"I Took a Pill in Ibiza"

There’s a great song by Mike Posner that I just discovered – “I Took a Pill in Ibiza”. As music often does, it got me thinking. It may come as a surprise to some of you that I, on a number of occasions over the past 12 years, have experimented with drugs. Not many, and not frequently, but I have.

The first was fairly tame - marijuana. In my college days I suffered a lot with migraines, and so an acquaintance named “Sketchy” gave me a spliff in the hope that it would fend off the migraine I was having at the time. I don’t recall whether or not it worked, I just remember being drowsy and telling Mum about it when I got home.

Before I continue - as soon as I’d finished writing the above passage about weed I began to smell the stuff so clearly that I called my flatmate into my bedroom to confirm that the smell was indeed real; sure enough, it was. Weird. The first time I decide to write about my drug use, somebody lights up a fucking blunt outside my house. Funny that all the years I’ve spent writing about mental health hasn’t produced any therapists. Also, yes. His name really was “Sketchy”. He was giving out free drugs; of course that was his name.

Anyway, back to the point.

I told Mum, and she was fine about it. I knew that she had done drugs in her younger years and so I had no concerns about confiding in her. This level of trust is why we’re best friends today. She simply asked that I was careful and responsible with it, and trusted that I would be. For what it’s worth, I was. I never really took to the stuff anyway, and subsequently tried it a handful of times to very little fanfare or consequence.

Years later in 2013, my old man passed away. This happened during my first major bout of depression, and I made a point of carrying the whole thing on my back. I organised the funeral down to exactly what the speakers would each say and ensured that my family never saw me cry. At the time, I felt that this was the right thing to do. “Show no weakness, be strong for them.” As should hopefully now be apparent, I was a very different person then. I now understand the importance of speaking up and sharing pain, and I believe that vulnerability and openness are each demonstrations of a greater strength within. That said, I wasn’t handling it well.

Around 10 months later, another acquaintance of mine informed me that they had come into possession of a stash of magic mushrooms and offered me the chance to experience them free of charge. Intrigued by the prospect, I gave it thought. I consulted my Mum, and this time she was more concerned. She had known people to have life-altering “bad trips” and was worried that my head wasn’t in the right place. I told her that I was going to try it anyway but assured her that I would set the conditions of my “experiment” in such a way that would be as safe as one could be whilst trying magic mushrooms. Once again, she trusted me, albeit nervously.

I waited for a night when I was happy and relaxed. I surrounded myself with trusted friends who talked me through what I should expect and advised that the necessary help would be called in the event that something bad should happen. I went into the whole thing with nothing more than an open mind and intrigue.

This is me, very high. Note the plate-sized pupils.

I hadn’t given the remotest consideration to the idea that it might help me process a tragedy that I had yet to come to terms with, but that night wound up being the most profound night of my life. Chemically speaking, I was the happiest I’d ever been. I experienced various hallucinations of my parents, and had a conversation in my head that sincerely helped me come to terms with both Dad’s life and death. Aside from that, the night was genuinely fascinating. I walked four miles to get home, and it felt as though the stars themselves had aligned. A few years later, when “GreyMatterLeaks” first began, I even wrote a piece detailing the whole experience for a reasonably well-known artist. They were seeking drug-based story inspiration for an art piece and I was looking to write. Whether my experience was of any consequence to her remains a mystery, but I may release the article one day if there’s any significant interest.

I never did mushrooms again, simply because that first experience meant too much to me. I knew that what had taken place went exactly as it was meant to, and whilst I’m no believer in fate or grand design, I do feel as though somehow that night was a necessary part of my story.

Fast forward to a year or so later. I’ve just come out of a very intense and difficult relationship that ended in a weird way. The depression has returned, stronger than ever. In large part, this bout of depression was a result of the breakup, but as ever there were other inner demons at play. My self-worth was disappearing at a terrifying rate and I was spiralling. This time I was abroad, and I wound up scoring 20 euros worth of ecstasy from some random bloke selling knock-off Ray-Bans.

This was significant for me because it’s a drug I would never have considered taking were it not for the complete lack of interest I had in being alive at that time. I was pissed up, and the offer of something else to either kill me or dull the pain for an hour or six seemed inconsequential. Fortunately for me, it was. I don’t remember much of the night, but I do remember that guilt that caused me to hide it from Mum for years.

Whilst it’s true that I’d never considered taking it before, it wasn’t that that haunted me. Were I so inclined, I could no doubt have sourced it at home from somebody I trusted. Still stupid, but far less so than taking it from a stranger in a country I’d never been to before. I didn’t feel guilty because of the drug; that was what it was. I felt guilty because in my depression, I cared so little about my own wellbeing that I gave no thought to the people who did.

I realise in hindsight that this was to some degree a symptom of the illness, but I’m still not proud of it. Eventually, I told Mum. She tells me she was heartbroken, but mostly because she realised exactly what I now know – that I must have been truly broken to be so stupid. I knew it would hurt her to know, but like I said, I tell her everything. Good and bad.

We’re just shy of 1300 words in, and if you’re still here, you may be wondering what prompted this “laptop confessional”. Aside from the song I listened to, it’s my current relationship with drugs that brings this topic to the forefront of my mind.

As you may know, I was drugged a year ago, leading to PTSD and the drastic and at times near-fatal exacerbation of my depression and anxiety. 215 days ago I found out I was negative for HIV and I stopped smoking an hour later. 53 days ago I stopped drinking completely. As a result of what happened, I can’t stand the thought of losing control over my own body.

3 days ago, I was medication free for the first time in 2 years.

For the record, I transitioned to another medication today that I’m currently scrutinising in real-time in order to catalogue the effects, but I wanted to spend a few days medication-free first. I wanted to know how I would feel.

The answer surprised me. The days I spent without my medication were the clearest and most normal days I’ve had in months. A week ago, I was having daily thoughts of suicide. Mum suggested that the Mirtazapine I was on might be the reason I’d been so much worse the last few months. I think she may have been right. I truly believe that continuing with that drug would have resulted in my death within the next 18 months.

This revelation that I was perhaps better off without the medication is why I’m tracking the side-effects – come this Friday I’m seeing my doctor and strongly considering ceasing medication almost entirely. My experience this morning with the new medication was unpleasant, and whilst the second dose tonight hasn’t been bad at all, it doesn’t feel like it helped. So essentially, it fucks me up or leaves me as I am. There’s the rub.

Over the years I’ve been willing to subject myself to all manner of mind-altering experiences for the sake of having stories to tell when I’m older. I wouldn’t change that. I’m glad that I made those choices because they informed both who I am now and the opinions I have on certain drugs. With that said, my mind is twisted up enough without adding more knots. It may be time to accept that I’m just not a person that can be helped by medication; a realisation that is both a slight concern and minor relief. I’m still processing it.

As for everything else, I guess now just felt like the right time to tell the story. I realise that whilst some of you already knew, many of those who know me personally may be surprised/disappointed/amused/etc to find out that I’ve taken drugs in the past, but ask yourself if you liked me before you read this? If you did, consider that experiences such as these are why I am who I am. More to the point, I’ve made a habit of being open and honest when I write, so if you’ve ever admired that quality at all in me, this is still that.

