Anyone who lives in the UK will know that the weather is wildly unpredictable, and that at certain times of the year it can bring disruption to millions when at its worst. In the winter we are bombarded with images of snowy cars stranded and abandoned on motorways, and the devastation brought to unfortunate houses by flooding. You’d think that Brits would therefore have every right to instantly detest bad weather. Most of us probably do – but I don’t always think that way.

I’m writing this sat next to my bedroom window, clearly able to hear the sound of the rain as it beats down upon the conservatory roof. I can hear every drop, but I’m not complaining. Far from it, in fact, because ironically it seems to fill me with a great deal of warmth. I think this is because my disability has perhaps given me a heightened ability to appreciate the little things in life. It accommodates for the absence of the bigger things I am unable to do, and as a result I sometimes find aspects of life unnoticed by anyone else fascinating. The rain can be something I listen to and consider gratefully, because then I feel glad to be so warm inside when the outdoors is so unappealing. I have another such example of this kind of appreciation I want to share, because I think it exemplifies just how precise my observations can be. I surprised myself with this one!

I was talking to my Mum the other day, and at one point I mentioned that one of the smallest but most heartwarming things in life is to see a sign on a church door that says something like “if the door is open, feel free to join us. If it is closed, open it and come in.” I am not overly religious, preferring to refer to myself as agnostic, but I can certainly imagine the comfort this can bring to someone of faith. To be surrounded by such love must be amazing. Whilst there are other ways in which I could have gathered this, I was able to do so from the most insignificant of stimuli. It made me wonder what else might be possible when I’m enabled – not disabled – like that.

Mason