Tag: Independence

Tote Bag And Pen

These days, if I’m going out and about or have an errand to do, I have to leave the room/house having listened to the right song. It sounds strange, I know, but pausing Spotify after just any old tune won’t do. What the right song is varies depending on the day or my mood, but on Tuesday I needed something upbeat, something that would really motivate me to power on through the day. I was somewhat undecided between Prefab Sprout and Bruce Springsteen, but ultimately Bruce got the honour of being the final song on this occasion, so “Hungry Heart” triumphed over “Looking For Atlantis” (they’re both cracking songs though, and you should definitely check them out using the links I’ve generously provided).

Why was my choice of musical accompaniment so important, I hear you ask? Well, I’d woken up in a buoyant mood because of what awaited me, and I was determined to ride that wave of positivity for as long as I could. You see, that afternoon I dropped by a little Careers Fair on campus, and I knew beforehand that there was the opportunity to make a lot of progress. At the very least, I could pick up a load of leaflets and brochures or a tote bag and pen – and I did, of course. You’ve got to get your hands on the freebies, everyone knows that. Luckily, though, I also got much more than that, and any nerves I felt about making the first move soon dissipated once I got talking.

I found an abundance of warmth and advice. I found people who took an interest in me and where I wanted to go – one company took down my details after I’d spoken to them, and another replied very kindly to an email I subsequently sent that included a couple of examples of my writing. It’s nice to feel you’ve accomplished something after so long getting nowhere, and I can’t help feeling that there’s still more to come. More smiles, more happiness, more hope. I met with one of the Careers and Employability team the next day, and at the end of a very fruitful meeting she told me: “you’re a great candidate and we’ll find you something, don’t worry about that.” I didn’t realise how much it would mean to hear those words from someone in her position, and now I have even more reason to be optimistic about the future – particularly as I’ve sent off another two applications since then. Looks like I might need a few more upbeat songs to play in the morning, because they must be good luck charms!

Mason

Advertisement

Very Few Words On The Week

I had my interview on Wednesday morning. It went well, and the people asking the questions were very nice, but unfortunately I didn’t get the job. I’m still feeling positive, though, and there is one thing I did get – my much-anticipated campus Internet access. That means that this post isn’t coming to you from a library or a coffee shop, but the desk in my own room. I won’t be taking that for granted any time soon! It also means that I could finally use the app I needed to operate the machines in the laundry room, so I won’t be taking clean pants for granted either (not that I didn’t have any, I was just getting dangerously close to running out – an emergency trip to Primark was on the horizon).

It’s good to celebrate some small wins now and again, isn’t it?

Mason

Not Going Back Just Yet

I might have happily settled back into Winchester life, but that doesn’t mean there haven’t been one or two teething problems. One is my lack of campus Internet connection – the last post was written in the public library, and this one is being composed in my favourite coffee spot, the Open House Deli – and the other is me not having properly got to know my (very nice) flatmates yet. Together, what these both mean is that I’ve had a very interesting weekend thus far, as I can’t really entertain myself or hang out with anyone else. So what do I do when I’m in that situation?

First, I go into town, and I stay there for as long as I can. Not only does this get me some fresh air, but it benefits my wheelchair too, draining its battery as far as it’ll go (I only like to charge it when absolutely necessary). While I’m doing this, I daydream – but not without also looking where I’m going on those busy city streets – and I observe what goes on around me, because anything can be inspiration, no matter how insignificant it may seem. Then, eventually, I find that much-needed safe haven where I can get into the swing of things. A balance of busy and quiet often works for me, because if a place is too quiet, I can think of nothing else, and no work will be done. When I get that balance right, I start scribbling or bashing away at the keyboard, and on a day like today I don’t stop until there’s absolutely nothing more running through my head.

I do my best to multitask, and I’ve juggled my latest set of solo book club notes – on the brilliant One Million Tiny Plays About Britain by Craig Taylor – with all the useful details I can think of ahead of my interview on Wednesday. All of the different duties I’ve performed, every stressful situation I found myself in at each workplace, that kind of thing. After all, the more forthcoming I am when I’m asked those questions, the more likely I am to get the job. If there’s anywhere I don’t want an awkward silence, it’s there!