My thoughts on the matter are much the same as they’ve always been – so long as what you’re doing is of no harm to others, do whatever the fuck you want. Just be careful, be safe, and learn from everything.

Good or bad.

Taking Your Time

I’ve been thinking a lot about time recently, and the way in which it presents itself.

Watches, clocks, phones, alarms and even the sun itself would have you believe that time flows consistently. Ironically, it’s all relative. I’m not talking Einstein here; nor am I about to start an article on gravitational time dilation, but it is relative. It’s subjective to a certain degree.

Time ebbs and flows. It flies when you’re having fun, and slows to a crawl when you’re in the midst of a battle you’d sooner not be fighting.

We’re in March already; a month which holds a few significant dates for me. Amongst other things, tomorrow will be 2 years since I travelled for the first time. As if to prove my point, the six weeks I spent travelling through Europe felt as though they lasted a lifetime. The experience changed me. It changed a lot; not least my relationship at the time. I came back from my travels with a view of the world I didn’t have before. Everyday things became a little more mundane and pointless when compared to the journey I had just been on.

See, we use time as a benchmark for the experiences and events in life which change us. Birthdays. Anniversaries. Holidays. Dates we lost loved ones. Dates we found new loved ones. Time is so much more than a calendar year. It’s so much more than a life time. It’s the one thing humans will all invariably fall victim to. It takes time for us to come into this world, time to learn how to live in it, and time for us to eventually leave it for those whose own time has just begun.

2017 dragged as though I was pulling a truck behind me. 2018 is flying like it was born with wings. I’m not sure which scares me more.

I’ve always felt as though time is the most valuable commodity we have. You can’t buy more of it. You can’t get it back, and you can’t return it in exchange for “better time”. I’ve spent so long trying to find a way to make the most of mine that I’ve probably wasted far too much of it worrying in the first place.

Time is the one thing that is always on my mind. It’s a source of anxiety that I fail to battle against in every instance. I constantly wonder if there’s something I could be doing that’s more worthwhile. Maybe that’s why travelling is such a beautiful idea to me; it’s time spent viewing the world I’ll one day leave, so I want to see as much of it as I possibly can. Meet as many people as time will allow and see how I look back at my time just as it begins to run out.

As a result of my constant obsession with time, I can remember almost every single date of significance I’ve ever known. The date my relationships began. The date they ended. First kisses. First “I love you”s. Last “I love you”s. Dates of great joy, and overwhelming sadness.

I’ve often pondered what I would do were I granted the ability to manipulate time. I was once certain that if I could go back in time and change things, I wouldn’t. I felt this way because I was more or less happy with who time had turned me into.

More and more, I’m unsure that that’s the case. Maybe I’d go back and stop myself from saying or doing something. Maybe I’d go back and say or do something I should have.

The irony is, and as if to further prove my point, I’ve just spent the past 20 minutes writing about time and now I’m wondering how much it was worth. I think in this instance, it needed to happen. I needed to vent.

Today is Mother’s day. I know two dear friends who, due to time, didn’t have the opportunity to spend today with the one person that brought them into this world and granted them every single second they’ve ever had.

If you’re both reading this, you hopefully know who you are; I’d like to take this time to thank you both for being such good friends to me. I hope you were able to spend today looking back fondly on the time you had with your Mums. Wherever they are, I’m hopeful that they’re doing the same.

At this point, you may be wondering what the point of my words have been. I know I am.

I guess I’m saying “make the most of it, if you can”. It’s not always, if ever, that easy, but try. Time is a gift, so I’m sorry if you feel as though you wasted some of that gift reading this.

I’ll end by saying this. To those of you I once cherished, alive or dead, who are no longer in my life; I miss you. I hope the time you spent with me made you a happier person.

And to those of you I have in my life that I cherish, thank you for making my time worth spending on you. It’s a gift I am endlessly happy to share with you. I’ll be grateful for that time until mine runs out.

Love to you all.

E.

Love, Relationships & Mental Health

Today marks 9 years to the day since I first told a girl I loved her. Why do I remember this date? Primarily it's because I'm good with dates, but I'm also quite sentimental.

In the intervening years I've told three more women the same thing, and I can honestly say that I've meant it each time, without hesitation. I'm always rather cagey during the early stages of a relationship; primarily because of how much they mean to me. I love being in a relationship; I love everything that comes with it. The companionship, the private jokes, the pet names etc. So, as I say, during the early stages I'm always a little nervous about things; making promises, talking about the future and so forth.

This rarely, if ever, has anything to do with the woman herself, but rather how much it means to me to be able to say something and truly mean it. The idea of making plans for the future before I'm certain that there's a future to plan scares the shit out of me; I can't stand the thought of letting somebody down anymore than I can stand the thought of being let down myself.

An old memory; it's called "Daft Subway Photo Shit"

As you've no doubt gathered, these four relationships have each now come to an end, and for the most part I treasure the memories I made during my time with each of my previous girlfriends. Hannah C showed me what it was to be in love for the first time. Lucy taught me what it was to have a family outside of my own; her family were deeply welcoming and loving, and embraced me immediately, for which I was immeasurably grateful. Charlotte showed me what it was to be carefree and adventurous, but also what it was to have somebody deal with my mental health issues for the first time as Dad passed away midway through our relationship and I began a downward spiral that I've struggled with ever since.

Lastly, Hannah L provided a drive to see the world and step beyond my comfort zone. Moreover, her family also became my family. Her parents were loving and caring, her siblings were welcoming and familiar. Even her family friends welcomed me with open arms.

For as wonderful as each of these relationships were for the most part, they were often met with complications brought about by my predisposition to depression and anxiety. I've fortunately never been a jealous or suspicious person, so that never factored into it, but having to explain to somebody why you're not always beaming when you see them or why sometimes the idea of going into town or doing the usual "date night" stuff scared me was always a difficulty. When you're getting about 12 hours sleep per week and dealing with a deep-seated anxiety and insecurity, it's often the case that the last thing you want is a Nando's or a cinema date.

These people begin to truly believe that what's wrong with you is a direct reflection on them, and the feelings you have for them. This, as you might expect, becomes something of an issue.

What's worse is that I personally consider myself somewhat of a romantic. I love big gestures and I love small gestures. I love surprising my girlfriend with flowers, hand-making cards for certain anniversaries, dates or birthdays, or just showing up with their favourite pizza or bar of chocolate. All this may sound insignificant and small, but these things were always my way of proving that "I do sincerely love you", despite all the arguments and the seclusion.

Four months into 2017, my most recent relationship came to an end rather abruptly. Things had been difficult for a while; my head was going, and generally the state of the relationship wasn't what you'd call ideal. She had often worried that I would leave her for somebody else. Ironically, she met a man at a new job and decided that was where life should take her next. It's a tough thing to reconcile when you're already that low, and when you follow it up with a drugging and an assault, you find yourself with little to no self-worth whatsoever.

So today being any other day, I find myself still in two minds about relationships. On the one hand, there's nothing I love more than pizza nights and Netflix with a partner. I love falling asleep with the woman I love in my arms, and I love waking up before they do and seeing them sleeping safely and soundly only to wake up, bright eyed and look at me with unconditional adoration.

