Build a sand castle

I always remember the feeling of being overwhelmed as I was tasked with choosing a new bucket and spade set at the beach when we went on holidays growing up. The red one or the blue one? The one with 2 buckets or the spade and the fork (I always wondered who needs a fork when you’re digging in the sand?) 

Choices choices choices. But I had to pick, and I had to pick well. Because I knew that when it came down to it, this bucket and spade was going to become my trusted companion for the next week. Day after day it would need to show up with me, and fulfil the bizarre designs in my head we were going to create together. In reality, they probably amounted to a vague turret or two. But the dedication I had to make that castle as mighty as possible was non-negotiable. Nobody was going to get in my way.

It’s not that I was particularly set on becoming a graphic designer or engineer. I wasn’t destined to be an architect based on my inclination to construct these sandcastles. It’s just that, when I made the choice to build a sandcastle, you can bet I had to make it as close to Hogwarts as possible (this definitely did not happen). But I was passionate about doing the best I could, because I’d chosen to give my time to it. I was driven to do it and make it the best it could be. I had something to aim for.

After I had my accident I lost that drive. My days melted into each other - I lost track of time completely. Instead of having set goals to strive for, I had episodes of Grand Designs to get through (a new obsession I picked up in hospital, don’t ask.) This was all fine in the beginning when I wasn’t able to do much. But as time passed I began to feel a gap widening. Between who I used to be and who I’d turned into. Suddenly, I’d gone from being the Managing Director of a buzzing agency to an expert in bizarre architectural decisions I saw on tv.

I lost what made me, me. And I didn’t even realise it. 

Until one day, when I was fit enough to venture into our new office in Soho. Immediately I felt the familiar bright shining light of the Piccadilly advertisements. I dodged the tuk tuk bikes and savoured the smell of fresh doughnuts. I walked passed China Town and was reminded of my favourite eating spot where the service is rubbish but that sort of adds to the charm of the place. Down Dean Street I went until I arrived outside number 77, Curious’ new home.

I walked upstairs, and I remembered. I remembered what used to get me up out of bed in the mornings. I remembered the urges I had to get stuff done. To make things. To create. To get inspired. To do stuff.

I’ve spent a long time getting back to this place. It’s amazing to be back.

But it’s thrown up some questions I’ve got. What makes us passionate about something? What drives us to create? To find out more about something? Where do we get our pay off? That instinct that makes us carry on. 

I know I’m a gritty person. It’s something that lives inside me. One of my values. But I want to understand why. And I want to know what else I value.

So I’ll be digging into this a bit more next time.