I began writing for myself, in order to think more clearly about my own pattern of living, a balance of life, work and relationship that I assumed was peculiar to me. As I’ve continued to write – and to talk I’ve realised that this is more than my individual story, that many other people, even those whose lives on the surface appear porcelain perfect, are grappling with the same questions as I and are trying to evolve another rhythm, one that allows for creative pauses, individualism and some solitude and respite from a world in which it can be very difficult to be at peace with oneself.

A few years ago at a meeting of an architectural society, I remember feeling something of an imposter as neither architect nor designer. I discreetly mentioned my feeling of dis-ease to one of the organisers whose kind and wise response really resonated:

“Why do you feel like this? Surely you live in a house?”

I have the same feeling as I write this blog – who am I to assume that I am qualified to write this stuff – or even more preposterously that anyone will be interested interested in reading it? I suppose the answer to this question, is that, since I write about life – and that, for the moment at least I am alive that makes me, an expert in this field.

For anyone kind enough to read this far – I hope that, as someone who’s also alive, you’ll find something here for you too.