Resolve

"Bring the past, only if you are going to build from it." - Doménico Cieri Estrada

We're rapidly nearing the new year; the time in which we reflect on our experiences over the last few months and plan for the future. Of all the days in the year, none hold such promise as New Years Day. With it comes the chance to begin again; to reframe the way in which you view the world and strive for something better.

I've done my fair share of looking back this year; far more than I had anticipated. In doing so, I have realised that I will leave 2014 a very different man to the one I began it as. Looking back is important. I'm a firm believer in the idea that it's easier to determine the path you've yet to walk if you recall the steps you've already taken. This mindset ensures that you learn from the mistakes and the triumphs that you encountered during your journey to this moment, and you avoid retreading old ground. No more dead ends; just a steady path to the next chapter of your story.

One of the many wonderful things I saw this year.

I began this year with a series of goals; goals that seemed important at the time, even if they held little weight in the grand scheme of things. Whilst I'm happy to say that many of these were achieved, what blew me away the most were the victories that I hadn't planned for. Like a punch to the gut, it's hard to catch your breath in the moments that take it away. Rarely do you expect life to swing so violently in your favour. 

With this in mind, it's time to look forward again; to plan the next leg. Ask yourself what you want from the next 12 months. Consider how deeply you want to change, and see how far you get. You may find that you struggle to stick to the traditional "New Years Resolution" because after a few weeks, you begin to realise that you never really cared about that which you resolved to change. So think big, and dream bigger. Nobody's life ever changed because they decided to eat one less chocolate bar a day. If you only ever seek to change the little things, then you will only ever see the subtle and meaningless shifts; tremors instead of earthquakes.

So I've a final piece of advice for you all. One that I have followed rarely, and lamented often. If there is something you want, grab it. Pick one thing and fight tooth and nail for it. I don't care if it's a job, a lover, a distant lust or even something as small as the slightest chance for happiness. Break your back for it, because once you have it, every single wound you suffered in the pursuit of that happiness will fade and you will be left with nothing but the spoils of your personal war. Make this your resolution.

Happy New Year; may it prove to be nothing less than spectacular.

A Merry Little Christmas

Christmas is mere days away; I have yet to wrap a single present. I have yet to buy a single present, come to that. I've not decorated, I've penned no witty Christmas cards and I have eaten not one mince pie. It's fairly safe to say that I won't be doing the "traditional" Christmas this year. Now, reading this may bring names like "Scrooge" or "Grinch" to mind, but I would ask that you hold off on the judgement for the briefest of moments whilst I explain.

Don't mistake me; I love Christmas as much as the next guy. I love the relaxing, crooning music that was immortalised by the likes of Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Judy Garland. I love the smell of the winter nights and the log fires. I love the red, blue, green, orange & pink Christmas lights because they remind me of how much I would physically shake with excitement as a child on Christmas morning having his presents handed to him by his big brother. I love the drinking, and I love the food. I really love the food. 

What I don't like is the headache that the holiday period seems to have become. It all seemed so relaxed when I was a kid. I'm certain that it wasn't, but perhaps it should have been. I hate seeing people frantically running from shop to shop for this trinket or that, knowing that all but the most expensive presents will see very little use beyond Christmas day. Or hearing colleagues arguing over holiday leave, and seeing the general financial panic that people get themselves into just so that the 45 minutes you spend opening gifts is as extravagant as possible. 

I appreciate that this is simply what Christmas has become, and that soon enough I will be knee-deep in the Christmas spirit as I wade through the many gift-wrapped requests of my future children, but for the time-being, I'm keeping it simple. This year might be my favourite yet. 

Christmas Eve will be spent getting painfully drunk with my good friend and flatmate; eating crappy food, drinking cheap beer and watching sub-par films. I'll wake up Christmas Day battling a nasty hangover, and struggle through it to clean the house; awaiting the arrival of my Ma to help cook the meal. We'll spend a few hours together listening to Christmas music and soon enough, my brothers will arrive with Mum's fiancee. We'll eat beautiful food, drink cheap beer and watch some more films. Simple as that.

