Tag Archives: imposter syndrome

Goals, Targets, and Other Things I Don’t Care About.

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Do you set personal goals for yourself?

Ah, goals.

Those things we’re apparently supposed to set ourselves so we can become more productive, more successful, and generally a better version of ourselves.

You know the sort of thing.

Attend a motivational seminar, buy a rather expensive notebook, write down your five-year plan, and spend the next twelve months feeling guilty because life got in the way.

Yeah… I’ve never really gone in for all that.

Don’t get me wrong, I admire people who set themselves goals and work hard to achieve them. If that’s your thing, crack on. Good for you.

It’s just never really been my cup of tea.

I’ve never been particularly interested in turning my life into a spreadsheet, complete with targets, deadlines, and little boxes to tick.

I’m a poet, a photographer, and a professional rambler. I spend a good deal of my time scribbling words, taking photographs, and generally following whatever creative rabbit hole happens to catch my attention.

And honestly?

I quite like it that way.

That doesn’t mean I don’t want to grow.

Of course I do.

I’d love to see my poetry reach more people. I’d love for my photography to find its way in front of a few more pairs of eyes. I’d love for the things I create to connect with somebody, somewhere, who might need them.

Who wouldn’t?

There’s something rather lovely about putting a little piece of yourself out into the world and discovering that somebody, somewhere, has connected with it.

Especially when that little piece of yourself started life as a few scribbles in your head.

But I’ve never felt the need to turn that desire into some grand, all-singing, all-dancing personal development programme.

No five-year plan.

No motivational posters telling me I can achieve anything if I just believe hard enough.

And absolutely no standing in front of a mirror at six in the morning, telling myself I’m going to conquer the world.

The neighbours would probably worry.

Besides, I’ve come to realise that life doesn’t always work according to plan. Sometimes things go brilliantly, sometimes they go spectacularly pear-shaped, and sometimes you spend an afternoon wondering what on earth you went into the kitchen for.

That’s life.

So, do I have a goal?

Well, I suppose I do.

Although calling it a goal might be stretching the definition somewhat.

At the end of every month, I have a little look at the number of interactions my creative work has received.

That’s it.

Nothing complicated.

My goal, if you can call it that, is simply to do as well as I did the previous month.

Not necessarily better.

Just the same would do nicely.

If the numbers go up, which they usually do, then that’s a lovely little bonus.

If they don’t?

I’m not going to beat myself up because a particular post didn’t reach as many people as the one before it.

Nor am I going to decide that my work has somehow become less valuable because an algorithm has had a funny five minutes.

After all, numbers can tell you how many people interacted with something.

They can’t always tell you what it meant to them.

And that’s an important distinction.

Because somewhere out there, somebody might read a poem of mine and feel a little less alone.

Somebody might look at a photograph and see something beautiful in an otherwise ordinary day.

Somebody might read one of these ramblings, have a little chuckle, or find a thought that stays with them long after they’ve closed the page.

I’ll probably never know about most of those moments.

And that’s okay.

I don’t need to.

If something I’ve created makes a difference to even one person, then there’s value in that which no monthly statistic can properly measure.

Perhaps that’s the thing about creativity.

You can spend hours worrying about reach, engagement, followers, likes, shares, and all the other things the internet has taught us we’re supposed to care about.

Or you can get on with creating things because you enjoy doing it, because you have something to say, or because sometimes putting words on a page is simply how you make sense of the world.

Personally, I’ll take the second option.

I’ll keep writing.

I’ll keep taking photographs.

I’ll keep sharing whatever happens to fall out of my head and onto the page.

And if more people find their way here along the way, then that’s wonderful.

But I’m not going to spend my life chasing a number.

Life’s a journey, after all.

And I’d rather enjoy the scenery than spend the entire trip staring at the satnav, worrying whether I’m getting there quickly enough.

Which brings me to something I really do want to say.

To those of you on the other side of this screen…

Thank you. Genuinely.

Whether you’ve been reading my scribbles for years or you’ve only stumbled across one of my ramblings today, I’m grateful you’re here.

