxiety.

So, how do I improve my sleep?

Like many autistic people, I love a good routine, and in this case, I think it has definitely worked in my favour.

About ten or fifteen minutes before I want to go to sleep, I stop whatever I’m watching or doing and put on some calming meditation music. I actually have one particular track on YouTube that I’ve been using for years. Those few minutes allow me to unwind and mentally let go of the day’s frustrations, confrontations and negative thoughts before I even get into bed.

Once I’m feeling more relaxed, I’ll climb into bed and read a few pages from my latest QI Book of Facts. Reading something enjoyable—but not too stimulating—helps signal to my brain that it’s time to switch off.

When it’s finally time to sleep, I ask my smart speaker to play white noise. Personally, I find the sound of heavy rain works best for me. It helps block out background noise and creates a familiar environment that my brain now associates with sleep.

I’ve followed this routine for many years. Is it perfect? No.

I still occasionally wake up screaming or experience night terrors, but I can honestly say that sticking to this routine has reduced both the frequency and severity of those episodes by around 85%. That’s been life-changing for me.

Will this exact routine work for everyone? Probably not. But it’s certainly worth experimenting until you find something that suits you. Sleep isn’t one-size-fits-all, and sometimes the smallest changes make the biggest difference.

The other thing I’ve found incredibly beneficial—and the science backs this up—is keeping a regular sleep schedule.

Going to bed and waking up at roughly the same time every day helps regulate your body’s natural circadian rhythm. Research has shown that consistent sleep patterns can significantly reduce the risk of depression compared with irregular sleeping habits. In fact, maintaining a regular routine is often just as important as getting the recommended seven to nine hours of sleep each night.

For me, good sleep doesn’t happen by accident. It’s something I prepare for.

A simple routine, a calm mind, a good book, the sound of rain, and a consistent bedtime have all helped me sleep better than I ever used to. If you’re struggling with sleep, don’t be afraid to try different approaches until you find your own routine.

Sometimes, the best night’s sleep starts long before your head hits the pillow.

Stay safe

Bc

The Tenant in My Chest Doesn’t Believe in Moving Out

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What’s the best way to deal with negative thoughts?

If depression were a person—
I think I’d meet them at dawn.

Not noon,
not when the world is loud with pretending,

but dawn—
when the sky is still deciding
whether it wants to be light.

We’d sit somewhere quiet.
Somewhere the shadows
are still stretching their long black limbs
across the pavement.

And I’d ask—

Coffee?

Black.
Bitter.
The kind that tastes
like the inside of my chest.

And maybe we wouldn’t talk.

Maybe we’d just sit there
with silence
heavy enough
to fold over us like wet laundry.

Because some silences
don’t sit politely between people—

some silences
press down
like a lead blanket
you didn’t ask for
but can’t kick off.

And eventually
I’d look them in the eyes and say—

Why?

Why do you stay so long?

Why do you set up camp
in the corners of my mind
like you’ve signed a lease
with my worst thoughts?

Because you laugh in places
that used to echo with music.

You sit in rooms
that used to be full of friends.

You whisper things like:

You’re not enough.
You’re not enough.
You’re not enough.

And sometimes
I try to fight you.

My fists clench like punctuation marks.
I swing at the air
like anger might connect with something solid.

Every punch saying:

Leave.
Leave.
Leave.

But depression
is the kind of opponent
that doesn’t bruise.

It just waits.

Cold fingers wrapped around the ribs
like it’s checking
to make sure my lungs
remember how to struggle.

And sometimes
I don’t fight.

Sometimes I hide.

Under blankets.
Under excuses.
Under the quiet lie of

“I’m just tired today.”

The world outside becomes muffled—
like life is happening
through three closed doors
and a wall of water.

But the worst part?

You never leave.

You’re not a visitor.
You’re a roommate
who never pays rent.

Sometimes I run.

God, I run.

Feet pounding pavement
like I can outrun the gravity in my chest.

I chase small joys
like they’re fireflies—

laughter with friends
the color of sunrise
the sudden miracle
of feeling okay
for three whole minutes.

But you—

you are always
one breath
behind me.

Breathing doubt
into the rhythm of my pulse.

So I wonder…

What if instead
of fighting
or hiding
or running—

What if I invited you in?

Sat you down.

Poured you tea.

Listened.

Maybe you’d tell me
about all the broken places
you were born from.

Maybe I’d understand
how you twist my memories
into evidence—
how every mistake
becomes another stone
in the pockets of my chest.

And maybe
in that strange understanding
we’d become something like dancers—

two tired souls
moving in a slow, aching waltz
trying not to step
on each other’s pain.