This is Christmas for me, and there's nothing I enjoy more at Christmas than eating, drinking and laughing with my brothers and seeing Mum relax with Jeff. We'll be as close as we ever are with not a present in sight. I cannot wait. 

I love this time of year. 

So with that said, have yourselves a merry little Christmas. I'll see you on the other side of it!

Wanderlust

How many times in your life have you woken up under the same sky? Walked the same streets to the same job and said the same old things to the same old people? It occurs to me that I've done this more times than I can count, and whilst it's not an inherently bad thing, it does leave me wondering what else is out there.

Those of you who know me will recall that I've spent the last 7 years talking about my intention to go travelling. As somebody with very little in the way of actual direction, this dream is one of the few that has continued to gnaw away at the forefront of my mind. Issue is, due to some complicated family history, I wasn't able to get a passport until just under 6 months ago.

Long story short?

My maternal great-grandparents decided that it would be a good laugh to raise the most elusive child in history and leave virtually no record of his birth. Unaware of this, I searched for his details for months to no avail, and began to consider the possibility that I may be descended from some kind of Jason Bourne-style super-spy. This idea was quickly discarded as it seemed far more likely that my grandfather was an immigrant from Papua New Guinea, and I worried that once David Cameron figured it all out I would soon be deported.

My first taste of duty-free alcohol.

For those of you who don't know me; I am a 5'6, ginger chap from Wales. With that in mind, the lengths I had to go to just to prove I was British were nothing short of painstaking. Seriously; I'm so pale that in the right light you can see my heart. Fortunately, what I lack in height, I make up for with detective skills that would put Batman to shame, so eventually I was granted that little red, leathery key to the world and thus embarked on my first holiday.

I should clarify that a 3-week alcohol-fuelled bender in Spain is not my idea of travelling, but at the time I was happy enough just to be walking different streets. Even if those streets were heavily populated with drunken TOWIE rejects and wily prostitutes.

I did all the things a young man does when he finds himself on an island where the main form of sustenance is sambuca; I smoked, drank, got absolutely rinsed by strippers and entered a state of perpetual hangover. But as I say, this didn't feel like travelling.

5 months on, it feels as if "travelling" has become nothing more than a placeholder term assigned to an aspirational eventuality. I wake up each morning and consider the day ahead; knowing exactly what that day will hold. At 24, surely I'm too young for life to have become so routine? I'd like to think we all are.

So maybe it's time to rethink it all? Essentially, the only things that are stopping me are time and fear. Fear is easily conquered, and as long as you make time an ally instead of something you rage against, I guess there's not a great deal you can't achieve. You just have to want it enough.

For now, I'll settle for small steps. With that in mind, if anybody has any suggestions for a cheap, 1-week getaway in January, that'd be swell.

Because I'm f***ing clueless.

Progress Without Movement

I've reached that point in my week where I sit here and try to find something to write. I don't know if I struggle because I have too much to say, or because I have too little. I feel that in this instance, it is the former.

You see, I woke up yesterday morning in a state that's left me a little worse for wear. Arguably, not the worst hangover I've ever had, but it appears that the older I get, the more of an effect alcohol seems to have on me. Shit, at 17 I would drink anything I could find and wake up the next day as fresh as an early Spring morning. Nowadays I've had to resign myself to the fact that a few drinks on a Friday night will leave me bedridden until Sunday morning. Such is the inadvertent sacrifice of age.

This got me thinking about what else has changed over the years; where I am now, compared to where I was "then". I've thought upon the miles I must have walked, and where they've ultimately led me and I've realised that it's all too easy to wake up every morning and feel like you're in the same place you've been for years, for no other reason than because you physically are.

Maybe this is because we tend to measure progress in the spatial dimensions; distance travelled, heights climbed and so on. But if you were to sit in the same place for one whole year and devote that time to learning as much as you could, would you be the same person you were 12 months ago? You won't have moved, but I guarantee you'll be a very different person. Albeit, with a bad cramp.