It’s a satisfying process, but it feels a bit like mental gymnastics. I’m pushing myself further and further, because if I run out of things to say I’ll have to go home, and then I won’t have anything to do or anyone to talk to. So I keep going, and if I pause at any point, I stroke my chin, or I look at the four walls around me, and I try to refocus. The fruits of this labour, which I can see now at the end of the day, are in black and white on the pages of my notebooks. I feel much better about my job interview, and I’ve even decided on my next book and written an introductory paragraph about it – I’m going to reappraise Bram Stoker’s Dracula. I seem to have clearly demonstrated the benefits of having no Internet access in a matter of hours, and they almost make me want to disconnect more often, but who am I kidding? I love getting out and about, but when the web is up and running again, I definitely won’t be taking the ability to surf in the privacy of my room for granted. It’ll be especially useful over the next few months.

Mason

Pizza Autonomy

A few weeks ago, on New Year’s Eve, I was having a conversation with Mum in which I uttered the following ten words:

“Mum, you don’t understand. I need to have pizza autonomy.”

Let me tell you that I absolutely loved how “pizza autonomy” sounded out of context. Straight away, I typed it at the top of a new draft and saved it here, certain that it would make a brilliant blog post title at some point (almost as good as my previous food-based choices, such as ‘Grapeness’ or ‘The Cultural Relevance Of Apple Crumble’). Beyond being a silly soundbite, though, it does have some actual significance, so I thought it would be a good idea to contextualise it after all. You see, what it refers to is my recent habit of choosing when to have my own dinner, which I’ve written about before – it’s something that allows me to take back some form of control over what is currently a rather unpredictable life. More specifically, of course, it refers to pizza, one of the only meals on Earth that never really disappoints. It’s also one of the only meals I can conjure all by myself, so long as the pizza is already made and frozen, so you can imagine why I was miffed when Mum suggested she could heat it up for me instead that afternoon. Firstly, I’m 25, and secondly, how dare you dictate when I eat? What is this, a police state?

I’m joking, of course, but you get the picture – this independence, this private time, is very important to me, even if it only comes in small doses. I didn’t quite know then that I’d be getting more pizza autonomy than I’d been expecting heading into 2023. More autonomy full stop, in fact. And why? Because – as some of you might have guessed – I’m back in Winchester!

To my amazement, I’m staying in my original flat on the university campus until mid-June, while I look for some work in the area. I’ll freely admit that it’s a risk, but at this stage I think it’s one worth taking, and in any case I’m thrilled to be back somewhere I love so much. I have already made a little bit of progress, since I have an interview for a part-time job next week, and that’s taken some of the pressure off for the next few days. I’m looking forward to updating you on my fortunes, at least whenever I have consistent web access – I’m writing this sat in the library in town, because I’m not connected on campus yet. Hopefully, by the time I am, that won’t be the only good news I have to share…

Mason

Back In The Driving Seat

This piece was written for the December 2022 issue of Caitlyn Raymond’s fantastic Details Magazine, which is out now – you can find out more about it by clicking here!

Whether it’s for this magazine, my own blog or any other outlet, I always try to write about my own life from a ‘glass half-full’ perspective. And why wouldn’t I? After all, there’s enough misery in the world at the moment without me adding to it. Unfortunately, though, my sunny disposition on the page isn’t always reflected in real life, and that’s never more true than now, at the tail end of nine months of unemployment (so far). I sit, I dwell and I overthink, and it seems like there’s something different for me to mull over every single day – I never quite seem to be able to catch a break. It’s hard to admit that without moaning, but I’m just telling my truth.