Every comment, every like, every share, every message, and every moment you’ve taken out of your day to read something I’ve written means more than you probably realise.

I know the internet is a busy place. There’s an almost endless supply of things demanding our attention, and yet you’ve chosen to spend a little of your time here.

With me.

And that genuinely touches me.

I started writing because I had things I needed to get out of my head. Over the years, those scribbles have grown into something much bigger than I ever expected.

And the fact that other people have found something in them?

Well, that’s a rather lovely bonus, isn’t it?

So, no, I don’t have a grand plan for world domination.

I’m not aiming to become the next big thing.

I’m not sitting here plotting how to turn every waking moment into an opportunity for personal growth.

I’m just Bob.

An old soul with a head full of thoughts, a camera, a keyboard, and an apparently endless supply of things to ramble about.

I’ll keep doing what I do.

Creating, and keep putting my work out into the world.

And at the end of each month, I’ll have a little look at those numbers and see how things are going.

If they’re up, I’ll do an extra happy dance.

If they’re the same, I’ll be very happy.

And if they’re down?

Well, there’s always next month.

Because perhaps the point isn’t to keep setting bigger and bigger goals until we’re so busy chasing the next achievement that we forget to appreciate what we’ve already got.

Perhaps it’s about enjoying what we’re doing, appreciating the people who come along for the ride, and being grateful that we get to do it in the first place.

At least, that’s how I see it.

And once again, to everyone who reads, shares, comments, or simply stops by for a little while…

Thank you.

You’re appreciated more than you know.

Stay safe,

Bc

Still Dreaming, Still Learning

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What’s something you’ve done that you never thought you could?

This one is very easy to answer.

In fact, I reckon I could probably give you two answers. Funny how life works out sometimes, isn’t it?

Around twenty years ago, I started writing poetry.

Well, poetry is probably what we’ll call it. Back then, I referred to them as my scribbles, and if I’m honest, that’s still a pretty good description of some of them.

I didn’t start writing because I wanted to be a poet. I wasn’t dreaming of seeing my name in magazines, winning awards, or having people read my words.

Nope.

I started writing because I needed to get the stuff in my head out of it.

My mental health was in a pretty rough place, and I needed a way to process the thoughts, emotions, and general chaos that I was struggling to make sense of. Writing became a form of therapy, a pressure valve, and eventually a way of understanding myself a little better.

It was never about being good enough for anyone else.

It was about trying to be okay.

As I kept writing, something unexpected happened. People started taking an interest in my words. I wrote a poem for a family member’s naming ceremony, and people began asking where I’d got it from.

When I told them I’d written it myself, they seemed rather surprised.

Truth be told, so was I!

Perhaps there was something in this poetry malarkey after all.

Fast-forward twenty years, and I’ve had my work published in magazines and books, written six books of my own, and even picked up awards for my poetry.

For a bloke who started writing just to try and keep his head above water never imagined that his words would find their way into print, let alone receive recognition.

I certainly didn’t set out with any of that in mind.

I was just trying to make sense of life, one scribble at a time.

And yet, somewhere along the way, those scribbles became something more.

They became my voice.

Then there’s the camera…

The second answer would obviously be photography.

I’ve always enjoyed taking pictures, but it was never something I thought of as a talent. When I got my first camera phone, I started snapping away at whatever caught my eye.

A bird. A landscape. Something interesting on a walk. Whatever took my fancy, really.

I wasn’t following some grand artistic vision. I wasn’t studying photography or worrying about aperture, shutter speeds, focal lengths, or any of those other technical things that proper photographers seem to know about.

I just liked taking pictures.

Still do, actually.

The difference is that people started noticing them.

Some of my photographs have been shared by local news outlets, which is something I certainly never expected when I first started pointing a phone at things and pressing a button.

And then there was the opportunity to photograph an event featuring Howard Jones.

Yes, THAT Howard Jones!

Genuine 80s pop royalty.

If you’d told me years ago that one day I’d be taking photographs at an event with someone whose music helped soundtrack an era, I’d probably have looked at you as though you’d been at the cooking sherry.