To revisit my initial point, since this relationship ended I made a conscious decision to remain single for the foreseeable future. In large part, this was due to the prospect of having contracted HIV or Hepatitis hanging over me, but more so it was because I realised how much healthier I tend to be when I'm single.

It's an odd paradox. I love being in love, but it brings so many complications that become near impossible to deal with when you can barely bring yourself to wake up in the morning. With that said, I've been single for nearly nine months now. In terms of my mental health I'm leaps and bounds ahead of where I was a year or two ago.

Partly it's due to the time I've taken off work to heal after the events of last year, but I also feel it's because I'm not currently beholden to the duties inherent in relationships.

To clarify, I loved Hannah. We travelled Europe together, made plans, celebrated various occasions and had all the things you'd expect of a relationship (good and bad). Now, however, I'm able to focus entirely on myself. I can ensure I'm recovering properly and I don't have to worry about letting anybody down or visiting people when I simply don't feel up to it.

So where does that leave me? Do I believe relationships mix well with mental health issues?

Ultimately, I think it boils down to the individual. If you're the sort of couple that is each able to accept the nature of one another's problems, then yes, you can likely make it work, but for the time being I'm reasonably sure I'm happy being alone. That is to say, until such a time as I meet somebody that takes my breath away again.

I bear both a great deal of fondness and resentment regarding the past, especially the recent past. I'm still working through it, and I fully believe that for the time being I'm far safer keeping to myself and continuing to recover. I still lament the lack of somebody to fall asleep with and wake up to, but honestly I couldn't in truth say that I'd be willing to have that again if it meant a regression into old schools of thought. I don't have the energy or inclination for pointless arguments or jealousy. I suppose it's much simpler to say the following, and hope that it comes to pass:

I'm nearly 28. I've had some of the worst experiences I'll ever have since I turned 20, and I'm determined to make 2018 and beyond a time filled with as much positivity and happiness as I can manage. I want the next woman I say "I love you" to, to be the last person I say it to.

Though maybe you hope for that with every relationship; who knows?

Point is, a lot of my friends have recently married, had children and begun a life together. I honestly could not be happier for them. Not only because they deserve it, but also because they keep having beautiful children that I get to visit with and coo over because I love kids.

So I'll finish with this. I'm happy. I'm healthy. I'm content for that to remain the case. Should the circumstances surrounding that contentment change without affecting the happiness itself then I'll be the first to celebrate it.

Until then, I'll remain happily alone, but not lonely; excited to tell the next amazing person to enter my life - "I love you."

A Letter to Dad - 5 Years On

Hey Dad.

It's five years today since you left; feels like a lifetime. It's been a while since we caught up so I figured I should write and let you know how I've been, and how the others are. You'll have to forgive me for not writing this by hand, but given how much you were enjoying getting the hang of technology before you died, I suppose this is fitting in some way.

As you'd no doubt have wanted, we'll begin with the most important topic; you'd be crazy proud of Ben. When you left he felt as though he'd somehow let you down. That always pissed me off, because you were the parent and you should never have let him feel like that. With that said, if you were around now you'd be amazed at how far he's come in spite of everything.

Time tends to warp in my head when it comes to your death; it's very much a "life before"/"life after" thing. I'm not going to give you the whole "Before Andy"/"After Andy" shit because I think you'd agree that's a little grandiose, but I digress.

Ben went to Ormskirk University; he's still there now. Prior to this, he was going to go a year earlier to another university but I convinced him (based on my experience and who he was at the time) that it wasn't the right time for him to go. He maintains to this day that that was the best advice I ever gave him, and given how he's flying I'm inclined to accept such praise.

He graduated from his Performing Arts degree with a First. A fucking first, Dad. Imagine that. It wasn't an easily won grade either. He had his problems; alcoholism being at the forefront of those.

There was a time where I was concerned he wouldn't make it (both to the end of the course and to the end of the year), but thanks to a wonderful young woman named Gemma, a young woman with whom he celebrated his third anniversary two days ago, he got sober and has been ever since. He used his sobriety to pass his degree with flying colours and has since gone on to do a Masters in Psychology.

I wish you could have been at his graduation; Mum wept, naturally. I cried my eyes out. To this day it's the proudest moment of my life. Watching him go up to get his diploma wasn't like watching a 20-something Ben graduate. All I could see was the chubby-cheeked toddler with the shit-eating grin going up there. Of all the things I've witnessed in my life, that day was the first to contain an event I'd call a miracle. Not because he wasn't capable of it, but because he had finally proved to himself that he was.

He had overcome all the events of our childhood; all the bullying at the hands of others, all the insults and fighting with me, as well as alcoholism to prove everybody including himself wrong.

What's even crazier than the educational side of things however, is the fact that we're now best friends. Fuck me, think of that. When you were alive, he and I could barely be in a room together without wanting to rip each other's throats out. Now all we do is laugh. He'd have made a good big brother too; 2017 was proof of that.

I'll come to that a little later.

All this is to say that if you were to weigh all of the things that you accomplished in your life against all the things that you fucked up, Ben alone tips the scales in your favour. He is without question the most remarkable triumph you ever had.

I just wish that you had been around to see it. For both of your sakes. You'd be so proud of him.

Onto Ma.

She remains, to this day, the most amazing woman to have ever been in either of our lives. I think towards the end (and perhaps before) you were aware of that, for all the mistakes you made, but it's worth noting anyway that despite all she's been through she continues to be the sweetest, kindest and strongest woman I've ever known. She would never fucking believe it, but I'll tell her as often as possible anyway. Like Ben, she's my best friend. There is literally nothing she doesn't know about me, and we're closer than ever.

She and I haven't had a crossed word in as long as I can remember; primarily because I stopped being such a moody little shit all the time, but regardless, I'm proud of how close we are. We've been talking a lot lately about all the stuff we'd like to do this year to make up for what a shit-show 2017 was, and I'm looking forward to getting them done.

We've both spent far too long in stasis for various reasons and it's about time we tried to move again. She's strong, Dad. Much stronger than you'd ever have seen her. She's kept the heads of her three kids above water more times than I can count, and still has the nerve to "apologise" for how we were brought up. I wouldn't change anything. Not even the mistakes you made, because they all made us closer in the end.

Anyway, she's happily enjoying time to herself and I visit her about 4 times a week. We sit, we drink tea, we reminisce and we take the piss out of each other. It's nice; it's a place I can go when everything gets too much. A sanctuary. Though she watches some fucking awful television. What's worse is how much I sound like you when I moan about it.

It's only just occurred to me that the reason I refer to her as "Ma" (something commonplace nowadays) is because you'd always ask "How's your Ma?". Must be one of the many things I picked up from you during our time together. Whilst this one is more of a tongue-in-cheek title; I find myself becoming more and more like you the older I get. Many of our traits-in-common are balanced out by those I inherited from Mum.

For example, I'm fully capable of your temper and rage, but generally I'm able to maintain her level of patience and calm. I sound like you, I talk like you did, and I even find myself making similar facial expressions. More and more, I look in the mirror and see aspects of you staring back at me.

