This whole self-improvement thing has me by the balls. I cannot remember a time when I was not constantly trying to remind myself to have “less of this” or “more of that” or “exercise more” or “eat less” or some other self-flagellating version of admonishment or the other. So having someone else on my case about similar issues does not go down well. I suppose because I’m my own worst critic, I don’t take kindly to external criticism in general. As providence would have it, I spend a large part of my life with a woman who cannot help but correct, criticise and “advise”. The irony. So I’m getting there. It’s been a long, hard road but I plod on. I knew someone once who said that, professionally at the very least, one should add a new skill to one’s portfolio every year. Egads. Between relationship angst, demanding kids (and equally demanding school curricula), piles of bills, rising debt, soul-destroying day jobs and equally draining house-mates, WHO HAS THE TIME FOR NEW SKILLS? Let alone one every year. My sweet child, in her 8 year old innocence, pipes up yesterday, ” Mum, we haven’t been to the beach since JANUARY!!!! Does this mean we’re NEVER going back??!!”
Aaah. Childhood. When the December holidays seemed to last forever, and so did Chappies bubblegum. When Casablanca was about a man giving up a woman because he loved her too much. Posters of Tom Cruise in Top Gun alongside Bob Marley Swinging back his dreads on my wall. Radio 5 with Shadow Stevens on balmy Saturday mornings. 5am fishing expeditions with my dad, and mum’s signature onion and sardines in buttered white bread waiting in the cooler. Sitting on the beach, watching the sun come up whilst stuffing our faces with cold watermelon slices. The explosion of that first kiss, first love, and first heartbreak. When every emotion was intense, electrifying, all-consuming and cathartic.
And then we grew up. And discovered that Rick (Casablanca) was actually a selfish bastard who was only thinking of himself. The posters frayed and tore and were eventually replaced with new coats of paint and family photos. We now know what the sunrise looks like so we sleep in. Experience is replaced with apathy. We’re constantly on the search for new experiences, the next rush, the next thing trending. In this age of information where the media constantly bombards the consumer with ideas of lifestyles, food choices, fashion statements, who to be, what to sound like, what to do, when to do it and how quickly to do it, we obsess with new ways of connecting and sharing experiences that often teeter on the brink of mundane. “Brian NoGood has checked in at Toilet Cubicle C with Emile Fuckwit and Cecil M Becile”… That picture of your large minneola really made my day. Thanks… I am SOOO pleased that you posted 108 photos of your 3 year old doing absolutely bugger-all on the lounge floor….And so on. We covet new gadgets, games and electronics. E-books and hands-free everything. Movies at home in HD. Whilst the earth slowly dies. In the midst of this digital chaos, what is the plight of the simple ‘best version of me’? Searching for nirvana. Believing in something. Fuck figuring out why I’m here; that ever-elusive sense of ‘purpose’. I’m sure I’ll think about it when I’m languishing on my death bed, waiting for that hooded bastard to brandish his sickle over my frail form. Right now, all I need is a small place to plant my vegetables, read old books by candlelight, and sleep the sleep of the free.
#Sent from my mobile phone. Please excuse brevity and typos.
paradisepicklesandpreserves 