Last week, that troubling thing was time itself – more specifically, the feeling that it was passing me by, and there was nothing I could do about it. I’d turned 25 and I was sitting there, in the thick of November, with seemingly very little to show for my year. That’s a hopeless situation, let me tell you, and when you’re down in the dumps like that it can be very easy just to wallow in self-pity. I definitely know what that’s like, because it’s usually when the comfort eating starts! So when it happens, what do I do about it? I take control, I make changes, but not necessarily the kind you might expect.

They aren’t major life alterations. There’s plenty of time for those, and in any case, it’s always much better to take baby steps – and I mean baby steps. I’ve realised I have to seize the initiative wherever I can, even if that means deciding to eat my dinner an hour after Mum and Dad have finished theirs, as I have done recently. It’s caused a little bit of debate, and I suspect they think there’s something driving me away from them, no matter how many times I try to convince them otherwise. But the simple fact is that they won’t dictate when I’m hungry: I will. They can’t complain if I spend too long in my room either, because if I have my solitude, I’m calm and content, and those moments are worth their weight in gold.

You may well think I’m immature, or I have a screw loose (now that I’ve written about my dinner routines, I’m wondering if I do too). But in a life that’s increasingly felt like it’s getting away from me, it allows me to climb into the driving seat and get back behind the wheel. That might only be for five or ten minutes at a time, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less valuable. It provides a light in the darkness, it helps to guide me through uncertain times, and it makes the long-term unknown that little bit less daunting.

Mason

Graduation

My graduation ceremony is now just under four weeks away, and I write this having recently booked my tickets, photographs, and gown for the event. Clicking those confirmation buttons made my one remaining university obligation seem that little bit more real, but I’m nevertheless looking forward to seeing everyone and celebrating their achievements, even if it is the last time I’ll see certain people (such as Lara and Nora) for a while – or ever, as the case may be. That’s both a sad and slightly odd thought, isn’t it?

In a stroke of amazing coincidence, I finalised all of that almost three years to the day since I moved into halls in Winchester, and it’s come at a time when I’m graduating in a couple of other areas of life too. In my last post, I alluded to an exciting new opportunity coming my way, and at long last I feel it’s advanced far enough that I can talk about it (for those who don’t already know). Very soon, I’ll be starting as an Editorial Apprentice at Haymarket Media Group, rotating through the three car magazines they own over a period of 18 months. It’s an invaluable chance I can’t wait to get started with, but besides being a new job, it also means I have to relocate to the bright lights of London – so it’s not only a professional change, but a personal one too. One I’ve never seen the like of before, in fact.

Given my disability and its associated challenges, I need to find somewhere that is accessible as well as relatively affordable (although, as I’ve said to several people, the latter in particular can be easier said than done in London). This is the main barrier to taking up my new post, so even though I’ve signed and returned my contract, I don’t have a start date yet – the idea is that I and my three fellow apprentices will all start at the same time, so I need to have some idea of where I’m going before that can happen. Thankfully, Haymarket have stepped in to offer whatever help they can, and I’ve been doing a spot of networking myself to get the ball rolling as much as possible. This has led to a small breakthrough, as Mum and I have a Zoom consultation booked in for Monday afternoon with a company who help disabled people into appropriate accommodation. I’m not sure quite what it’ll lead to, but it’s nice to know there are people out there willing to fight my corner and help me to reach my goals. You can rest assured I’ll update you very enthusiastically when I do find the right place from which to start my next journey. Let’s just hope it isn’t too long before that comes along!

Mason

Going Beyond The Comfort Zone

Hello!

My name is Emily. I’m a friend of Mason’s and a fellow student, and he’s kindly invited me to write a post of my choice for his blog. It’s been a while since I’ve written anything on a blog. The feeling of just letting my thoughts flow and allowing my fingers to just do the typing is all coming back to me now. So let’s see how this goes…

I remember the pre-university excitement as though it was yesterday. The mental lists I made of all the social interaction I was going to do, how many friends I was going to make, how many Freshers’ parties I was attending, and of course, how much fun I was going to have before the semester started. Did any of that go to plan?

Absolutely not.