But listen—

If depression were a person
standing in front of me
right now—

I wouldn’t destroy them.

I wouldn’t run.

I’d look them in the eye
and say:

I know you’re hurting too.

But you don’t get
to be my whole story.

And maybe—
just maybe—

we’d call a truce.

A fragile one.

The kind where light
slips through the cracks
in the walls you built.

The kind where hope
doesn’t roar—

it flickers.

Small.

Stubborn.

Like a candle
that refuses
to go out.

(c)BobChristian

When Your Gut Knows Before Your Head Does

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What’s a time you followed your gut and it turned out to be exactly right?

People often say you should trust your instincts, but if we’re honest, that’s much easier said than done.

Logic has a habit of barging into the conversation, armed with spreadsheets, pros and cons, and a long list of reasons why doing something completely mad is… well… completely mad.

Fourteen years ago, I found myself standing at one of those crossroads.

I’d met Mrs Bob and, after we’d been talking for a while, the conversation turned to something that, on paper, seemed utterly bonkers. I would sell up, leave my engineering career at Rolls-Royce Aerospace, and move 250 miles away to the beautifully strange little town of Totnes.

Think about that for a moment.

A secure job.
Family close by.
Friends I’d known for years.
A familiar life.

And I’d be giving it all up for a woman I’d only recently met.

If I’d listened purely to my head, I’d probably still be sat there making lists of reasons why it couldn’t possibly work.

But there was something else.

A quiet feeling deep down that simply said, this matters.

Not because it made logical sense.

Not because there were guarantees.

Just because it felt like the beginning of something incredibly special.

So I took the leap.

Looking back now, fourteen years later, I can honestly say my gut got it absolutely right.

Totnes has become home. I’ve become part of the local community, met some wonderful people, discovered opportunities I could never have imagined, and built a life with Mrs Bob that has been richer than I ever expected.

Of course, following your instincts doesn’t always mean everything is easy. There have been challenges, unexpected turns and moments where we’ve wondered what comes next. That’s just life.

But I’ve never once looked back and wished I’d stayed where I was, simply because it felt safer.

Sometimes your gut isn’t asking you to ignore common sense. It’s asking you to recognise something your heart has spotted long before your brain catches up.

Not every leap works out.

But every now and then, your instincts quietly whisper the truth before the evidence arrives.

Mine certainly did.

And for that, I’ll always be grateful.

Stay safe,

BC

When Breaking the Rules Isn’t the Biggest Crime

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There’s a question that’s been rattling around my head lately.

The sort of question that turns up uninvited while you’re making a brew, staring out the window, or trying to switch your brain off at two in the morning.

It’s this:

If someone breaks the rules…
but does it to expose injustice, protect vulnerable people, or force society to confront something ugly it would rather ignore…

Are they still wrong?

Now before anyone starts clutching pearls and screaming “criminal apologist” into the comments section — hear me out.

Because history gets very awkward when we pretend the law and morality are always the same thing.

They aren’t.

They’ve never been.

Women fighting for the right to vote broke laws.
Trade unionists broke laws.
People hiding persecuted families during wars broke laws.
Civil rights protesters broke laws.

And at the time? Society often called them dangerous.

Funny how hindsight turns “troublemakers” into heroes once enough years pass.

Take groups like Anonymous exposing tax avoidance schemes or hacking corporations they believe are exploiting the system. Or activists protesting companies like ATOS over the treatment of disabled people during benefit assessments.

Now, I’m not saying every action taken in those movements was right. Some crossed lines. Some undoubtedly harmed innocent people. Some were driven by anger more than wisdom.

But here’s where it gets morally messy:

If institutions with power refuse to listen peacefully…
what exactly are desperate people supposed to do?

Sit quietly?

Wait politely?

Fill out the correct forms while people suffer?

Because one thing life has taught me is this:

People rarely disrupt comfort unless they feel ignored.

Most people don’t wake up one morning and think,
“You know what would be fun? Risking arrest.”

Usually there’s frustration behind it.
Pain behind it.
Sometimes desperation behind it.

And society has an interesting habit of condemning the reaction while conveniently ignoring the cause.

That doesn’t magically make illegal acts morally pure, of course.

Hurting innocent people is still wrong.
Destroying lives for “the greater good” is still dangerous territory.
Self-righteousness can become its own kind of tyranny if left unchecked.

But I do think there’s a difference between greed-driven crime and conscience-driven disobedience.

One asks:
“What can I take?”

The other asks:
“How do I force people to look?”

And perhaps that’s the uncomfortable bit.

