A speck of dust

During a season of change it's easy to forget about everyone else. There are 7.6 billion beating hearts in this world and all I can think about is my own.

Perspective is one of my favourite words because it is one that cropped up four years ago when I was first getting treatment for my anxiety and depression. Perspective is the word I go back to every time I stumble, every time there is change.

Even when the change is good, it can be hard. I started a new job a few weeks ago and I love it. It's what I've wanted to do ever since I figured out what I wanted to do (this has been the year of, like, realising stuff) but it is bloody terrifying.

I think I will always feel like this – fear will always manifest itself in my experiences, following me as I venture down different avenues. Today, however, I am finding my groove and I am staying put. I feel useful. I am contributing to something I care about, finally. I am placed exactly where I need to be. I am a cog in this magnificent mechanism that is life – something I will never be able to fathom.

I don't know why, but writing and rewriting a sentence to grammatical perfection makes my soul sing. And I know I don't always get it right. There are probably mistakes in this blog post, but I'm in my flow, I'm feeling it. It might be different for you. Whatever it is that gives you a buzz - feeling needed, feeling new, feeling like you can change something in this gigantic world. It's the same feeling I get when I finish my to-do list, when I cook my favourite dinner, bake a delicious cake, when I finished an essay in school, nailed that point I had floating around in my head, speak up when I'm scared, find a fiver in my pocket.

It is these moments that bring me to the surface of my own suffering. My head bobs up and sees the potential in everything else. It asks someone else how they are. It gives someone a compliment. It sees a sliver of your life.

Because it's not just me and my problems. There are 7.6 billion others feeling this, feeling more, feeling less. I am just, in the words of Kimya Dawson, a speck of dust inside a giant's eye. And, while my purpose is solely grounded in God, my time on earth is limited. So, steeping in my millennial self-indulgence I will not. There is work to be done and I'm getting on with it.

Changing perspective in Barcelona

The day before we left for Barcelona I was feeling pretty low. I won't delve into why but if you want to know a bit about my experience with depression you can do so here. Flying over the Alps on the morning of our trip and I was lifted out of the dark completely. When I see natural beauty like this I am reminded of what and who I am living for. He is so much bigger than a bad day, a broken heart, a missed train or ignored text messages. Perspective is a wonderful thing.

I can't remember exactly where this photo was taken but I know it was near one of Barcelona's many museums, if that's any help. We stood in a large courtyard surrounded by old and new architecture. The contrast was stunning, especially with the reflections and the clear blue sky.

Ever seen a vending machine as big as this one? We were amazed. Found in one of the metro stations, we had to stop for a photo and buy a snack.

The Sagrada Familia was recommended to us by so many people and it was one of our favourite sights in the city. The light inside this magnificent church was beautiful. So many different colours, shapes, patterns and avenues of light. If you're heading to Barcelona you have to check out this incredible work of art. Designed by the late architect Antoni Gaudi, construction of the Sagrada Familia started way back in 1882 and is still being built.

The beach in Barcelona was warm and quiet. We watched the shore lap close to our toes and dogs swim in the lukewarm water when this little chap came to say hi. There were so many dogs in Barcelona, which made me happy but also sad because I don't have one of my own.

We stood on the roof of Barcelona's cathedral in the January sunshine – what a treat. Another stunning piece of architecture.

If only my spending money had allowed for a pair (or ten) of these beautiful pumps. Found in one of those shops you stumble upon and never see again, there was a pair in every colour you could imagine. 

On our last day we headed to La Rambla, the tourist hotspot in Barcelona. Just off this busy street was Plaça Reial, a square in which friends meet for lunch, holiday-goers stop for selfies and, when it's warm, people sit on the edge of the water fountain to soak up the sun with an ice cream. We did all three.

Read more about my trip to Barcelona here.

Autumn in Cheltenham

Cheltenham is the place to experience seasons. Each one paints the town in a different shade, and every feeling evoked is different. For autumn, it is a content, chill-in-the-air, wrapped up feeling that always comes back.

For the past four years, a tradition has formed. It's been organic, unspoken and beautiful, and I'm so pleased to share it with you all. My mum and I meet up for a weekend of shopping, eating and attending events at the literature festival, and it is wonderful.

Of course, this year was different, as was last year – because now that university is over, the years roll into each other and I forget how long ago it was since I was eighteen, and time is once again a lost concept to me. I must figure out a way to control it, or at least understand it, again.

I met Cloey and we walked through the university grounds on our way to town. I was finally granted the chance to take some photos of the vibrant pink leaves pinned to the side of one of the buildings, after years of passing them by on the way to lectures. How beautiful can autumn get?

