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.

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.