But it happened.

And that’s the thing about life. Sometimes you stumble into opportunities that you never even knew were possible, simply because you followed something you enjoyed.

No master plan. No five-year strategy. No carefully mapped-out career.

Just a bloke with a camera, taking pictures of things that caught his eye.

So what have I learned

I suppose the biggest lesson is that you don’t always need to know where something is going before you start.

Sometimes, you just need to begin.

You don’t have to be brilliant at something on day one. You don’t need qualifications, a grand ambition, or even the confidence to call yourself good at what you do.

Sometimes, you just need to give yourself permission to have a go.

For me, poetry started as a way of looking after my mental health. Photography started as a bit of fun.

Neither began with the intention of achieving anything spectacular.

And yet both have taken me places I never expected to go.

My poetry has been published, recognised, and awarded. My photographs have reached audiences I never imagined, and I’ve had opportunities that the younger version of me would probably have thought were beyond his reach.

Am I some sort of literary genius or photographic wizard?

Absolutely not.

I’m still learning. I’m still experimenting. I still write things that need a fair bit of work, and I still take photographs that don’t quite turn out the way I imagined.

But I keep going.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the last twenty years, it’s that you never really know what might come from doing something that makes you feel a little more like yourself.

Sometimes, the thing you start doing simply to survive becomes the thing that helps you thrive.

And sometimes, the hobby you pick up without a second thought turns into an opportunity you could never have dreamed of.

So, if you’re sitting there wondering whether you should give something a go, perhaps this is your nudge.

Write the poem.

Take the photograph.

Pick up the paintbrush.

Try the thing that’s been sitting at the back of your mind.

You don’t have to know where it will lead.

You just have to start.

Because twenty years ago, I was a bloke scribbling words to help make sense of his own head and taking pictures because something caught his eye.

I never imagined either would lead to the things they have.

And honestly?

I’m rather glad I gave them a go.

Stay safe.

BC

An Old Camera, a big dream

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What’s something you’ve done that your past self would be proud of?

That’s an interesting one?

When we look back at our younger selves, we tend to remember the things we got wrong. The opportunities we missed. The things we were too scared to try. The dreams we quietly tucked away because, well, you know, life got in the way.

But every now and then, something happens that makes you stop and think…

“Blimey. I actually did that!”

For me, one of those moments would be taking an old camera, a dream, and a stubborn determination to see what I could achieve, and getting one of my photographs in the local news.

Now, I appreciate that might not sound particularly spectacular to some people.

It’s not winning an Oscar. It’s not appearing on the front of National Geographic. And it certainly doesn’t involve a Hollywood producer knocking on my door offering me a six-figure contract.

Although, if one happens to be reading this, my email address is available. Just saying.

But here’s the thing.

It was never really about the newspaper.

It was about proving to myself that I could do something with a passion, a bit of determination, and whatever equipment I could get my hands on.

You see, I’ve always enjoyed taking photographs. Capturing those little moments that other people might walk straight past. A bird sitting in just the right place. The way the light catches a building. A landscape that makes you stop for a moment and simply appreciate where you are.

Sometimes you get lucky.

Sometimes you take fifty photographs and discover that forty-nine of them are absolutely rubbish.

And sometimes, just sometimes, you get that one image.

The one that makes you smile.

The one that makes you think, “Actually, that’s not half bad.”

And then, when that photograph finds its way into the local news?

Well, that’s something else entirely.

Because suddenly, something you created, something you saw through your own eyes and captured, is being shared with other people.

And that matters.

Not because it makes you famous. Not because it means you’re suddenly some sort of photographic genius who should be wearing a black polo neck and talking about aperture settings over an expensive coffee.

But because it reminds you that you don’t necessarily need all the latest equipment, the perfect circumstances, or a carefully mapped-out plan to make something worthwhile.

Sometimes, you just need to start.

Take the photograph.

Learn as you go.

Make mistakes.

Try again.

And keep going.

Looking back, I think my younger self would be rather chuffed with that achievement. Perhaps a little surprised, too.