As many of you know, I consider my life to be a journey towards a worthwhile story. My journey over the last year has been a very strange one. I have experienced the absolute heights and depths of my emotional spectrum and as I reach the end of it, there are a few people that I feel I should thank. After all, what makes a journey more than the people you meet whilst you're on it?

So in no particular order, I give the following people my thanks.

I thank Jack Freeburn for saving my life, and I thank Matt Pike for being a brother to me in the truest sense. I thank Jacob Dobby for being my best friend for the 17 years that I've known him, and I thank Hannah Lloyd for being that light in my hand that keeps me smiling. I thank Becca Peters for reigniting the creative spark that I thought I had lost a long time ago, and I thank my Ma for making the home I've had all my life. I thank Ben Ross for turning into a brother that I am immeasurably proud of, and I thank Tom Chester for being an older brother in whom I see a strength I hope to one day achieve.

Lastly, I thank Charlotte Kelly. Thank you for being the deepest love of my life for the time that you were in it. Thank you for the times that you tried to understand what I was going through, and thank you for standing by me for as long as you did; you were a saint to do so. For that, you will always be my friend.

I thank anybody that has changed me into the person I am, for better or worse. Some of you were in my life for the briefest of moments, and yet you have had an impact that you will never know.

So to anybody reading this, I ask you to look back at the last 12 months and consider the people who have shaped you. Thank them, because you may feel the effects of their friendships for the rest of your life.

Lastly, consider who you were at the beginning of the year. Are you the same person? I know I'm not.

So here's to next year. To the friends we've yet to meet, and to the people we'll become.

A Christmas Tale

Christmas is fast approaching. I can see the lights in shop windows as they begin to play the same old songs, and the biting cold hangs in the air like a force created solely to push young lovers that much closer together. This will be my first Christmas alone in 5 years, and so I got to thinking about the people I will be spending the holidays with this year; my family.

So with that festive spirit in mind, I'd like to tell you my favourite holiday tale of all. I'm unsure how much this story has changed over the years, but it's importance to me has never wavered.

It's a tale of a young mother and her three children. I remember this tale as well as I remember the young lady upon whom the story rests. She was cold, scared and tired. But more than anything, she was determined. You see, each year Father Christmas would visit her town, perched upon his float, and without fail this young mother would take her three young boys to see him as he rode past. Regardless of the demons and monsters this young lady had fought off throughout the year, nothing was more important to her than the happiness of her children; and everybody knows that nothing makes kids happier than Christmas. 

So with that in mind, the young mother collected her three children and wrapped them up warm and tight, ensuring that they were safe against the elements. She instructed her eldest to hold her right hand and the hand of his younger brother, whilst she held her youngest close to her. As if it were the most important meeting of their lives, the mother marched with her children to see the jolly man in red, but alas, they were too late. The mother had been in another battle with a monster that night and it would seem that battle had cost them those precious moments. 

Where most would simply give up and wander home, something seemed to drive the mother onward. Determined that her children would indeed see Father Christmas, she kept walking, resolute and strong. The family walked for what seemed like hours, following the chimes of the Christmas float as they slowly edged away. During this chase, a most wonderful thing happened. It became a game; a treasure hunt of sorts. The young mother would walk from street to street, convinced that the float was only minutes away as her children beamed with excitement and anticipation. Unfortunately, it appears it wasn't meant to be. The children were not reunited with Santa that night, nor that Christmas. The family went home to fight some more monsters, and the young mother was presumably left feeling like she had failed. 

However, 20-something years later, I sit here recalling this memory as my favourite Christmas adventure ever. Not because we saw Father Christmas, or because we got to have our very own treasure hunt, but because it reminds me of the strength of a parent's love. Especially mine. God only knows what my Mum was going through that night, but for reasons I can only assume boil down to love, she was determined for us to see something special. Little did she know that she was what made that night memorable. As she has done for every single family experience I've ever had. Regardless of all the hardship, I have always known I am loved. 

