I cannot promise my what is below will be novel or revolutionary. I do not promise enlightenment to anyone that reads. I can’t even guarantee whether or not it will make sense. But if this can drive one person to ponder and see what thoughts occur, then these nocturnal thoughts from my little black notebook on my bedside table have made a beautiful thing happen.

I lack the patience and diligence to do more than just dictate and transcribe what is written and merely offer this preface. Well I edited them a little because ai made mistakes.

I find myself torn.

Whilst I do love to write, it is primarily for selfish purposes of unravelling and solving my inner complexities. Whilst the moniker of writer has a certain allure that I wish to grasp, the title of thinker is something I consider far more desirable.

But I do not wish to pander for approval before claiming this role. However, I must somehow prove myself worthy of this. The best place to start is proving to myself and my immediate circle, I would assume.

I thought the goal of writing consistently would aid me in this endeavour, which it has. But less than 10% of these notes make it onto platforms that can garner widespread recognition.

Because people I shall never meet or rarely interact with have very little influence over my worth and outlook. I’m reading The Courage To Be Disliked, and it mentions how Socrates left behind no books, but thanks to Plato, we got to learn about his philosophies in modern day. He was too busy debating in Athens. Many other men of gumption did not hunch over parchment with ink, for they had scribes or witnesses that were so enamoured by their words that they could be entrusted to record their ideas. Maybe the true essence of what was initially shared was lost along the way, but one could argue that whatever has stood the test of time was just as profound back then, maybe even moreso.

But I do wonder whether things forgotten to history or never written down would have been given more attention by the modern man transported back in time. Another keen witness poised to write down an exclusive quote of the greats.

To live and engage in discussion is what I seek. The way the youth and philosopher do in the book I’m reading. How Socrates did in Athens. How Jesus did countless times.

All the while hoping it means something, at least enough to someone else for them to go away and ponder, and maybe even try solving their own inner complexities. I choose to consider this quiet desperation one of my healthier ones lol, since in its pursuit so far, I’ve gained riches of the kind thieves will have a hard time stealing...

I feel asleep at the wheel. Chewing gum used to always work whenever I got drowsy. Not this time. I thought overtaking would keep me awake. Guess not. I've pushed through before. When music would turn into noise I would switch to podcasts, stimulating a different part of my brain. I typically have haribos and twix on standby, alongside an ice cold bottle of water. This time was an oversight.

I've drifted for what felt like a second in the past with no major consequence.

My friend got engaged. He invited me to join the suprise party. I wouldn't miss it for the world. I nearly left it.

Pride convinced me that this time was no different than the others. Determination made me try to keep fatigue at bay. I had somewhere to be, there were things to prepare. I couldn't afford to be late for this. At what cost.

Seeing the sun set whilst waiting on the hard shoulder for a few hours gives you time to think. Lightly buffeted by the cars zooming past. Past performance isn’t indicative of future results.

A lot of mixed feelings. Shame & embarrassment about waking up to colliding with the barrier. Frustration with being treated like a hot potato by customer service before eventually getting towed hours later. Boredom whilst waiting to get towed. Relief that I made it out pretty unscathed all things considered, to still have my life and health. Guilt that I could've caused risk to drivers around me, as well as letting people down by not making it to the party and helping set up beforehand. But also guilt around the relief that I didn't have to make yet another trip to london, that this has weirdly granted me rest, a night with no plans except to watch match of the day and relax. Regret on missing out on this special milestone, as well as damaging my car, most likely writing it off. Overwhelmed about having to pay an excess, having to contact insurance, figure out potentially buying a new car, probably seeing an increase in my insurance premium. Loss of a car for now.

I also feel validation in saying "no" more. I feel justified in keeping more of myself. I'm just having a hard time figuring out what that looks like exactly.

I'm open to any suggestions or input on this. Currently planning to try and write a plan down and go from there, but am curious to hear how others handle setbacks in achieving their own goals. A comment,a message.

I'll take anything

I feel called and beckoned everywhere yet compelled to be nowhere at the same time. A peculiar yet familiar feeling. Plenty of action with no real purpose except to fill time with something in the hope it provides meaning. Yet knowing it doesn’t since I’ve been down this road before.

I find compulsion to write which is comforting. The voice I drowned out returns whilst I chase slumber. How convenient.

Other voices draft up messages to send, remind me of pending tasks, recall abstract memories from another voice’s train of thought. All in some sycophantic dissonance each demanding equal acknowledgement.