In many ways this is both a comfort and a source of trepidation. I've spent a lifetime trying to make up for the mistakes you made, but I'm also proud of the good things we have in common. Not least of which is our love of writing. I'm pretty good at it; arguably better than you. I sing, I play guitar and I still love films. I miss the Sundays I'd spent visiting you; you'd show me a film you thought I should see and I'd sit and watch, learning about the importance that is the art of film-making and storytelling.

I met a man about 10 months after you died that actually guessed where my name was from without prompt. I introduced myself as "Ethan", and he replied "Like Ethan Edwards, from The Searchers.". It blew my fucking mind, and honestly I missed you a lot at that moment. I could picture how pleased you'd be at that exchange. To this day, he's the only person to ever pick up on that. Usually I get "Ethan Hunt from Mission Impossible" or "Ethan Hawke".

Again, I digress.

With today being five years since you died, you've now been out of my life for as long as I had you back in it. That's a sobering thought. Truth be told, I miss you.

There have been many times over the past half-decade where I really wished I could talk to you. At times just to chat, about an upcoming film or some global event, but mostly to find out why I am like I am. To ask you about the parts of myself I know I inherited from you, and to ask you how you felt at my age. To ask you what you'd have done in my position.

So, what have I been up to in the last five years then? Charlotte, the girl I was with when you died, is no longer in my life. To my knowledge she's still pursuing her qualification as a medical doctor and she's doing well.

I finally managed to obtain my passport after months of sleuthing and family-tree climbing and went on my first holiday with four friends. I was pretty low at the time, but I'd love to go back. It was an important time for me in retrospect. Robin Williams killed himself during the time I was away, and I think it brought the world a slightly heightened awareness of mental health. I recall waking up, hungover as all hell, and hearing that news. I sat in the hotel lobby for hours (deep in depression and close to suicide myself at that time in my life) and I couldn't believe it. Somebody that outwardly full of life and love, driven to suicide by the thoughts in his own head.

Were it not for a friend named Jack, and a day spent by the pool alone on a sunny Wednesday in Spain with some cheap beer, I likely wouldn't be here. He saved my life that day. Though you should know, he doesn't think much of your table. He calls it a fire-hazard and thinks it looks more like a ramp than a table. If I die before him, I think I might leave it to him in my will as one final "Fuck you, Jack". He'd probably use it for disabled access or something.

I was working at Avox/DTCC when you were alive. Shortly after you passed away, two men named Mark Roberts and Ashley Powell were kind enough to let me move departments so that I could be with Jake when I returned to work after your funeral. This was the start of my progression there and I won't forget what they both did for me. I went on to become manager of my own Billing department.

I was pretty proud of that; I had a great team working with me and I accomplished some pretty good things. For whatever reason, you dying gave me an actual work ethic. Part of me worries that it's because you had so much talent that went to waste because of the problems you had. It's one of the many concerns I have for myself to this day.

During my time at DTCC, I met a young woman named Hannah. We spent 2 years together. We travelled Europe, and had a pretty turbulent relationship. She had a wonderful family; they really embraced me as one of their own and I won't forget that. 2017 rolled around and I think in the end my mental health and her own issues became too heavy a burden, so we split and she got with somebody else a couple weeks later. There's not much more to say about that.

Travelling might be the closest I ever feel to you on account of how much you always talked about your adventures in Amsterdam and such. I remember being there myself a couple of times (high as a kite) and wondering whether we were both stood in the same spot 40 years apart. I'm hoping to travel more this year to make up for the trauma of last year.

Following the break-up with Hannah, I visited George in Germany with Jake (who I'm now living with). Something bad happened there. I was drugged, robbed and remember none of it. There's unfortunately a legitimate chance that something more happened, so I've had regular blood tests since to eliminate the potential for HIV and such.

Fortunately I'm physically healthy, but the doctor believes that I may be suffering from a degree of PTSD. I'm not really sure about that myself, but I also have no way of bench-marking that type of trauma, so I'm awaiting counselling and we'll see what comes of it. I had to leave my job, and I'm still out of work, but things are on the mend. I'm happier now, and 2018 is hopefully shaping up to be a good year.

I've set a lot of goals that I intend to achieve (not least of which is travelling more) and all being well, this will be a better year and I can start moving on with my life. I'm hoping to pursue writing too; I enjoy it and I'm told I'm good at it. Those two things seem more than sufficient as far as reasons to pursue something go.

Anyway, that's a relatively brief summary of life without you. I'm sure there's more that I've forgotten, but I can't even know if you're reading this so I suppose what I've forgotten doesn't matter. If you're reading it, you already know because you'll have seen it. If you're not; none of it matters anyway.

I miss you, old man. I have questions for you, about me. About you. About our family. All sorts, really. I wish we could sit and watch one more film together and shoot the shit for a while, but given that life is what it is I'll have to settle for writing you this letter. I hope wherever we go after this, you're at peace.

You'll no doubt be asking "In the immortal words of The Three Degrees, when will I see you again?"

Somewhere down the line I expect, on this side or the next.

Until then - "Keep a clean nose, watch the plain clothes; you don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows."

Rest easy Dad. I love and miss you.

The Spider & The Fly

I knew the title for this post before I even knew the content. Primarily because I only write tonight as an attempt to commit to and honour one of the many goals I've set for myself this year - write one piece a week, on a Sunday.

So why the title, and what train of thought left the station upon deciding on it?

Well. I'm 27, and for the vast majority of these 27 years I've been scared of spiders. I used to have my Ma kill them for me, but for one reason or another I've become almost fond of them over the course of the last six months. This fondness has resulted in me handling a house-spider to put it outside, and generally going out of my way around the house to ensure that the spiders are evacuated without injury.

Prior to this, however, there was a spider on the ceiling in my room. Thinking quickly, and with pinpoint precision, I squashed it with the edge of a mirror. I'm not proud of myself, but it happened and we must press on.

When I moved in to this house I was told that spiders would be a big problem, but in truth, this has been the only spider I've seen in my room since May 2017. In fact, aside from myself, my flatmate or other friends, it's been the only creature to enter my room since I moved in.

Cut to tonight. Something catches my eye. I glance around and I see a fly. Whilst I am in no way scared of flies, I am usually deeply irritated by them and often do my best to shoo them out of the room or annihilate them entirely. Again, it seems my baser instincts are failing me because I chose to allow this fly to glide around my room uninterrupted. It landed on the giant map of the world I have hanging in my room (in Russia, specifically. Not sure why; never been.) and I developed a fondness for this fly.

I had sat there for hours prior to his/her unexpected arrival; restless and impatient. There's not much to do on a Sunday evening, and even what there is lacks a certain appeal. One of the other goals I've set for the year is to see some more of the world and get back into what I love without having anything from last year hanging over me. So the fact that the fly landed on the map held a certain significance for me regardless of it being completely without agenda on its part.

It reminded me why I'm impatient and why I'm restless. Because I'm a week into this year and I want to start accomplishing things. Me being me, I want everything to happen at once; I want the successes, the plans and the bumps to be past me so that I can just enjoy the fact that the experience was one I got to have.

