About the best sources of inspiration

That is, I'd like to hear yours.

There’s a certain type of person who’s obsessed with the idea that all office teabags should be Yorkshire Tea. I don’t know why Yorkshire Tea specifically has become the tea identity du jour; for my money, Twinings Everyday is nicer, but to be honest I’ll drink anything that isn’t Lipton, which leaves a grey tidemark on the mug. But when someone has a Very Strong Opinion about Yorkshire Tea they almost certainly also write LinkedIn posts with carriage returns between each line. They’ve got a blank space, baby; they’ll write inane.

I’ve come to have a slight loathing for bold statements, even while blithely continuing to make them. But that’s fine; I’ve always had doubts about myself.

One of my closest friends has just come back from several months of travelling which means that his recommended reels can only be measured in units called ‘binfires’. These inevitably involve ripped young men with sun-streaked buns and Golden Retriever eyes sharing soul-searing observations like “life never throws anything at you that you can’t handle”. Which, no, in their case I imagine it hasn’t.

And look, I know I’m good at writing with my pen dipped in Angostura, but I don’t actually enjoy the stomach acid erosion of feeling this way. I would like to be inspired without twitching over it.

(I do like when people list things they’ve learned, rather than making grand statements. It’s usually wordier, thinkier, gossipier; more nuanced and meandering. In other words: it’s usually a woman writing. Oh come on, you know you were thinking it.)

I often think of what my friend Rosanna would say, since she’s probably the most charitable person I know. She’d look at those Instagram reels and remind me that I have no idea what depressions and anxieties and traumas might be hiding behind those beach-bright smiles and tasteful tattoos. She’d be right. But I love her all the same because she also sends glitter bombs in the post, so I’m sure she has the smoke-stained soul of a sister-witch underneath all that compassion for humanity.

My beloved best friend on the other side of the world is so good at absorbing positivity at face value. She likes a heartfelt quote, even if it’s self-consciously cheesy. Rainbows genuinely cheer her. She surrounds herself with colour and sparkle, and it works. My bile green and bubbling heart is so glad for her and just a little sad for me that I can’t draw energy from the same sources. I have a lot of love for people, and I don’t even hate humanity—despite their best efforts. But even though my work and my favourite past times are all about words, I find it tremendously difficult to charge my battery from other people’s if they’re packaged up too smooth and neat with no rough edges and no sharp-edged note of sadness.

(There’s potential for a really good perfume metaphor here about soft, sweet scents vs woodsy, musky depths. Think of your own; it’ll probably be better.)

So tell me: where do you find the best words? Who manages to make you feel a sense of purpose without fully withdrawing the nail from the palm? I think I need a little dash of hope in these flattened times. Just… no ten rules for life, yeah?