When I turned eighteen and started university, I thought that was it – that my independent, anxious phase was over. I was going to enjoy myself with my new flatmates, and actually try to socialise. Little did I know that what I thought was an anxious phase is just who I am as a person and cannot be easily fixed with social interaction. I’ve always been the type of girl who would rather spend an evening at home with a good movie or book rather than going out and getting totally shitfaced. However, I thought that for the sake of university, I’d get out of my comfort zone.

That went down like a lead balloon…

It was the first day of Freshers’ Week and the university was holding a Full Moon Party. My flatmates and I had pre-booked tickets to go together, to get to know each other a little better. It came to my attention that this wasn’t their first party, by how they were chugging back shots like it was nobody’s business. I, on the other hand, was younger and was never popular enough for house parties, and hardly drank. So you can already see why this was a bad idea. Flash forward to an hour or two later when the doors finally opened, and the anxiety and panic had set in. I just felt so out of place, I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t just go up to my flatmates after just getting in and saying “I want to go back”. I decided to give it a chance. Maybe I would like it?

Wrong again.

It got to the point where I felt the anxiety rising and rising until it bubbled over and I started to panic. There were too many people. I didn’t belong there. I felt unsafe. All I knew was that I needed to get out. One of my flatmates noticed I was panicking and helped me get back to the flat safely by calling my friend on campus. I’m pretty sure I ruined his match on Call of Duty.

So why am I telling this story? Well, as someone who has been anxious their entire life and wondered whether university life wasn’t for them, I’m here to say that despite the drinking, the partying and the social interaction, university life can still be for you.

After that night, I was embarrassed to show my face to my flatmates, and even though their personalities were lovely, I knew I wasn’t going to get on well with them because we were different people. On a Wednesday night when they’d have pre-drinks and go out to BOP, I was sat on my bed with a blanket, eating spaghetti bolognese whilst watching Celebrity MasterChef…you see?

If you, an independent individual, end up sharing a flat with party animals, you can still find your own ways to enjoy yourself. On those Wednesday evenings, I had the flat to myself and didn’t have to press my ear to my bedroom door to hear if anyone was in the kitchen because everyone was out. Sometimes I baked cookies and cakes, or went for a walk into Winchester to pick up any food I needed, or just to get some fresh air and be alone with my thoughts for a while. It’s the little things that can sometimes have the biggest impact.

Having said all this, though, the one thing that kept me going was seeing my family at the end of the week. I was lucky enough to get into a university relatively close to home – only 60-90 minutes away on the train (God knows what I would’ve done if I went to my insurance choice, Bangor). So, if like me, you are the type of person who loves their home comforts, applying to a university close to you is probably the most important tip, as at the end of the week, you get to crash on your own bed and realise just how quiet it is within your own four walls.

Emily G

 

The Lip In The Road

You’d think that now I’m rapidly approaching my 22nd birthday, I might be grown-up and mature enough not to overlook the important things in my life – especially not something as important as my wheelchair’s battery level. Sadly, though, it would appear that I still have much to learn, as that’s exactly what I did when going to and from work on Tuesday. The chair had supposedly been on continuous charge since the previous Thursday, when I’d last been out in it, so there was no reason for me to suspect that it would be anything other than full to the brim with power when I clambered aboard in the morning. That was, of course, until I turned it on…

The display told me that I only had five bars of power – two orange, and three red. That meant I had less than half a battery left, and I knew from previous experience that that was even less than it looked. Sure enough, as soon as I’d emerged from the garage and was halfway up the road, I was already down to two red bars – and they were flashing. Trouble seemed to be imminent, but I decided to continue on my way. I knew that the chair wasn’t designed to stop immediately when the last bar vanished, so I phoned Mum to update her, and then my workplace to let them know I would probably be late. The chair had never run flat in Winchester, with all its slopes and inclines, so what could possibly go wrong in the relatively flat Minehead?