My issue reminds me of an Eagles song I love - "Learn to be Still". That's what I need to do. Not still and unproductive. Not still and unaware. Just still, and content to wait.

With that in mind and following a brief conversation with my Ma about how we both want to do more this year to make up for last year, I bought myself a stupid amount of food I couldn't possibly eat, listened to some Disney music and relaxed, whilst the thought that I hadn't written anything slowly chewed away at me.

At that moment, I glanced down, and I saw the fly on the floor. He/she was motionless. For the first time in my life I mourned the loss of a fly. Not because I suddenly love flies or because I'd developed some deep relationship with her/him, but because I had chosen to let him/her fly around my room and the fly died anyway.

Art by BlackBoxBerlin

It ties into something I was looking into last night as I pondered getting a tattoo, and if so, which I should get. Existentialist that I am, I was attracted to the idea of "Memento Mori".

For those who don't know, "Memento Mori" is Latin for "Remember death" or something along those lines; "Remember that you will die."

Seems bleak, yeah? Perhaps. For me, it's a reminder that I've only got so much time. So where possible I should spend the time I have being happy, content and patient.

The fly reminded me of my thoughts on this. The fly came in, flew around, lived and died. I picked the fly up on some paper, dropped him/her on the windowsill outside, and closed the window. Admittedly, this fly had in actuality taught me nothing. It just reminded me of things I already know, and need to bear in mind.

With that, I say to you all: Memento Mori.

Remember that, and use it to fuel the best year you've ever had.

Happy 2018 and I'll see you next Sunday.

The Typewriter

Imagine you live your life within a single room for one year. You're fed, watered, and you have access to all the human needs required to survive.

Aside from the basic amenities, this room has a only one thing in it: a typewriter.

You're told that you have to write a story; the most interesting, fascinating story you can conceive of. You're told that it has to be based in reality, obey the laws of physics and adhere to the basic principles of maths and science, but beyond that you can write anything you want.

Lastly, you're told that the story you write will be the way your life plays out when you're finally released from this room.

How many of you would write about office jobs, debts and the room that you're in? 

How many of you would contain your story to the mundanities of life and the environment that you're surrounded by?

I'm willing to bet that not a single one of you would write even one sentence about it. You'd write about love, travelling, self-expression, adventure, triumph and heroism.

You'd write about everything you'd ever dreamt. Everything you always wished you could do.

It dawned on me today that most of us are trapped in that room without even realising it. We're blindly writing a story we have no interest in telling, and even less interest in reading.

That room is your life. You're halfway through a story that is boring you senseless, and you don't even realise that you're the one writing it.

Now suppose somebody walks up to you and tells you that the typewriter is your way out.

What would you write next?

I've decided that I don't want my story to consist of the same chapter over and over again.

I know that I can write a better story. We all can. 

So why don't we?

Explore the world and set your adventure somewhere else. Meet people and introduce new characters. Challenge yourself and develop the protagonist. Write yourself a book wherein you live a life where you dared to try at something and fail. Write yourself a book where you dared to try again, and succeeded.

This is your life. This is your story.

Make it worth the read.

The Importance of Rules

"Have a nice day."

These are the parting words with which I leave each stranger I meet. I'm not entirely sure when I adopted this habit but it's become something that's very important to me.

In the midst of a world wherein we spend our lives with our eyes down and headphones in, I like the idea that four simple words and a smile can have an impact on somebody's day. Maybe they do, perhaps they don't.

What's important isn't necessarily whether or not they actually do; it's the idea that they can. Never underestimate the impact that even the smallest act of kindness can have.

As I've mentioned before, I try to live my life by a select set of personal rules. When I last wrote of these I was up to 13. Since then, I've written two more, and will likely continue to extend this list as life teaches me more and more. Since I've very little else to do at 8.30am on this sunny autumn Friday, I figured I'd let you all in on them and provide some context as to why these are so important to me.

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1. Your word is your bond. When you give it, you honour it.

This one is arguably the most important lesson my old man ever taught me. For all his faults, of which he possessed many, the belief that your "word" is an indication of your character was of paramount importance to him. As such, should you ever hear me give you "my word", it should be taken as a promise that I'll do everything I can to see it through.

2. If you make a mistake, do everything in your power to rectify it.

This is fairly self-explanatory, but important nonetheless. During my younger years I found it all too easy to allow my ego to get in the way and deny responsibility for my mistakes. In doing so, I would disallow myself the opportunity to grow. Mistakes are the seeds of success, and knowing when you've something to atone for may ensure that you never make that mistake again.

3. Be it favour or finance, always repay a debt.

Whilst these rules aren't written in any order of importance, this one is perhaps the one I think of most. It speaks to the importance of making sure that an act of kindness never goes unnoticed. Simple acts of kindness have saved my life on occasion, and so I try to ensure that these debts are paid in full when such an act can help another.

4. Apologise when you're wrong. Embrace it. Learn from it.

Pride can be a jagged pill to swallow. Apologies don't always come easy, but this goes back to rule #2. An apology can rebuild a bridge previously burnt. It can also relieve the heavy burden of guilt from your shoulders and allow self-reflection and growth.

5. First impressions matter. Always shake hands.

Another lesson from my old man. A first impression can make or break any type of relationship. Begin it with a handshake and you've made your first connection.

6. Be honest. If you can't be honest, be kind. Where possible, be both.

Honesty and kindness don't always go hand in hand. Sometimes a white lie is kinder, and sometimes honesty is necessary. If you can walk the line between employing both, I believe it demonstrates an individual's ability to be trusted.

7. Stand up for yourself, and stand up for others.

I was bullied heavily as a child. My mum has on multiple occasions been beaten and abused. Moreover, in today's society it's all to easy to see an injustice and ignore it for the sake of self-preservation. I decided on this rule when I remembered all the times I wish somebody had stood up for me, or for Mum. I also decided upon it because of the times people did. It's not until your back is against the wall that you realise just how much it means to have somebody at your side.

8. If you have somewhere to be, be there on time.

A rule that I decided upon during a relationship in which my partner at the time was consistently 2-3 hours late to everything we did. Lateness is one of the few things that frustrates me above all else. Seemed only right that I make it a rule.

9. Loyalty is the most important trait a person can have.

This one speaks for itself. It's more important to have one friend you trust with your life than to have ten friends you don't trust with anything. Loyalty speaks volumes about a person, and it means more to me than any other quality a person possesses.

10. Always have something to aim for.

Over the course of the last few years, my mental health has declined significantly. It's been hard to focus on anything, and when you're adrift it's all too easy to stay that way. If you aim for something and miss, be proud you took the shot. Be even prouder if the shot lands.

11. Have your own opinions, but don't allow them to negate the opinions of others.

Not always an easy one to follow, because I'm a reasonably outspoken and opinionated person. It's because of that that this rule needed including. It's a reminder that I'm not always right, and often wrong. More to the point, you can learn so much from listening to somebody you disagree with. It can change your entire view of the world if you're open-minded enough.

12. Family is the most important thing you have. Family doesn't always mean blood, but it does mean you shed your blood for them should you need to.