After all, dreams have a funny way of changing as we get older. Sometimes they get bigger. Sometimes they get smaller. And sometimes they sit quietly in the back of our minds, waiting for us to stop making excuses and give them a chance.

I’m not suggesting that getting a photograph into the local news is going to change the world.

But it changed how I looked at what I might be capable of.

And that, in its own little way, is important.

These days, photography has become a much bigger part of my life. I’m still learning, still experimenting, and still occasionally pressing buttons without being entirely certain what they’re going to do.

Some things never change.

But I’ve learned that you don’t have to be the best at something to enjoy it. You don’t need qualifications hanging on the wall or thousands of followers telling you how brilliant you are.

You just need passion and to care enough to keep doing it.

And if something good comes from that? Brilliant.

If it doesn’t? You’ve still spent your time doing something you love.

So, what would my past self be proud of?

Probably the fact that I took a chance on myself.

That I picked up a camera, followed a dream, and managed to get one of my photographs into the local news.

Not bad for a bloke who simply wanted to take some decent pictures.

And perhaps that’s the real answer to this question.

It’s not always about the grand achievements or the life-changing milestones.

Sometimes, it’s about looking back at the person you used to be and realising that you’ve become someone who had the courage to try.

Someone who kept learning, and failing.

Someone who didn’t give up on the things that made him happy.

And someone who discovered that an old camera and a dream could take him further than he ever expected.

So, if there’s something you’ve always wanted to try, perhaps give it a go.

Pick up that camera.

Write that poem.

Start that project.

Take that first step, even if you haven’t got the faintest idea what you’re doing.

You never know where it might lead.

And one day, you might just look back and realise that the person you used to be would be rather proud of the person you’ve become, I know I am

Stay safe,

BC

Scribbling Poems, to Chasing Light

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I’m sure you’re all aware that, apart from my twenty-odd years as a fully qualified scribbleologist (poet to those who prefer the technical terminology), I’ve also had a longstanding love affair with photography. Words have always been my way of capturing the world, but lately I’ve discovered that a camera can do much the same thing — only with fewer syllables and considerably less punctuation.

And blimey, things seem to be gathering pace!

Since buying my first DSLR back in October last year, I’ve photographed a wedding, covered two Pride events (one of them as the main photographer, no less), and had the pleasure of photographing an evening fundraiser featuring the legendary Howard Jones. Yes, that Howard Jones. Eighties musical royalty, and me with a camera trying to look as though I know exactly what I’m doing.

Next up, I’ve another shoot this month at a poetry event hosted by local celebrity Tom Hirons. Which means I’ll be swapping between two of my favourite worlds: the one where people perform their words, and the one where I attempt to capture the moment before it disappears into the ether.

When I bought that camera, I rather fancied I’d take a few photographs, enjoy myself, and perhaps produce the occasional image that didn’t require an apology. I didn’t quite anticipate things moving along quite so quickly.

But here we are. One minute you’re experimenting with a new bit of kit, the next you’re photographing weddings, Pride celebrations and musical legends, with more opportunities popping up on the horizon.

It’s funny how life sometimes opens a door when you’re busy looking through a viewfinder.

So, between scribbling poems, chasing light and trying to remember which button does what, it seems this particular adventure is gathering momentum.

And if there’s one thing I’ve learnt after twenty-plus years of playing with words, it’s this: you never really know where a creative itch might lead you.

I’d better keep the batteries charged, then. It looks like I’m going to need them!

Totnes Castle (Totnes Times)
Ruth Theodore Totnes Pride.
Portrait of Howard Jones.
(Sherree Valentine-Daines)
The River Dart (Narnia)
Roses (Mirror photography, DSLR)
Raven (Paignton beach)

Learning Never Stops, The Joy of Curiosity

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What’s the best online course you’ve ever taken?

I’m not sure I can pick just one course, because the thing that made the biggest impression on me wasn’t necessarily a particular subject.

It was the opportunity to learn in the first place.

Back in 2013, I discovered edX, an online learning platform founded by Harvard and MIT. The idea was simple but rather brilliant: give people around the world access to courses from some of the best universities, without the usual barriers to education.