The rest of the short journey to work passed at a range of speeds, since the chair tended to get faster and slower again at various points, usually depending on what the pavement was like. Going downhill, I found that gravity definitely helped – at one stage, an old lady with a walking stick moved over to let me past, and rather embarrassingly, I was as slow approaching her as she was approaching me! When I arrived at work, I reiterated my predicament to my colleagues, pulled up to my desk, and switched the chair off, knowing that it sometimes regained power when out of use for a while. Eventually, the time came to have lunch, and in hindsight maybe I should have stayed in the office to eat it, but I wanted some fresh air. Seeing that I had clawed back some additional power, I set off in the direction of the park.

As I had anticipated, I did lose much of that as I sped down the street, but I wasn’t going very far and there was only one road to cross. I’d do that, eat, get back and switch off again so that I would be fine to go home by myself. A foolproof and flawless plan, surely? Well, I was fully convinced that all would be well – until I’d finished my lunch and had to head back across that road again. By that point, the chair was covering most of my route at little more than a crawl – while it was just about still moving, there was no real power behind it. Imagine the true fear I felt, therefore, when I dismounted the kerb and the chair crept into the road at a snail’s pace, with a car approaching in the distance.

It stopped. I carried on, hoping that the camber at the side of the road would quickly flatten out so that I would speed up. Unfortunately, that took what seemed like an eternity, so opting to continue my day in one piece, I got back to the safety of the kerb, switched myself off once again and pondered my next move. I did try crossing at least twice more (with lengthy breaks in between each attempt), but I ultimately decided to give up altogether and send out an SOS. Another two phone calls to the office and Mum led to the latter coming to my rescue a few minutes later.

Once we were home, we set about trying to get to the bottom of the issue, which was still baffling me. I immediately plugged the chair back in upon parking in the garage and, as far as I was concerned, its display wasn’t lying – it was charging. So what was the problem? With some further exploration, Mum soon discovered that, in a nutshell, the charger wasn’t quite plugged in fully. Even though the readout was telling us what we wanted it to, the juice wasn’t going in as it should – so there you go. Everything that happened on that day came from one very small but crucial oversight. I’ll have to triple-check these things from now on, and I’ll make sure I push harder when I’m plugging in too!

Mason

 

The Pull, Part 12

Here it is – the pasta in sauce I told you I would be making after my stir-fry last week. I had it for my dinner last night, and whilst it obviously wasn’t the most complicated dish in the world, I am at least glad to have something else under my belt to reproduce in Winchester. With such a simple cooking process, there was very little that could go wrong as I sat alongside Mum at the worktop, although carrying a newly-boiled kettle with a broken lid on my lap did bat a few eyelids! I also had trouble seeing what I was doing at certain points. When it came to pouring out the correct amount of pasta on the electronic scales I was struggling to see the readout, although I did choose to disregard it to a certain extent anyway, since this was my first time and I wasn’t too worried. Mum had very cleverly bought a metal chip basket for the pasta to go into – she thought it would be too risky for my hands to get too close to the hot water, and that simply lowering it into the pan would be a much safer option. Whatever I did, I still kept my oven gloves firmly on to prevent my clumsiness costing me dearly – after we had finished Mum admitted that it might have been easier for us to pre-boil the water in the pan, to avoid any potential accidents with the aforementioned kettle!

Once I had managed not to scald myself terribly, it was time to heat the pasta sauce – and, if possible, I wanted to do it without permanently staining any of my clothes. Mum handed me the jar and asked if I would be able to open it. Recalling my struggles with the lid of the sugar jar we had at work (which always seemed to be welded on), I replied in the negative, only to find that the lightest twist was needed and I wasn’t such a weakling after all. The jar was not a new one, and half of the sauce was left, but Mum instructed me to only use a small fraction of it on the pasta. I was therefore determined to tip the jar as daintily as possible, with the ultra-cool precision of a brain surgeon. It would seem that there’s still some work to do on that approach, however, because no sooner had I made the slightest wrist movement than the whole lot had gone in. When it had heated up in the saucepan, I obviously had to stir it with a trusty wooden spoon, which would thankfully not be conducting any heat! I couldn’t really see the contents very well, but Mum assured me that perfect vision was not strictly necessary as I was only stirring to coat the pasta. I moved the spoon a few times clockwise, and then anti-clockwise, just to reinforce the illusion that I actually knew what to do – and then pasta and sauce were ready to become one (my clothes survived the experience unscathed). A brief mix then culminated in a bowl that is surely worthy of a Michelin star, don’t you think?