The most important lesson Mum has ever taught me. A reminder that family doesn't end with blood. Friends are the family you get to choose, and you should choose them with care.

13. Think before you speak.

Not something I'm always able to do, but certainly something I've attempted more and more as time has gone by. This rule was a by-product of my tendency to talk before I listened during my youth, and I'd like to think it's saved me from a few confrontations over the years.

14. It doesn't matter what you're doing; do your best, and do it right.

My work ethic was piss-poor before Dad died. I'm not really sure why this changed when he passed, but it did. I don't think there's any such thing as a job you're "too good for", nor do I believe there's any excuse for doing something you consider an "easy" job badly.

15. Don't just talk about it. Be about it.

All the rules in the world won't mean anything if you don't follow them. It's well and good talking about what type of person you are, but actions often speak louder than words.

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So there we have it. A long-winded, almost certainly overly-preachy insight into who I aspire to be. Congratulations if you made it to the end.

Ultimately, what I'm trying to say is this; knowing your faults and fixing your faults are two different things, but generally, I've found it all starts with a simple act of kindness.

So with that said, have a nice day.

Entanglement

As I look towards the future and the plans I've set in place for myself, I can't help but reflect upon the past and the steps I've taken to get here.

Purposelessness has been a feeling that has at times enveloped me entirely, and to finally have set a goal that could potentially set me up for life is a terrifying and gleeful concept.

The glee lies in the unknown and the potential for success, and the terror naturally lies also in the unknown, as well as the potential for failure. But fear of failure should never get in the way of the pursuit of happiness and betterment. Knowing that and putting it into practice however are two entirely separate things.

Over the past few days, I've found that there's only so happy you can be about success or the potential for it without people to share it with. Naturally as a result of my internal issues I'm often at the mercy of over-thinking and seeing a half-empty glass, but I truly believe life is enriched by having somebody you can share the wins in life with who will tell you that they love you and that they're proud of you.

Currently this positive reinforcement is provided in spades by my family and friends, but I'd be lying if I didn't say that having one person with whom you share something unique, sacred and intimate would make the wins that much sweeter.

I find myself missing people I shouldn't; people that are long gone and would usually hold no weight in the scales of my mind. I miss people that don't even exist; a feeling brought about by dreams of idealised versions of love and happiness. I even miss older versions of myself. Happier, more optimistic versions that believed they could conquer anything.

The delicate flame of life is easily extinguished without hope, and equally fuelled by love and its many beautiful gifts. External loneliness isn't something I'm used to feeling; I'm a fiercely independent person. With that said, it'd be nice to call somebody I love and say "I accomplished this today." and have them tell me they're proud, and unsurprised because their love for me makes them believe I can do anything. They become the embodiment of that past "you". They believe you're invincible and endlessly capable, and they keep you on that path.

Love and loyalty are complicated. They can burn, they can leave you cold and they can make you more than you ever thought yourself capable of being.

Is it any wonder we're biologically wired to seek this out? It's a drug. Just one that's perhaps best used in moderation.

Thank You

For better or worse, I spend a large portion of my life lost inside my own head. Thoughts can creep in like spiders and nest there for days or weeks at a time. Such is the nature of a man who overthinks everything to the nth degree.

Self-doubt is an obstacle that I often struggle to overcome. I frequently liken my life to a game of chess. I strive to be 10 moves ahead as a means of limiting the number of surprises that head my way. This naturally means I have trouble living in the moment and embracing the "now".

There are benefits to this, in so far as I can generally figure out when I might wind up in check, but I'm reminded constantly that chess isn't really my game. It's a game to which I know the rules, but by no means am I necessarily any good at.

It's as hard to see victories coming as it is to see losses, and just as hard to know the difference sometimes. Were it not for the opposing colours and the pieces left on the board, I'm not sure I would ever truly know.

I head back to work on Monday after 5 weeks away. It's certainly been a reflective 5 weeks and I'd like to think a large portion of the issues that prompted the initial breakdown have subsided. Within a month or so I should hopefully be able to finally put the events of Germany to rest and move on from it. As for everything else, I feel I've made steps to move past the majority.

We all encounter obstacles, and realising you need help or time away is key to recovery. In the last 8 months I've been depressed, lost a love, been drugged, robbed, borderline-kidnapped, considered ending it, and come through the other side for the most part. I couldn't have done this without the help of my closest friends. So I suppose it's time again to thank those who have stuck by me.

To my family, I thank you for being the most supportive, loving, close-knit and bonkers family I could have asked for. I am immeasurably proud of you all, and I'm constantly in awe of what each of you are capable of.

To Jake, I thank you for being there everyday and being a solid enough friend to put up with each other's bullshit.

To Matt, I thank you for being the least judgemental, most honest and loyal man I know and keeping my head on straight in spite of your own issues.

To Hel, Jamie, Will T, Annie, and Ned, I thank you for providing an escape and a true representation of friendship.

To Jack and Will C, I thank you for being the truest of friends and never allowing me to stray down a path I'd struggle to return from.

To Amy, I thank you for showing me normality and contentment by simply being there and being your wonderful self.

To George and Louise Cheesbrough, I thank you for providing me with the happiest day I've had this year, and I wish you all the happiness there is to find in this world. It means an indescribable amount to me to know how frequently you've kept an eye on me despite how busy you've both been.

To Smethy, Swales, Lister, Franny, Arblaster, Shreevo, Mark, Big Cheese and King, I thank you for being so welcoming of a stranger and becoming friends I hope will be around for a long time.

To Dan Prescott, I thank you for being the man I've counted on for the last 6 months to keep me sane in work; you'll be missed but I couldn't be happier to see you making the dream come true.

To Geraint, I thank you for being a friend even in absence, and promise to see you soon.

You've all kept me on track in one way or another and it's my sincere privilege to know each and every one of you.

All the dramatics aside, I feel it's important to let those who've helped know that they have; especially when they've done so to such a degree.

The rest of my year is entirely without direction and for the first time in a long time, I think I'm okay with that. Life may be good again, that remains to be seen. What doesn't is the knowledge that I'm surrounded by the finest people I could ask for.

I won't forget that. To all of you, I look forward to the next adventure.

Thanks again folks; I'll see you soon.

Stardust

If life has taught me anything this year, it's that it can throw some devastating curveballs.

Many of them can knock you straight on your back, but if you're vigilant and lucky, you can, on occasion, smash these curveballs out of the park.

From the depths of despair you can arise enraptured by something as simple as a kiss, or the smile of a beautiful girl. These glancing blows of fate are the violent and melodic songs written by the universe itself.

If asked, could you accurately count the moments in which life has, for better or worse, taken your breath away? Most days go by without any degree of significance or occasion, and are lost to the chaos of time.

There's tragedy in the idea that the majority of our lives will go unremembered by the very people that lived them. This is the nature of the universal rhapsody. An unpredictable, often unremarkable series of expressions that are punctuated by instances of great elation, or deep depression.

Without these peaks and troughs however, life would lose its purpose; the lesson to be found from simply living. There is no profundity to be gleaned from beauty if there is no mundanity in the ugly. There must be two sides to the coin, or the coin is entirely without character and value.