And a lot of the learning was free.

Well, that was me hooked.

I enrolled in Ethical Reasoning and CS50, Harvard’s introduction to computer science.

Now, I’d love to tell you I sailed through both courses, displaying the sort of academic brilliance that would have had Harvard knocking on my door.

I didn’t.

I crashed out of CS50.

Computer science and I clearly needed a little more time to get acquainted!

But I passed Ethical Reasoning, which encouraged me to keep going. Next, I enrolled in Bioethics at Georgetown University, and I passed that one too.

Not bad for someone sitting at home, learning online from universities on the other side of the Atlantic.

What I loved most was the choice.

Different universities. Different subjects. Different ways of looking at the world.

And the opportunity to explore things I might never have studied otherwise.

Because here’s the thing.

Talent isn’t exclusive to people who can afford a university education.

There are people out there with brilliant minds, curious natures and an enormous appetite for knowledge who simply don’t have the money to follow the traditional educational route.

Platforms like edX opened up opportunities that might otherwise have been out of reach.

And I think that’s something worth celebrating.

I’ve always been keen to learn new things. Not necessarily because I want a certificate to hang on the wall, or another qualification to add to my CV.

Sometimes, I’m simply curious.

I want to understand something I didn’t understand yesterday. I want to challenge the way I think. I want to discover something that makes me stop for a moment and go, “Well, that’s bloody interesting!”

I think learning helps keep the mind hungry.

And I reckon that’s important, whatever your age, background or circumstances.

You don’t have to become an expert in everything. You don’t even have to finish every course you start. Believe me, I’m living proof of that!

Sometimes the value is in trying.

Sometimes it’s in discovering what you enjoy.

And sometimes it’s in realising that a subject isn’t for you, which is useful knowledge in itself.

So, what’s the best online course I’ve ever taken?

Perhaps it was Ethical Reasoning. Perhaps it was Bioethics.

But if I’m honest, I think the best thing I got from the experience was discovering that learning didn’t have to stop just because I wasn’t sitting in a classroom.

There’s a whole world of knowledge out there, and some of it is only a few clicks away.

You just have to be curious enough to look.

And if you happen to crash out of a computer science course along the way?

Well, at least you gave it a go.

Stay safe,

BC

The Accidental Photographer Strikes Again

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I think this last week has probably been the pinnacle of my 2026 journey.

But before we get into that, let’s rewind a little.

At the start of the year I spotted an advert on Instagram looking for volunteer photographers for Torbay Pride.

Now, being me, I thought…

Why not?

So I threw my hat into the ring.

Somehow, they said yes.

And suddenly I found myself being one of the volunteer photographers for Torbay Pride.

My first proper photography gig.

And I bloody loved it.

Something had happened.

That little spark had caught light.

So when my hometown of Narnia announced its own Pride in July, I did what any sensible person would do.

I sent them a cheeky email asking if they needed a photographer.

Apparently, nobody had thought of that.

So, by a mixture of enthusiasm, timing and possibly nobody else putting their hand up, I became the official Pride photographer.

Which brings us to last week.

Totnes Pride.

Another fantastic day. Another camera full of photographs. Another reminder of just how much I love doing this.

And then came the inevitable bit.

The bit where I sat down afterwards and started looking through hundreds of photographs.

Yes, they were in focus.

Yes, they were clear.

But…

Did they have that something?

Probably not.

And when you combine that with a healthy dollop of imposter syndrome and failing to score in a poetry competition, it’s fair to say I was being a little hard on myself.

Then Friday happened.

One of the Pride volunteers contacted me.

She sent me a lovely photograph of me in action with my camera.

Then came the unexpected bit.

She was looking for a volunteer photographer to photograph 80s music legend Howard Jones while he had his portrait painted, followed by an auction raising money for a local youth music charity.

Would I be interested?

Well…

Yes.

Obviously.

I didn’t even need to think about it.

More experience.

More hours behind the camera.

A chance to build my portfolio.

And, quite frankly, an excuse to take photographs.