 

I miss this place, but not enough to return. Lu wrote a poignant post about revisiting old homes and she captures it exactly. I sometimes wonder if more good friends are people I have yet to meet.

Some say Francis Close Hall – the campus for humanities and arts – is like Hogwarts, but that would do it an injustice. It is its own, and in these photos you only see a snippet, so if you're ever in Cheltenham, take a walk through the grounds of my old university campus. It's a treat at any time of year.

That was on Saturday. On Sunday I met my mum for breakfast and autumn looked different again. I love that – it can be cold and sunny, and then misty and grey, yet still a sense of cosy happiness permeates the atmosphere no matter what the weather. 

The promenade was voted as one of the top 5 high streets in the UK in 2011 and it's easy to see why. Walking along the promenade at any time of day or year constitutes, in my opinion, walking along some of the most beautiful leafy streets of New York or London, an action figure beneath tall, great architecture, of which I could only dream to be a part. Go upstairs in The White Company and you'll see what I mean. 

Did you know that trees that shed leaves are deciduous? I learnt that word today on dictionary.com. That website is probably my most visited on my computer at work. I feel so fortunate to be able to learn new words every day.

The ground is littered with these done-with amber leaves, ready for winter. It's such a short time, autumn. I'm sure next week it'll be gone. But reflecting on my weekend in Cheltenham at my favourite time of the year has extended that first feeling of autumn, and the pictures are here to stay, with this post, in my archives for whenever I get a little nostalgic for this time of year.

I drove past my second year house, walked past my third, and saw the homes of my best friend and then boyfriend. For a moment it felt like I could knock on each of the doors and they would be there, at each stage of our lives. I sat in these scenes with people I hardly ever see anymore, or even speak to. 

Why does time change things into mere memories, when all the pieces, people and things that make up these scenes, when you break them down, essentially stay the same? 

What does autumn feel or look like to you? Link me to your favourite autumn posts, I love reading them!
 

In The News: Why Are We Blaming Slender Man?

I'm not really a 'fan' of the news. Despite working in the industry, having the BBC news app on my phone and checking the website for updates throughout the day, I'm not a fan. I don't agree with a lot of its ethics, angles for stories or its politics, but I like to stay informed on current affairs. I expect a lot of people feel this way. I expect a lot of people don't care, notice or even read the news, and that's a topic for another day, but there are some things that need to be addressed when it comes to the news, and this week it's the question of story angles, and why certain ones are taken.

I often find myself reading stories in the news and ranting to like-minded colleagues about the senselessness of them, the newspaper, and its reporters. It was one story in particular that really bugged me this week – the story about the two twelve-year-old girls who stabbed their friend, also twelve, nineteen times, and blamed it on the fictional horror character, Slender Man.

In case you haven't read this piece of news, have a quick skim over this article, and if you don't know who Slender Man is, then you only need to google his name to find out.

I was shocked when I read the story. I was disgusted at the two girls who had tried to kill their friend. I was glad when I read they were standing trial as adults and their identities had been revealed. But it wasn't any of those things that made me angry and upset. It was the stance on which many newspapers decided to take this horrific incident.

Instead of focusing on the two girls for their behaviour, or their parents for the morals, norms and values they were teaching their daughters, the environments in which they allowed them to live, and the supervision of their upbringing, the majority of news stories centred on the fictional horror character, Slender Man.

Google Slender Man and a whole host of news articles come up, promising to inform you all about this strange character, who was, until last week, not that well known. But why do they need to inform us? I was introduced to Slender Man a few months ago by a friend who showed me the game in which he appears. I googled the term and found loads of information. That information is now lost among the sea of articles repeating the same non-news in a desperate attempt to link exciting horror with the very miserable truth. 

Why does the news feel the need to add to what is already available, when they could be focusing on the actual news at hand – the fact that a twelve-year-old girl nearly died after a brutal attempted murder by two of her friends? 

Why have they taken that angle, when there are much more pressing issues at hand? The backgrounds of the two girls, the nature to their friendship with the victim prior to the incident, the mental stability of the offenders, to name but a few. Surely there must be more to the story than a fictional character? There must be other, underlying, more significant and prevalent factors which 'caused' these girls to do what they did?

It makes me wonder, who decides this is the way to go? Who thinks, ah yes, lets focus a very serious news story about a child who nearly lost her life, on a fictional character who didn't actually contribute to the criminal act. Yep, that's easy – let's just focus on that. Who thinks that is appropriate? Entertainment plays a big part in the news, I am well aware, but there are more sensitive, intelligent and interesting ways to fit it into articles than shamelessly patronising the majority of the UK by lazily writing boring, mostly copied, 'stories' about a fictional character, categorising the story as 'Slender Man stabbings' and ignoring the real matters at hand.