Starting Paper Lifeboat has taken me a long time. Five years, to be exact. One of the things that’s held me back is wondering whether the world really needs yet another autism and mental health blogger. Aren’t there enough of us out there already? Won’t my words just sink like a stone in the churning waters of voices?
This is great fuel for an inner critic. Mine’s been admonishing me that there are other things I Really Should Be Focusing On. Such as the impending void of Brexit, climate change’s implications for our children, and the refugee crisis. Brains are helpful like that; they love to remind you how impotent you are in the face of major, systemic problems. And of course, that impotence is hard to argue against. It taints everything with pointlessness. Before you know it you’ve been under the duvet for three hours. And so the challenge becomes to Do Something Anyway.
So it was that, on Sunday, I took myself off for a walk by the sea. I’d taken this blog down a day after starting it, terrified that telling my story was going to bring Brexit-sized calamity down on myself and everyone I loved (thanks, brain.) Grey seas battered the prom as the soggy January wind blew all over my catastrophising. The weather’s solidarity with my mood made me feel a little better, but soon I was quite cold (having failed to plan my outfit properly for the weather, basing it instead on Just Bloody Well Getting Out For A Walk Before I Sabotage Even That.)
“It is surprising how many unoriginal thoughts we have”Martine Bachelor
And so I dived into a place I have probably walked past twice a week for many years without stopping – the RNLI gift shop. Inside this teeny space crammed with cheery goodies sat two women whose ages I would not dare to guess at. Dressed in jaunty scarves and woollens, they chatted brightly, Britishly, about the weather and the vagaries of their new kettle (the hot topic of the morning). I was comforted by the tradition of it all, and soon we were chatting away about their new stock.
Making suitably interested noises about their gift cards, tote bags, and travel sweets, I suddenly realised that their branding colours were the same ones as I’d chosen for this site. I found myself staring at the children’s gifts in their navy and orange livery, and when my eyes settled on a lifeboat itself, I started to laugh. I was in a freaking navy and orange lifeboat shop. A shop that, as a U.K. seaside dweller, had been in my peripheral vision for decades. I hadn’t set out to copy them, and yet I totally, if unconsciously, had.
There are very few original ideas in the world. We all soak up influence like sponges, and in turn, influence more than we can understand. Maybe it’s time to accept this and take my little bit of influence out into the world after all. It might not be new, it might not be original. But the vanity of not offering anything at all is a poor excuse not to try.
The following day, I re-published Paper Lifeboat. It has already reached 9 countries and over 600 people have read so far. Turns out there’s a need for more lifeboats. An endless chain of demand and supply, in fact. I’d been demanding something like Paper Lifeboat for so long. Time to get over myself, and supply it.
I’m going to change my colours eventually – it’s the right thing to do (not that the RNLI need protecting from my mighty empire!) As a peace offering in the meantime, I bought some of their lovely gifts.
I think I’m going to need more of that tea…