This will forever be my favourite memory of my Mum, and I don't even know at this point how much of it I've imagined over the years. The reality of the situation isn't important though; because the story is a perfect representation of the amazing type of woman my mother is. 

Suddenly spending Christmas with my family seems like a beautiful prospect.

Storytelling

I've spent a great part of the last few days simply remembering my life. In lieu of very little, I find myself recalling experiences and acts that I haven't thought about in years; perhaps even since they happened.

Spending all night playing computer games with my little brother. Dancing down the Albert Dock with Charlotte. My first few months in University.

As far as I can tell, there has been no consistent trigger for these memories, but for one reason or another they have each crept to the forefront of my mind for a time, only to retreat back into my subconscious moments later. With each of these recollections comes a feeling that might most aptly be described as 'bittersweet'. Whilst these memories hold great significance, the inability to revisit or relive these experiences is a constant source of frustration for me.

This is why I love to have a record of things. Whether it's through my films, my photographs, or my writing, the documenting of these memories lends them a level of substance that they could never have just dancing around inside my head.

I'm a strong believer in the importance of memories. More than anything else in this world I believe we are shaped by our experiences. Our memories are essentially nothing more than subjective interpretations of these events, and in many ways we allow ourselves to be defined by how we remember something; even if that memory doesn't entirely reflect the original truth of the situation.

With that said, it's important that we don't manufacture these experiences. With the uprising of social media and camera-phones, it's all to easy to live life through the eyes of your lens. There's only so many times you can filter and crop an image before the memory that the picture was meant to represent is completely unrecognisable. Such is the selective memory of the digital age. If you were to believe everything you saw on Instagram, you could be forgiven for believing that everybody is living a far happier life than you might be, but we all embellish our own stories.

Since I was 13 years old I have been enamoured with the thought of travelling the world. For a long time I was convinced that this adventure would lead me to a single moment when everything would click and make sense to me, but the more I think about this, the less I believe it. To quote one of the first songs I ever recall hearing;

"Life's a journey, not a destination."

I had lived under the impression that I would wander from one place to the next, living through these predetermined events that I had laid out for myself and then I would have my own story to tell. It now occurs to me that I was looking at this from the wrong angle. You shouldn't plan memories, because the imagination is a vast and wondrous thing; how can life contend with that? Instead, I believe we should simply attempt to gravitate towards situations and events that allow these memories a natural genesis. If it's worth remembering, you'll remember it.

I've been told on a number of occasions that I've a talent for storytelling. Perhaps this is why I hold memories in such high esteem. All we are is what we've done, and when our bodies begin to fail us, all we will have is our stories. I want to be sure that when I reach 70, I can take my grandchildren on great adventures with nothing more than my words.

That's how I'll know I've lived.

Cause and Effect

Let's talk about happiness; emotional subjectivity at its most basic.

In my ever-expanding pursuit of happiness, I have begun practicing meditation. I've even earned a sticker for "making a good start", and who doesn't love stickers? Now, prior to actually having tried meditation, I would have dismissed this specific pursuit as new-age hokum that serves up nothing but placebo. With that said, it's easy to forget how powerful placebo can be.

The dictionary definition of the placebo effect reads as follows:

"A beneficial effect produced by a placebo drug or treatment, which cannot be attributed to the properties of the placebo itself, and must therefore be due to the patient's belief in that treatment."

Simply put, the placebo effect is the phenomenon of having something affect you in a positive way, purely because you're expecting it to. So, if you had a headache, you might want an aspirin. If I hand you a sugar pill that you think is an aspirin, your headache might subside just because you think it should. This effect is used in pharmaceutical testing all the time in order to determine the effectiveness of a particular drug versus the results of sheer positive thinking.

Still with me? I hope so.