What’s not to like?

Then, as if the universe was trying to make its point, some of my astrophotography started producing some rather lovely results too.

And suddenly that slump didn’t seem quite so deep.

Perhaps I’d just forgotten something fairly obvious.

I’m still learning.

I’m still finding my eye.

Not every photograph is going to be the photograph.

And that’s okay.

You take the next one.

You learn.

You keep going.

Sometimes you just need to stop judging the last frame long enough to notice that you’re already holding the camera for the next one.

And maybe there’s something to be said for simply being there for that moment, rather than worrying too much about what comes afterwards.

Anyway…

The camera’s charged.

There are more photographs to take.

And apparently, I’ve got a portrait of Howard Jones to go and shoot.

So I’d better get on with it.

Stay safe,

BC

My One Wish Wouldn’t Be for Me

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The genie grants you a wish. What is it?

It’s one of those questions that sounds wonderfully simple.

You rub the lamp. The genie appears.

Three seconds later, you’re suddenly faced with the biggest decision of your life.

And I’m guessing most people would go for something fairly obvious.

£100 million in the bank. A mansion. Fame.

Maybe becoming a bestselling author, a world-famous photographer, or whatever else happens to float your particular boat.

And don’t get me wrong, I’d quite happily take the £100 million, but there’s a problem. If I became a successful poet or photographer because some magical blue bloke handed it to me, I’m not sure I’d want it. I want to know that I earned it.

Every poem. Every photograph. Every little bit of progress.

The mistakes. The failures. The hours nobody sees.

That’s where the meaning comes from.

So if the genie stood in front of me today and said: “Bob, you get one wish. Anything you want.” My answer would probably surprise you.

I wouldn’t ask for money. I wouldn’t ask for fame. I wouldn’t even ask for anything for myself. I’d wish for one thing.

I would wish to eliminate child sexual abuse.

Completely. Everywhere. No exceptions. No child ever having to experience it. No teenager carrying a secret they’re terrified to tell anyone.

No adult waking up decades later and realising that something that happened in childhood has somehow followed them through and affected their entire life.

Because I know what it’s like.

I’m a survivor of child sexual abuse.

It happened more than forty years ago.

Forty.

Years.

And yet here I am, all these decades later, still thinking about it. Finally talking about it. Still understanding that something that lasted for a relatively small part of my childhood managed to leave fingerprints all over the man I became.

That’s the thing about abuse.

People sometimes imagine that when the abuse stops, the damage stops too.

It doesn’t necessarily work like that.

The perpetrator might walk away.

The child grows up. Life moves on. People get married. Have children. Build careers. Take photographs. Write books. Stand on beaches. Have therapy.

Laugh. Love… Live.

But sometimes, the past comes along for the ride. It sits quietly in the passenger seat. You might not notice it for years. Then something happens: A smell. A place. A memory.

A conversation.

A particular feeling.

And suddenly that little passenger taps you on the shoulder and reminds you that it’s still there.

That’s why my wish wouldn’t be about making me rich. It wouldn’t even be about erasing my own past. Because if I could magically remove what happened to me, I’d also remove part of the journey that made me who I am today.

And despite everything… I don’t want to erase myself, now.

I want to erase the reason children need to become survivors in the first place.

That’s the difference.

I don’t want a world where we become really good at helping people pick up the pieces.

I want a world where fewer people have pieces to pick up.

I want children to grow up knowing what safety feels like.

I want survivors to know that they will be believed when they find the strength to tell someone what happened, or is happening.

I want them to understand that their bodies belong to them.

That saying no means no.

That adults are supposed to protect children, not exploit them.

And perhaps most importantly…

I want survivors to know that what happened to them wasn’t their fault.

Not then. Not now. Never.

Because shame has a nasty habit of attaching itself to the wrong person: The child carries it. The teenager carries it. The adult carries it. Sometimes, to their grave.

Meanwhile, the person responsible may carry absolutely none of it.

That’s backwards. The shame belongs with the person who caused the harm, not the person who survived it.