Civil disobedience embarrasses society.
It pulls hidden things into the light.
It forces conversations many would rather avoid because they threaten comfort, power, or profit.

The problem is that morality isn’t tidy.

We desperately want clear villains and heroes because ambiguity makes us uneasy.

But real life lives in the grey areas.

A hacker exposing corruption may also break privacy laws.
A protester blocking roads may also stop an ambulance.
A whistleblower may ruin careers while revealing truths that needed exposing.

Human beings are complicated creatures carrying both good intentions and flawed execution in the same hands.

Personally?

I think intent matters.
Consequences matter too.

And perhaps the real question isn’t:
“Was the law broken?”

Perhaps it’s:
“Why did people feel breaking it was the only way left to be heard?”

Because if enough people are willing to risk punishment just to expose suffering, corruption, or inequality…

Maybe the bigger societal failure happened long before the protest began.

Stay safe,

Bc

I Keep Counting Anyway

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Every morning
before the sun stretches itself across my window,
before my coffee tastes like anything but bitter,
happiness hides.

She’s crouched behind the blinds,
folded into the corner of yesterday’s pillow,
laughing quietly at me
as if I don’t know how to look for her.

I try.

I try like I know her favorite hiding spots,
like I know the exact way she breathes when she’s shy,
like I can coax her out with half-empty mugs
and songs that smell like home.

But she moves.

Slips under the fridge,
slides into the cracks of my bathroom tiles,
hides in the sound of my keys clattering
like she’s daring me to follow.

So I do.

I follow.

And sometimes,
just sometimes,
she peeks out
like a shy smile from a stranger in a crowded street.

For that moment,
my chest remembers what it’s like to be full,
and I swear
I hear the echo of her saying,

you found me again.

Then she disappears.

And I swear I’ll find her tomorrow.

Because happiness
isn’t something that knocks politely.

It is a professional hide-and-seek champion,
undefeated for as long as I’ve known her.

And me?

I am the kid counting with my eyes closed,
hands over my face,
promising the dark that I’m still playing.

Every morning,

before the day can tell me who I need to be,

I start searching.

(c)BobChristian

The Right Book at the Right Time

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What’s a piece of media (book, movie, song) that changed how you see the world?

This is a very tough choice, truth be told.

There’s obviously The Watchmen, my first ever graphic novel, which started a lifelong love affair with comic books that’s still going strong today.

Then there’s String Theory for Dummies, the book that accidentally sparked a conversation with what is now Mrs Bob.

Both of those deserve posts of their own, and I’m fairly sure I’ve rambled about them before.

But if I had to choose the one piece of media that genuinely changed the direction of my life, it would be…

Wicca: A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner by Scott Cunningham.

This book came into my life at exactly the right moment.

At the time, my life was an absolute mess. I was going through a particularly nasty breakup, carrying around a lot of anger, hurt and resentment. Looking back, I also realise I was an autistic man who hadn’t yet been diagnosed, trying to make sense of emotions I simply didn’t have the tools to process.

Then someone showed me kindness.

A witch, who had once found comfort in the very same book herself, passed it on to me.

It wasn’t a book about casting spells that changed me.

It was a book about responsibility.

About balance.

About understanding that every action has consequences.

The lesson that has stayed with me happened shortly afterwards.

My ex broke into my home, took a lot of our belongings and trashed much of what she left behind.

The old me would probably have jumped in the car, driven straight over there and made the whole situation infinitely worse.

Instead, something clicked.

For the first time, I understood that anger wouldn’t repair my home.

It wouldn’t replace what had been stolen.

It wouldn’t heal what had happened.

All it would do was make me ill, and give the people who had hurt me the satisfaction of knowing they’d got exactly the reaction they wanted.

Walking away wasn’t weakness.

It was peace.

That one lesson changed everything.

It led me to read more about Wicca, which in turn eventually led me towards Mahāyāna Buddhism. Although they’re very different paths, both encouraged me to slow down, look inward and understand that my mental and physical wellbeing are deeply interconnected.

Those philosophies helped me become a calmer person.

A happier husband.

A better father.

A better grandfather.

They’ve also influenced the way I write, the way I see people, and the compassion I try to show others.

Without that one book…

Without the kindness of the woman who first placed it into my hands…

I honestly don’t know where I’d be.

There’s every chance I’d have let my anger make decisions for me.

And when anger starts making your decisions, the ending is rarely a good one.

Sometimes the books that change your life aren’t the bestselling novels or the classics everyone studies at school.

Sometimes they’re simply the right book…

Arriving at exactly the right time.

Stay safe,

Bc