A huge part of overcoming my depression involved changing the way I view the world. Instead of having instantly negative reactions to the smallest of obstacles, I had to learn to step back, breathe, and think about why I was so pissed off. It began to occur to me that for as much as I wanted to scream and shout about the injustice of it all, this kind of behaviour serves nobody. More than that, it puts me on the back-foot and I avoid listening to reason. I suppose meditation is an extension of this effort. Do these results I'm experiencing stem from placebo? Or is there actual benefit in sitting in silence, and breathing out all my angst?

See, breathing is important. Aside from the immediate benefits it brings (not dying, for example), it gives you a moment to consider the situation you're in, and how best to approach it. I choose to ask myself three questions:

"What am I really angry about?"
"What am I planning to do about it?"
"Is what I'm about to do going to be negative or positive?"

If the answer to the third question isn't positive, than 9 times out of 10, I don't do it.

The most amazing aspect of trying to avoid all the negativity is that you become more open to seeing the beauty of things. Things that might have been irrelevant to you before suddenly take on a great deal of meaning. Take today, for example:

This morning, I went for a walk and saw two children playing alone in the park; a brother and sister no older than 6 years of age. In lieu of nothing, the big brother kneels down and zips up his baby sister's coat to stop her from getting cold. Something that simple and sweet made my entire day. At 6 years old, this kid is already so invested in his sister's happiness that he made sure to keep her warm and safe with no prompt from anybody. On my way back, I saw him holding her hand as he walked them both home; safe and happy.

I find I'm noticing these little things more and more as time goes on, and every single one of them brightens my mood to no end. The most beautiful acts of kindness are those that have the potential to affect people you're not even aware of.

So, today I'm happy because I chose to be. Now, I'll leave you with this:

Be happy. Don't just hope you will be, choose to be. Whatever it takes. Most importantly, remember that whether it's the result of medicine, positive-thinking, or the placebo effect; happiness is happiness. Don't waste time questioning it, because it's not the cause that matters.

It's the effect.

The Light Switch

Recently I've hit a bit of a slump. The creative wave I was riding appears to have broken, and I find myself remembering that I'm not the strongest of swimmers. So instead of trying to be creative, I'm going to be honest.

The last few weeks have brought me to a bit of a standstill. The reason for this seems to be that I'm walking the fine line between the person I want to be and the person I have been for the last 5 years.

To clarify, I have spent the bulk of the last half-decade struggling quite profoundly with anxiety and depression. This isn't something I've ever spoken about openly before, because it wasn't until recently that I finally accepted the simple truth; I was ill. I had an illness.

This realisation took a long time to come to, but I'm happy to say that it's the most important epiphany I've ever had. I feel that it's important because my illness and my description of it is slowly being relegated to the past tense. I'm using words like "was" and "had" and I can't tell you how amazing and new that feels to me.

By now, you may be wondering why I was depressed?

Firstly, I should clarify that that question is easily the most infuriating and difficult question I've ever had to answer. Simply because I have no idea. Depression is a weird illness. It's the emotional equivalent of being trapped in a dark room with a group of people who are screaming at you to turn the light on, but you can't find the light-switch because somebody keeps moving it. After a while, people just begin to assume that you don't want to, and that you're being purposely difficult.

I assure you; that's not the case.

Nobody enjoys feeling that way. Worse than how you feel is the lack of understanding you have for it. The hardest thing is watching people give up on you because of it. Note that this distancing isn't immediate; people stay with you and have the best of intentions, but eventually that darkness becomes too much. This departure can feel cruel at the time, but if I've learned anything in the last four months, it's that this may be for the best in the long run.

Being on my own has allowed me the time to completely focus on myself and figure out exactly how to make myself better, and for the most part, it's worked. For the first time in a long time I wouldn't self-identify as "depressed". I've found the switch and I'm seeing a light at the end of a very long tunnel. More than that, I finally feel strong enough to talk about it.

What I'm about to write will be as serious and as honest a statement as I have ever made. I write this with no irony, and no hint of exaggeration. When I was 21, I promised myself that if I felt like this when I was 30, I'd end it. I repeated this promise to myself nearly everyday for 3 years. I'm happy to say this is not a promise I will keep.