So yes, if that genie ever does turn up, lamp in hand, waiting patiently for my answer… I know exactly what I’ll ask for… I’d simply look him in the eye and say:

“Make sure no child ever has to become a survivor of sexual abuse again.”

And if that sounds like an impossible wish… perhaps it is.

But I’ve spent enough of my life being told that some things are impossible. Sometimes impossible just means we haven’t tried hard enough yet.

So until that genie turns up, perhaps the rest of us have a part to play.

Listen. Believe. Protect. Educate.

Speak when silence would make things easier for the wrong person.

And when a survivor finally finds the courage to say those words:

“This happened to me.”

Don’t ask them why they didn’t tell someone sooner. Don’t brush it off with a throwaway comment. Don’t ask what they were wearing. Don’t ask what they did to cause it. Don’t ask why they didn’t fight or scream.

Just listen.

Believe them.

And do remind them of something they may have spent years struggling to believe themselves:

It wasn’t their fault.

Forty years later, I’m still here. Still writing. Still taking photographs. Still telling stories. Still trying to turn some of the darker parts of my life into something that might help somebody else. Perhaps that’s the closest thing I have to magic.Not changing the past, but using what happened to me to try to make somebody else’s future a little safer.

And if I only ever get one wish… That’s the one I’ll choose.

Every single time.

Stay safe,

BC

Things I’ve Learnt Along the Way

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What are some life hacks that you practice?

I’m not sure I’d call these life hacks.

That makes them sound as though I’ve discovered some secret formula for life.

I haven’t.

If I had, I’d probably be considerably more organised.

And significantly less likely to walk into a room and immediately forget why the hell I went there.

But over the years, I’ve picked up a few little things that seem to make life slightly easier.

Nothing revolutionary.

No twelve-step morning routine involving seventeen different types of herbal tea.

Just a few things that seem to work for me.

Don’t Carry Everything (The Art of Letting Go)

This is probably the biggest one.

For a long time, I spent an incredible amount of energy carrying things that had already happened, you know.

Arguments.

Regrets.

Things people had said.

Things I wished I’d said.

Things I couldn’t change, no matter how many times I replayed them in my head.

Meditation has helped me with that.

Not by magically emptying my mind.

Anyone who knows me will understand how unlikely that sounds.

Instead, it’s taught me to notice my thoughts without automatically climbing aboard every single one of them.

Sometimes you just have to acknowledge something.

Learn whatever lesson there is to learn.

And then put the bloody thing down.

You don’t have to carry everything just because you once picked it up.

Some things belong in the past.

Leave them there.

Go outside

Another incredibly complicated life hack.

Leave the house.

Go for a walk.

Look at the sky.

Watch the birds.

Stand by the sea.

Get rained on.

Apparently, I’m particularly good at that last one.

There’s something about getting away from four walls and screens that resets the brain.

Sometimes the solution to a problem isn’t another hour staring at it.

Sometimes it’s a walk and a coffee.

Sometimes it’s feeding the crows.

Sometimes it’s standing in the sea with wet shorts and wondering why you thought that was a good idea in the first place.

And sometimes…

that’s enough.

We spend so much time trying to do things that we forget there’s value in simply being somewhere.

Outside.

Breathing.

Looking.

Listening.

Being present.

Write shit down

My brain has always been a noisy place.

So I write.

Sometimes it’s poetry.

Sometimes it’s complete nonsense.

Sometimes it’s a sentence that eventually becomes something.

And sometimes it’s simply a case of getting the thoughts out of my head and onto a piece of paper before they start having a bloody committee meeting in there.

There’s something strangely powerful about seeing a thought written down.

It becomes something outside of you.

You can look at it.

Question it.

Rearrange it.

Understand it.

Or decide that actually, it was rubbish…

…and throw it away.

Writing started for me as a way of processing thoughts and emotions.

Twenty years later, I’m still doing it.

Apparently, I’ve committed to the bit.

And I’m quite glad I did.

Protect you time

We live in a world that seems determined to fill every available second.

Notifications.

Messages.

News.

Social media.

Emails.

Opinions.

More opinions about the opinions.

