I see this car in Clerkenwell every now and again and it's always a little bit of a delight to spot it. If I was an automobile expert rather than a therapist in Clerkenwell I'd probably have all sorts of stats and facts to share with you about it but I'm afraid as it stands I can just describe how it looks and makes me feel. I really enjoy its mixture of the old and the new.
I find something very intriguing about it, I think it's the happy contradiction of how it looks space-age in a sort of Jetsons way but also classic and old-timey.
As I wrote the other day, one of the most inspiring things about Clerkenwell is the number of quiet, hidden, peaceful places that we have in the neighbourhood. Some are ancient, and then there's spaces like this one in Bartholomew Close which are super-modern but have managed to preserve and blend in with the older world around them. I feel that this car definitely combines those two elements and seemed to fit in perfectly there.
Like any other human activity, therapy is confronting how to keep hold of the classics while making them work for the modern world. Technology, for instance, has meant that therapists are able to offer online sessions during Covid-19, and it might well be that some people will prefer that over face-to-face therapy in the future.
But whether it's therapy online, by phone, or in a room here in Clerkenwell and Farringdon, time and again we find that the most important factor in bringing about therapeutic change is the relationship between the two people: client and therapist.
I provide clients a safe, supportive and non-judgemental environment in which they can explore their feelings, their pasts, and their presents. The relationship is confidential and I place trust at the heart of it. The therapy might happen in a modern format like Zoom or FaceTime, but the fundamental trust and connection in it is something old and unaltered: I will listen, I will not judge, I will respect you and what you tell me. From this, change can come.