OK, so it’s hardly a work of art – but it’s yet more progress of which I can be proud. Every achievement is relative in magnitude to whoever has achieved it, and for me this is another big one. I don’t know what will be next for me to cook, but I look forward to potentially finding out next week, and if it’s something more interesting than this another photo and post will follow. I am now looking ahead to the exciting weekend before me – I will shortly be off to a local music festival, at which I will celebrate my 21st birthday tomorrow. I never cease to be amazed by how quickly each birthday seems to creep up on me. They feel like they come and go almost as quickly as my haircuts, and I have one of those every five weeks!

Mason

 

The Pull, Part 10

What you see before you might not look like a masterpiece, but I felt it appropriate to share a photo of it here, because this meal – this humble stir fry – is the first one ever to be cooked by my own fair hands. As you might have guessed, Mum used her Yoda-like mastery to guide me so that I would know everything I needed to cook for myself in Winchester. When she announced yesterday that I would be making my own tea tonight, I was filled with a mixture of confidence, intrigue and the fear of the unknown, but now that the meal has vanished from my plate I can safely say that only positivity remains. I am very optimistic that I will easily be able to reproduce it on demand when I am living alone, and this is due in no small part to what Mum did to soothe my inner doubts.

After I had made sure my hands were well and truly washed, I rolled across to the worktop by the cooker to see that the chicken breasts had already been laid out on the appropriate chopping board. Mum explained that in Winchester, it may well be easiest for me to use chicken that has already been diced, but she took this opportunity to make sure I could cut it anyway. Obviously, raw chicken does not put up much of a fight against a knife, so slicing it into smaller pieces was hardly an issue for me. When they had been swept into the wok, to be coated in the hot oil I had poured there, I was surprised by exactly how quickly they all cooked through. There was an instantly noticeable transformation in the appearance of the meat, and I got to see this up close as I tried tossing it about with both tongs and a spoon. I concluded that the tongs were most effective when dealing with chicken, since I could examine and move each piece individually, but when the somewhat slithery vegetables went in, I favoured the spoon to turn them collectively. The grip tongs have on those isn’t quite as firm, that’s for sure!

Then came the noodles, specifically those of the “straight to wok” variety, which Mum had very thoughtfully purchased. They were tightly packed into a large block within their packaging, so it was suggested that I unpick them carefully over the crowded pan. I had expected to immediately drop the lot in with my butterfingers, but I was ultimately able to add them in small quantities – until the last batch, which did fall in a large cube that only narrowly missed the kitchen floor. It was in, however, and now only minutes remained before the contents of the wok would be the contents of my plate. I had never previously realised that cooked noodles did not change colour, so I learnt another small lesson when Mum told me that they only appeared darker in her meals because of the soy sauce she stirs in prior to serving. I used the spoon to break up the last of the noodles that were clinging together and after a couple more minutes, dinner was ready.

The wok is pretty heavy, especially in the hands of someone like me, so Mum initially doubted my ability to lift it and transfer the food to the plate, but I quickly proved that such fears were unfounded by easily tipping it all on. As it sat there steaming away, it was somewhat lacking in terms of presentation, but Mum – as you can see in the photo – had the foresight to try scattering the mangetout in an artistic manner (which might not have worked so well). With that, it was on the table, and in my stomach just as quickly. As I sat back staring at my clean plate, I wondered what else I might be able to accomplish in the kitchen with Mum’s ever-reliable assistance. She tells me that a simple plate of pasta in sauce will be next. A few days ago that might have daunted me, but I suddenly have no fear, and I can clearly see the benefits these new abilities will bring in just a few short weeks. Bring on the pasta!

Mason