Sometimes you need to switch the bloody lot off.

Read a book.

Play a game.

Sit in the shed.

Take photographs.

Write.

Watch the birds.

Drink a coffee.

Do absolutely nothing.

And yes, I know that doing nothing sounds like the sort of thing we’re all supposed to feel guilty about.

But doing nothing isn’t necessarily wasting time.

Sometimes doing nothing is exactly what your brain needs.

We don’t have to be productive every minute of every day.

Sometimes the most productive thing you can do is stop.

Fucking ask for help

This one took me far too long to learn.

I’ve still got the scars

I used to think asking for help meant

Not being able to “Man Up”

admitting weakness.

It doesn’t.

Sometimes it means recognising that you’re human.

We aren’t designed to carry everything alone.

If something is too heavy, put it down.

If you don’t know what to do, ask someone who does.

If you’re struggling, tell someone.

That isn’t failure.

It’s being sensible.

There’s a strange idea that we’re somehow supposed to have all the answers.

We’re not.

None of us do.

Sometimes strength isn’t about carrying something until your back breaks.

Sometimes strength is saying:

“I can’t carry this on my own.”

And letting somebody give you a hand.

Finally…

Don’t wait for everything to be perfect before you enjoy your life.

Because trust it probably won’t be.

There will always be another bill.

Another job.

Another problem.

Another thing that needs fixing.

Another bloody email.

There will always be something.

So enjoy the cup of coffee.

Read the book.

Take those photographs.

Watch the birds.

Have the conversation.

Laugh at something stupid.

Tell somebody you love them.

Go outside.

Stand in the sea.

Get your feet wet.

And if you end up with wet shorts afterwards…

Well.

Apparently that’s just part of the experience.

Sometimes life doesn’t need fixing.

Sometimes you just need to be there for it.

And sometimes…

that’s enough.

Stay safe,

BC

It’s Your First Time Being Alive

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What’s the best advice you’d give to someone younger than you?

Don’t worry if, in your twenties, you don’t know where you’re going.

Honestly.

Most of us are making it up as we go along.

There seems to be this unwritten expectation that by a certain age you’re supposed to have everything worked out. A career. A five-year plan. A purpose. A clear idea of who you are and where you’re heading.

Life rarely works like that.

When we’re young, we somehow expect ourselves to have all the answers despite the fact we’ve barely had time to collect the questions.

It’s your first time being alive.

Be kind to yourself.

I didn’t know who I truly was, or what I wanted my life to look like, until I was nearly forty. Looking back, I spent far too much time worrying that I was behind everyone else.

The truth?

Nobody knows what they’re doing quite as much as they pretend to.

And that’s okay.

Because life isn’t really about the final destination anyway.

It’s about the journey.

It’s about the people you meet along the way.

The late-night conversations.

The road trips.

The laughter that leaves your face aching.

The memories you make with friends and family.

Years later, you won’t remember every deadline, every promotion, or everything you thought was a disaster at the time.

You’ll remember the people.

You’ll remember how they made you feel.

You’ll remember the moments.

Another thing I’d tell my younger self is this:

Learn to love yourself.

Not in an arrogant way.

Not in a “look at me” sort of way.

Just learn to be comfortable in your own skin.

Because once you stop trying to be who you think everyone else wants you to be, and start accepting who you actually are, something wonderful happens.

You can breathe.

You stop fighting yourself.

And that feeling is worth more than you can imagine.

I’d also tell you to let go of grudges.

They’re heavy things to carry.

The person who upset you years ago is probably not sitting at home replaying the argument.

Meanwhile, you’re giving them space in your head they haven’t earned.

They don’t deserve to live rent free in there.

Forgiveness isn’t always about them.

Sometimes it’s about freeing yourself.

So be patient.

Be kinder to yourself than you think you need to be.

Take photographs.

Make memories.

Tell people you love them.

Don’t panic if the map isn’t clear.

Most of us are finding the path one step at a time.

And sometimes the scenic route turns out to be the best one.

Stay safe,

BC

Ps Don’t forget to wear sunscreen