It’s coming. I’m not entirely sure what it is, but I can feel it nearing. I’m about to spread my wings a little. Discover whether I am a kiwi bird or a seagull. Discover whether I am still that little girl with the thirst for adventure and the courage to persue it. I need to do this. I need to get out of my bubble. Not pop it. Just put it somewhere safe so that I can regain direct contact with the world again.

I spend too much time being afraid of the world outside.

I’m going to make fairy steps this time. I always aim too high. I need to find a place to start.

I dreamt I bought the cat sanctuary a couple of nights ago. I did it up and it was a wonderful place chock-a with happy cats and a happy Soph. Perhaps that’s where I’ll be :’)

There is a huge creative gap. I see life as an art project. A blank sketchbook is an exciting, yet daunting prospect. We try things, make mistakes, try new things, experience creative block and frustration. Art teachers will always tell us not to throw our work away, but to draw conclusions and carry them to the next page. There is always another page. I want my sketchbook to be filled with diversity.

I would like to approach life as a daring artist with passion. I want to hop around the globe carrying out random acts of kindness, meeting an array of characters and filling the pages of my life and a literal scrapbook.

I’m all talk at the moment, but it’s coming.

Wow. I wish I were a fuzzy felt + this a fuzzy felt board.

Today I got out of my hometown for a few hours. I’m doing a respite week with young adults with severe learning disabilities + today I supported 3 learners on a day trip.

At this point, I’d like to confess how nervous I was about working this week. I was literally dreading it + that sinking feeling was worsened by the deterioration of our Jakey. I’d never worked with clients that require so much care + struggle to communicate at all. I was depressed by their quality of life. Wheel chair bound + barely able to move, fed through tubes, unable to attend to their personal hygeine, unable to speak. It would be so, so easy for someone to neglect such beautiful people. The quality of their lives, compared to our own, is poor + very short.

My youth always feels like a disadvantage too. The women I work with have been in the profession for no less than 20 years each. I haven’t even been doing this for a year.

But today it all clicked. Their lives are short + may not be as diverse as our own, but they are so loved + so cared for. The times when they are not experiencing discomfort + pain, which we can only hope is the percentage, are equally as wonderful. My job is to make them smile as much as possible + I’m really starting to get the hang of it.

I sat outside a caf with the clients + carers. It was down a wee cobbled street + it reminded me so much of the film ‘Amelie’, which is perhaps my favourite. It was so querky. I could have been anywhere. It made me feel alive just getting away + feeling like a child in a magical woodland. I was overwhelmed with a sense of adventure + I wanted the clients to feel that too. It’s all about the senses. I closed my eyes + I tuned in.

I found the confidence in my ability to support + care, but most importantly to target those smiles. I homed in on anything that would inspire their vision + their hearing + shared a perfect adventure with them.

That’s what it’s all about.

Do what you love, fuck the rest.

Stick your middle finger up to fear, to health problems, to uncertainty, to anyone that is an ignorant willy warmer trying to tell you that you can’t do something. Life might be short, but what better reason to cram in the happiness of a hundred lifetimes. We forget our senses.

The remainder of Jake’s, Fuzzy’s + my clients lives are going to be a party + an adventure, crammed with love.