Deep-seated sadness is a painful thing to endure for even the shortest amount of time, but it is also necessary in order to truly appreciate and envelope oneself in the absolute release of joy.

Life is neither one thing, nor the other. It is everything at once. It is love and loss, pain and relief, wonder and horror. But in times of great strength, we may find ourselves granted a glimpse of the celestial, and in doing so, we can see the infinite possibilities to be found amongst the stars.

We are after all simply stardust made sentient.

I wonder what the universe will conspire to sing next?

Lights & Crossroads.

Lately I find myself at something of a crossroads. I'll come back to this crossroads later, but I'll begin by saying without question that the year so far has been the most difficult year of my life. Given what I've seen and done in my near 27 years, that's a scary and sobering thought.

For a great deal of time I came to believe that I had rid myself of the demons I'd come to know all too well, but the events of the past few months have taught me that they never truly go away. They hide, they retreat and if you're lucky you're granted a brief respite from the darkness these demons can bring. I guess you just have to hope that you can find the light again and reach it before the darkness becomes too much to bear.

As some of you know, I recently experienced what I feel to be the most traumatic and vulnerable event of my life thus far. Robbed of any control (and a few materialistic things that mean far less in the grand scheme) I found myself in a place I rarely allow myself to be. I found myself scared, numb and broken.

In many ways I'm still combating that fear, and the fears that permeate through the upswing of happiness that preceded them. I had allowed myself to believe that I was finally happy again. To have that so violently and suddenly stripped away is the most difficult thing I've ever had to reconcile.

Why then do I maintain some degree of optimism in the face of such a painful year? Because as I'm reminded by my friends, I've gone through so much by now that the only thing I can hold onto is the memory that with time, everything improves.

I don't write too much anymore. It bothers me that I've allowed something I was so passionate about at one point to be relegated to an old hobby. Because in all honesty, that's never what this was for me. It was catharsis. It was truth, and it was an acknowledgement on my part that shitty things and shitty people will always be a part of life.

Whilst it's often difficult to remember, the opposite is also true. I find myself for the most part surrounded by the dearest friends I could hope for, and a family that I would do anything to protect because that's my job. They are my whole life, and not all of my "family" are blood.

I've never, ever let my family see me cry. When my old man died, I held it in. When past loves were lost, I held it in.

What happened in Germany threw me in a way I cannot begin to express. I'm just lucky I had people around me who were willing to sit through and support my pain without question or judgement.

So I guess my optimism lies in those I love. The knowledge that I have people I would die for, and people that would die for me.

There's no debating what a rough place I'm in at the moment. I'm battling depression, anxiety, trauma, the remnants of a relationship that to this day confuses me, and the fear that things will never get better for me or those I hold so dearly.

But they will. They have to. They always do.

I apologise for what a heavy piece this has been, but in truth there is a huge amount I keep bottled up that I need to talk about. Maybe this is the place to do it; maybe it isn't. Honestly, I don't care.

To anybody suffering with anything, please get help. See family. See friends. See a doctor. See new horizons. Be adventurous, but with care. Be open to new things and new people, because it's amazing the effect these people can have.

My name is Ethan, and my head is a fucking mess. It's important that I acknowledge it because these things only ever seem to be whispered about. Depression and pain are tricky bastards to tackle, but they're also necessary evils. I've never met a single person who's gone through heartbreak, loneliness and depression and come out of it a less empathetic person.

These things make you stronger. They make you a better person. Hold on to that, and live for it. Because I honestly believe that you will be better for it in the long run. I wouldn't change a single thing that's happened to me. I wouldn't change things with my old man, my family, my friends or even past relationships that may not have been the wisest positions to be in. Because I'm who I am now because of them, and all the self-loathing, insecurity and doubt aside, I know I do my best.

I know they did too.

So back to the crossroads. Where do I go from here? I honestly don't know. I figure I stay on the path I'm on and hope that it leads me somewhere good. If not, I'll retreat and try another direction. Repeat until happy.

Life is a series of paths, diversions, dead ends, retreads, locked doors and stunning vistas. But the journey is what matters. The lessons you take with you on the way.

People come and go. They're not always good people. Sometimes they are and they leave anyway because that's where their path leads them. But stay true to yours and I truly believe it'll take you where you're going.

In the words of my old man, you just have to "keep on keepin' on". One day we'll all find it.

Until then, don't stop looking. Find the small things, and use them to build something monolithic. Something unbreakable. That's where happiness lies.

In summary, I realise this isn't the most upbeat of messages. But these things are so often brushed under the carpet that it scares me how little people feel they can discuss it. So this is an open message to anybody reading this.

If you're struggling, lost, or just need to talk through something you don't understand, I'm here, and I would welcome the friends. Because that's all life really is. It's not you.

It's the people around you. Those are what you live for.

I'll see you next time I have a long-winded, pointless rant to write. Until then, stay in touch, and keep looking for the light.

Where ever it might be.

Stronger Together - For Orlando

A little over 600 days ago I wrote an article wherein I discussed the power that love has and the things that humans are willing subject themselves and others to in order to find love and keep it.

Sadly, the events of this weekend have shown us all what people are also willing to do to destroy love. Over the past 24 hours I have read numerous reports on the attack in Orlando, and there is a consistent inaccuracy within these reports that I cannot ignore.

These 49 lives were not "lost". They were taken. These people were ripped out of existence for no greater reason than hatred, ignorance and bigotry. Put simply, this was an attack on the LGBT community, and my heart goes out to the families and friends of each and every victim of this senseless tragedy.

More and more we find ourselves reminded of the horror that human beings are capable of. Whether it's in the frequent terror attacks in the Middle-East, the attacks closer to home, or even the victimisation of people from all walks of life who's plight doesn't make it to the forefront of the media, it saddens me to see such division amongst a species with so much more to gain through solidarity.

Though I am not personally a part of the LGBT community, I am proud to call its members my friends. Over the course of my 26 years on this planet I have had the privilege of knowing dozens of wonderful LGBT people who have enriched my life in a great many ways. The same can absolutely be said for my friends of Islamic faith; a community that has been the target of an inexcusable amount of hatred and mistrust due to the actions of a few individuals who share the cowardly beliefs which fuelled the events of this weekend.

I am a white, British heterosexual atheist male. I have never had to endure any degree of discrimination and I have never been attacked because of what I believe. I don't feel that I belong to any particular "community" and so I can only begin to guess how much it hurts when somebody seeks to destroy a family that you feel yourself to be a part of.

With that said, what I remain certain of is the power of love. In events such as these, it is all to easy to become lost in the anger and pain that such an act of terror provokes, but I would urge everybody to look beyond the hurt and confusion and see the compassion that is inherent in most human beings instead. In a state wherein blood donations from sexually-active gay men are not permitted, hundreds of people lined up in Florida hoping to donate blood in support of the LGBT victims.

Love ultimately triumphs.

Good will always beat evil. We must remember that.

So finally, I say this. You can be male, female, heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual, pansexual, asexual, cisgender, transgender, black, white, Asian, Christian, Muslim, Sikh, Buddhist, Pagan, agnostic, atheist, disabled, able-bodied, or anything else.