I make this admission because I know how easy it can be to lose yourself to that. So if you're reading this and you've felt that way, I'd like to leave you with what I've learned in the last four months.

It really does get better. As somebody that was so convinced that I'd feel this way forever, I cannot stress that enough.

Just give it time. Don't be afraid or ashamed to talk about it, and remember to breathe. Sometimes that's enough.

Life really is beautiful. You just have to find the light.

La Douleur Exquise - The Exquisite Pain

Love is a funny old emotion. 

People kill for it, and people die for it. People will quite literally hurt themselves and others just for a taste of the rapturous intoxication that's embodied by that little four-letter word. 

So why do we do it? Because it's not as if it's easy. It takes time, and hard work. Simply put, love's a bitch. 

Thing is; we don't enter into these things thinking about the end result and the pain it might bring. Love's an addiction; it's the same as any drug. You're drawn to it because of how it makes you feel initially. That crazy high. Then you spend the rest of your life chasing the dragon. 

I recently stumbled upon a French term I found quite elegant - "La Douleur Exquise". I'm told that it refers to the deep pain of loving somebody that you cannot have. Knowing that, and longing for them anyway. Emotional "cold turkey". This is something we have all experienced at least once in our lives; myself included.

I once thought that my first love would be the grandest of my life. I then thought exactly the same about my second love, and my third. I'm certain I will feel this way about every girl I ever fall in love with. 

Maybe that's the nature of love. The pursuit of happiness, contentment and companionship. Because is there anything quite as sweet as rolling over in the morning, and feeling that warmth next to you? Holding it in your arms and pulling it closer, and knowing that that's yours. That they have given themselves to you and you to them, wholly. 

I think we chase it because there's nothing else on the planet that can make you feel like that. There isn't a single thing in this world that people are so willing to suffer for. That's the beauty of it. Like addiction, it doesn't matter how destructive it is; you will always convince yourself that you are worse off without it.

If you're reading this you may think I sound cynical, but I urge you to look closer. Love is a wonderful thing, and I don't lament the loss of it without a certain perspective. I view life in the same way that I would view a song; change is important. Without change, the song would consist of one note, played over and over again. If you embrace the changes, you free yourself up to ride the crescendos and live in the music. 

Note for note. Beat for beat.

The Moral of Icarus

Beginning a new journey is as difficult as beginning anything with meaning; it's hard to know where to start. Much like a story for which you've written only the middle and the end, oftentimes you wish you could just jump straight in at the 6th chapter, at a point where everything has begun to make sense and take shape.

I've always believed that this is because first steps are invariably the hardest ones to take. It can be easy to forget sometimes that you have to learn to crawl before you learn to walk, even if it occasionally feels like it'd be easier to simply lie there; an immobile, immovable object with no desire to drift and no need to change trajectory. 

Over the last few weeks, I've had my love of film reignited by the good advice of a friend. The films that have begun to re-stoke this passion in me have each dealt with the invasive discontentment that can descend upon us as we grow and change. More importantly, these films have focused on the desire to escape that downward spiral and emerge as someone better. Someone great.

So why is it so difficult? Why do we fear journeying into the unknown? Probably for the same reason we fear the dark as children; we have no idea what's out there and it seems far more logical to remain in the safety of our beds. This is a mindset I've fallen into time and again. I'm 24 years old and it often feels as if all I have to show for it is plans and hypotheticals. Plans are important, but it's finding the distinction between a solid idea and a pipe dream that matters. Once you've figured that out? Hell, maybe it's better to shoot high. 

It's all how you look at the glass. Is the moral of Icarus that he flew too close to the sun? No. It's that he fucking flew.

So I suppose, in the end, it boils down to a choice:

Would you rather fall on your face from 10ft or 1000ft? Either way it's going to sting like hell; you might as well enjoy a good view on the way down. You might see something beautiful.