There’s a lot to be said for doing what we really, really love. It makes us young again. It turns us into unguarded, free-flowing, carefree creatures that blurt out, unfiltered, all we want to say.  All we think. With no fear of judgement or failure. And that’s as life should be.

My new office, from today, is in a small summerhouse at the bottom of our garden. Right next to Lisa’s greenhouse.

Lisa’s greenhouse is her happy place. Lisa is happier in her greenhouse than anywhere else. Because when Lisa is there, she is doing what she really loves. Lisa, when in her greenhouse, becomes the person I describe at the top (and bottom) of this tale.

Lisa mumbles about, and to, her plants. Not caring who hears. And occasionally, the volume is turned up so a thought or a question or an observation is propelled out through the glass.

“Wow! Look at how high this is growing!”

Lisa shouted today.

“What is it?”

I asked.

“It’s either a cucumber. Or a melon.”

Lisa replied.

No eyelid batted, on she went. Watering. Singing. And mumbling at things.

There’s a lot to be said for doing what we really, really love. It makes us young again. It turns us into unguarded, free-flowing, carefree creatures that blurt out, unfiltered, all we want to say.  All we think. With no fear of judgement or failure. And that’s as life should be.