Ultimately, all that matters is that you are good. Be kind, be brave, and be accepting. Individuality is beautiful; it's what makes the human race such a fascinating and varied species. You may disagree with somebody's views or beliefs, and that's fine, but violence will only ever destroy.

We are stronger together. Always.

I love you all.

New Oceans

“Man cannot discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight of the shore.” – Andre Gide

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What strikes me most about the past four months is how exceptionally different they were to the four years that preceded them. What then was a life of routine, stress and discontentment is now one of hope, uncertainty and unemployment.

With that said, I couldn't be happier with how life has been this year.

Last Saturday I walked on British soil for the first time in six weeks and I did so more than ready to be back. I had finally taken the steps to begin fulfilling a lifelong dream and the idea of that initial journey coming to an end wasn't the worst thing in the world for me. By no means should this statement be interpreted as disappointment; for all I had to give up to travel I regret nothing. I truly feel as if I learned more about myself, the world, Hannah and home in that time than I could ever have done otherwise.

Split, Croatia - One of the most beautiful places I've ever seen.

All I mean to say is that six weeks was enough time for a collection of "first steps" and I'm at peace with the idea that this is a journey I will continue for the rest of my life.

What I find myself faced with now is a purgatory of sorts; a "nowhere" place between where I've been and where I'm going. I'm sure there's a metaphor about "train station changeovers" buried in there somewhere that fits nicely with my travelling motif, but I digress. I've not yet adjusted to being back, and so the last six days have been filled with nothing more grandiose than loved ones and bad food. The focus now is on moving forward and finding the next means of adventure.

Travelling is without a doubt the most important thing I've ever done, and the temporary cessation of that experience can be likened to crawling after a rapid sprint; once you're done being on your hands and knees, there is only one course of action.

Catch your breath, get back on your feet, and run like the devil himself is chasing you.

"He's pissed all over the tent..."

Those of you who knew my old man will know he was an avid outdoorsman; always camping, fishing or climbing, it wasn't rare to hear of him taking off for a week to go bird-watching or hiking on his own.

On a couple of occasions, he took my older brother and I with him.

Wee toddler that I was, I was quite excited about the idea. In hindsight, I'm fairly certain that my behaviour on these trips was what limited it to a "couple".

During the first trip I threw what I believe to be a very expensive knife of his over a cliff, and I think I urinated all over the inside of the tent during our second attempt.

Fast forward 20 years and we made plans to camp at Snowdonia together. Whilst we never actually got to do it, I like to think I'd have retained at least a modicum of dignity for that trip. Third time's a charm and all that.

It's 3 years today since he died, so I figured I'd share an embarrassing childhood memory with you.

Sorry about the knife, old man.

The Perfect Game

It's been a long damn time since I wrote here.

Whilst it wasn't for lack of trying; I find that I've struggled somewhat to retain the level of interest I once possessed in the consideration of my surroundings. I'll put that down to the complacency that follows a long recovery.

Today was different though; I experienced that wonder which so many of us seek - the "perfect game".

The "perfect game" is the type of day that you experience so infrequently that it becomes something near mythological. More than this; it's the type of day that provides a beautiful opportunity for retrospect. Those of you who have been gracious enough to read my musings and ruminations thus far will know that "change" is a force I have a great deal of reverence for. It is quite literally the embodiment of progress.

I suffered a brief relapse recently; old demons re-emerged and I found myself needing a few weeks out to work up the strength to hit back. I think I got so used to the idea that I was done with all the old issues that I fooled myself into believing I couldn't regress into old states of mind. I was wrong; we're all capable of it. More and more, I'm struck by how common this issue is; it wasn't until I looked around and really tried to see it that it made itself so apparent.

We're all so busy battling through the everyday that we don't take the time to appreciate how much shittier things could be, or have been. This time last year there wasn't a thing I was truly happy with. 12 months later I'm happy, I'm in love, and I'm the manager of a fantastic team of people I consider friends. It feels good.

To most, this might not seem like progress in the grandest of senses, but consider the things you live for. Consider your waking thoughts and the feelings that dance around your head when you crawl out of bed in the morning. Are you heading toward a day that's going to stand out? Chances are, the answer is "no". But that needn't mean the day is lost, or a waste of time. Happiness can be found everywhere if you take the time to look for it.

Today I found it in a group of friends, a beautiful woman and a pineapple. I'm looking forward to seeing where I find it next.

Platonic

I stumbled onto something today that I thought I'd share with you. As somebody who believes only in what he can see and quantify, this particular piece of writing got me thinking about the importance of our many profound connections.

A few thousand years ago, circa 380BC, Plato wrote a text entitled "Symposium" that examined the nature and origins of love. Herein he recounts a discussion that takes place between a group of prominent Greek figures, as each of them presents a speech about Eros, the embodiment of love and desire. Amongst these figures is a man named Aristophanes, a comic playwright whose presentation consists of a story about "soulmates".

Aristophanes explains that once upon a time humans were very different, and were in fact in possession of four arms, four legs, and one head with two faces. These humans were divided into three genders, born of the Sun, the Earth and the Moon. The children of the Sun essentially consisted of two men, unified as one; with their female counterparts existing as the children of the Earth. Lastly were the Androgynous; the children of the Moon (the Moon being both Sun and Earth), and these lived as both men and women at once.

According to Aristophanes, the humans had become very powerful and threatened to overthrow the Gods whom they once served. In order to avert this, Zeus split the humans in half as punishment for their treachery, and thus we were left as we are today; incomplete men and women with two arms, two legs, and one face. 

With this punishment came a deep longing in humans to once again be re-united with their "other halves". It was said that we would spend our entire lives searching for that piece of ourselves that would complete us, and that when we found that other half we would know instantly, without words, and would experience the greatest joy imaginable. Reunited with our soulmates, we would live and die in complete peace, having finally made sense of our own existence. 

Bill Watterson's "Calvin & Hobbes" - Soulmates.

It's an interesting take on things, isn't it? Naturally, I realise that this is nothing more than a story, but I can't help but be struck by the idea of it because it speaks to the primal nature of humans and the calm that is achieved when you immerse yourself completely in another person. When something as simple as their words or their voice brings you peace, it's hard to argue that they do not, in some small way, make up a part of you that you cannot sustain on your own. Whether you believe in some higher purpose or not, the look of absolute contentment in the eyes of somebody experiencing that type of love is undeniable. 

This is where things get a little conflicted for me. I'm a man of science; somebody who believes in nothing more than physical laws and the scientific method. However, I'm also somebody who has a habit of romanticising the connections we make in our lifetimes and applying a deep personal meaning to them. 

So, on which side of the fence do I fall? 

I fall on the side of the real. So whilst I don't believe in some innate connection that's with us from birth, I do believe in forged connections that can stay with us until death. A lot of my friends are currently tempering these links; many of whom will soon be married with children. If I'm going to believe in what I see, I choose to believe in them. 

With that, I wish you all the best of luck. To those of you who will spend this year building your lives together; may you prove to be the pieces that make each other whole. 

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.