I looked out at my garden today and realised… it’s not really mine right now.
Not in the way it could be.
Not in the way that reflects who I’ve become.

Years ago, I laid decking while I was still in survival mode — just trying to get it done, not necessarily to enjoy it. I kept a wide concrete space clear for skating, holding onto a dream that no longer quite fits. Skating’s still part of my story, but it’s not where I find my aliveness now. And preserving space for a version of myself that’s no longer present just doesn’t make sense anymore.

That’s where the shift began.

I started imagining a structure — something like a garage, but not really. A covered space, open on one side, maybe with a transparent roof to let light in. A place I could work on creative projects even when it rains. A little sanctuary tucked between walls, partly protected already by the layout of the garden itself.

I don’t need it to last 50 years. I just want it to feel like mine.

And then it kept unfolding.

That gravel path I laid — it doesn’t feel necessary anymore. It overcomplicates the space. I could reclaim that area. Move the current shed. Repurpose its materials. Merge storage and creativity into one covered workshop. Suddenly, I see the potential:

  • More grass growing freely.
  • Plants along the right-hand fence.
  • Space that breathes again.

And not just physically — emotionally too.

Because this is what reclaiming space really means:
Letting go of old versions of myself, and building for the one that’s here now.

Not the man who needed to stay busy to avoid stillness.
Not the boy who needed strength to feel safe.
But the man who wants to sit in his garden and feel nourished.
To create, to slow down, to be in it.

It doesn’t need to be grand.
It just needs to feel like home.

This is what’s next — after the van is finished, after I’ve put all that energy into movement and mobility.
Now, I want something rooted.
Something still.
Something that invites me to stay.

I’m not in survival anymore.
And maybe it’s time my garden stopped surviving too —
and started growing.