When I’m lost I look for signs; I like to think of myself as a rational person but that winter all the signs had one name on them – Keanu Reeves. In six years as an aidworker I never heard his name. But now, when I went to dinner, read a news story, even in the change room of a thrift store – “You’re like Keanu in The Matrix in that jacket dude!” “Excellent!” – his name was everywhere. I would contemplate loss and his quote on loss would pop in my email; wonder about having children and his views on children would be in a ‘news’ story. I hadn’t seen many of his movies and my small local cinema screened a Keanu Reeves-a-Thon. The guy who bought my fridge was called Neo. The coincidences were relentless. I felt lost, utterly lost, whilst asking myself some big universal questions. So I wrote him a letter. Not the craziest thing I’ve ever done but – as my god daughter said – definitely up there. I invited him to visit and take a break from being “Keanu Reeves.” That letter, my emails to friends when I lived in Haiti as an aidworker, my journals and various abandoned creative forays, formed the basis of my book in progress.