The Curious Case of Feeling Better

"If you can't fly then run, if you can't run then walk, if you can't walk then crawl, but whatever you do you have to keep moving forward." Martin Luther King

Something has shifted.

I can't quite pinpoint when it happened, but for a while now I've noticed a quiet change in my headspace. Not fireworks. Not some majestic epiphany where the clouds part and a choir starts singing. Just... calm. A calmness that seems to be quietly growing, even while life continues doing its best to throw the occasional brick through the window. The challenges haven't disappeared. Personal issues are still very much a thing. Money remains frustratingly elusive, and finding employment in this little corner of Cornwall often feels like trying to spot a unicorn parked in a pub carpark. Some of these things I can influence; others I simply can't. Oddly, though, they no longer seem to carry the same weight they once did.

For years I felt trapped by anxiety and periods of depression. It was like living with the handbrake permanently on. Everything required more effort than it should have, and doing nothing somehow became exhausting in itself. The less I did, the less I wanted to do. It's a vicious little cycle. Now, that feeling has been replaced with movement. Not constant productivity - I'm still perfectly capable of procrastinating with Olympic-level commitment - but mentally there's momentum. My mind is occupied with ideas rather than worries. Instead of asking, "What's the point?" I'm now asking, "What if I tried that?" It's a far more interesting question.

I don't think this happened by accident. Part of it came from refusing to take the easy route, pushing myself into situations I would once have avoided and saying yes to opportunities instead of quietly inventing reasons not to bother. Historically, I've been remarkably gifted at talking myself out of things. Give me an opportunity and enough time, and I can usually come up with at least six convincing reasons why it isn't worth pursuing.

It's a peculiar contradiction because I can be very social, provided it's entirely on my terms, with people I like, at a time I've chosen and, ideally, after sufficient alcohol. As I've got older, I've become increasingly comfortable in my own company. Honestly, I quite enjoy disappearing into my studio or wandering around with a camera for hours without speaking to another soul. For making art, that's a wonderful place to be. But even the most independent creative needs other people occasionally. A conversation. An exhibition. A workshop. A chance encounter. Human interaction has the rather irritating habit of being good for us, whether we like admitting it or not.

Keeping busy isn't simply about filling time either. It's about creating, reading, watching, learning and, above all, remaining curious. It's about feeding your mind enough interesting things that it has less room to endlessly replay its own anxieties. The brain, I've discovered, can only obsess over so many things at once. Better to make one of them colour theory than whether you've completely ruined your life by forgetting to reply to an email six weeks ago.

Over the years I've also taken medication for anxiety and depression. For me, it had its place during particularly difficult periods, and I know it can be life-changing - even life-saving - for many people. My own experience, though, has taught me that lasting change has come more from rebuilding my life than from any prescription. Making photographs, writing, walking, learning something new, giving myself projects and having something to look forward to have slowly become the foundations that medication alone never quite managed to provide.

Creativity, in particular, has been extraordinary. It gives difficult emotions somewhere useful to go. Instead of sitting with sadness, I can turn it into a photograph, a piece of writing or simply an idea worth exploring. That doesn't mean sadness magically disappears. It still turns up from time to time, usually uninvited. The difference now is that it doesn't move in. It visits, makes itself a cup of tea, overstays its welcome slightly and then leaves.

I suppose that's really what I'm trying to say. Life will always be difficult in one way or another. Bills still arrive. Plans still fall apart. The future still refuses to come with an instruction manual, but our minds aren't fixed objects. They change, they adapt, they heal, sometimes slowly, sometimes frustratingly so. If you're feeling stuck, perhaps the answer isn't to wait until you feel inspired.

Looking back, I don't think creativity cured anything. It simply gave my mind something more interesting to do than argue with itself.