A restlessness I may never cease to marvel over whenever it visits me, its product one I may cherish or loathe.

In younger years I would be sent into delirium, begging God to let me sleep, to lift this curse that I deserve yet wished I didn’t have to endure. If I fought harder against the current then I would win, right?

The waves must be embraced. One cannot blame the moon for existing, nor rebuke the seas for their obedience. It is just as foolish to attempt to make bread from lemons.

Happy new year. I want to take more risks. I want to say “no” more, because inadvertently I would in turn be saying yes to so much more. I want to look back on 2026 and see truths spoken despite the hurt they may cause instead of a myriad of unfulfilled promises paying dividends in pain.

One of my biggest mistakes last year was giving too much of myself away and hoping it would somehow return. I forgot that I had limitations, that my goals and ambitions would remain as that if I didn’t prioritise them.

One of my biggest achievements last year was starting this blog, providing a place for words that used to fill forgotten notebooks over the years. A voice I have seen grow in identity and confidence with each post.

Amidst everything life has thrown at me I have rediscovered my safe space, and I believe it should be of utmost importance for anyone reading this to do the same. Maybe one comes to mind easily. Maybe even multiple. Maybe none at all…

You will be constantly robbed of peace and stability if you are not vigilant in your endeavour for it, at least in my own personal experience.

May your year ahead be one of awareness, purpose and surrender, as I hope and intend mine to be also.

I was talking with a friend earlier about having a childlike experience of the bible, how one would achieve it. And so of course I reminisced upon my own childhood and some thoughts came to mind.

There is no one else on this planet that has the same lived experience of my childhood. Because it’s MY childhood.

Not even my sister.

One might attribute that to the 3 years and 9 months between us, or the fact she is female, or due to how she may have been parented differently after they got all the mistakes out of the way on me, or maybe being exposed to technology and social media at a younger age, and so on and so forth.

But even if all these differences were eradicated, my point would still stand. Even if we were twins of the same gender emerging from our mother at somehow the exact same time so as to not have any sort of psychological edge over the other in this regard. Even if we were in all the same classes at school, got the same clothes, had the same hobbies and interests, were treated with the exact same favour and discipline by our parents.

My point would still stand.

Because I am still my own person, and what may be perceived as the same external experience can still be received and processed in a different way internally. Sure, maybe if we were twins there may be a higher chance that similar neural pathways could be formed from shared experiences in upbringing, but to have absolutely no deviance whatsoever in any opinions and how we absorb this precious thing known as life for years on end is something I don’t believe would be possible.

I can’t tell my sister what her childhood was like, or how she is supposed to react to a certain scenario, just because that is how I (innately or consciously) have chosen to respond. Even moreso I am not qualified to place myself in this position of dictatorship upon the friends I grew up with and their own perception of the past. I believe this to be the case to an even higher degree for friends made past the era of childhood, in adolescence and adulthood.

My own childhood alone shall play a part in shaping my outlook of a childlike experience of the bible.

Granted, I feel it necessary to acknowledge the caveat that many with shared experiences do often find themselves relating to others in their opinions and feelings of them. I believe this goes without saying but saw no harm in doing so nonetheless.

In terms of my childhood, aside from the aimless fun and little thought to my future or purpose, accompanied with the dread, joy and many other emotions that is capable of bringing, there was one overarching theme of my childhood that I couldn’t ignore.

Boredom!

I can recall countless times as a child when I was bored.

Maybe it was because my bedtime was 8pm despite the height of summer being very evident, the sun resolutely remaining in the sky whilst I lay on my bed wishing for the next day to come sooner. This ball of heat mocking me, still allowed to be up whilst I could not and making sure I knew about it, almost crying myself to sleep at times lol.

Or waiting in a GP either to be seen or unwillingly chaperoning my dad, a bunch of magazines on the table I had no desire to explore.

Or waiting after school to be picked up by parents that had either forgotten I existed or were delayed in arrival (we can pretend to give them the benefit of the doubt lol).

Or sitting on the naughty step whilst the rest of the family enjoyed themselves in the other room.

I’m sure there are so many more examples I could recall and write at length about, all of them with the same theme:

I was bored and there was absolutely nothing I could (or was allowed) to do about it except wait for the time to pass.

Another one has sprang to mind:

Waiting for the bus, especially after just missing it (maybe even running for it, which is apparently an ick now) for what felt like an eon, for then three to arrive all at once after around thirty minutes (always somehow three, never two).

I look back on younger years almost in envy of how much opportunity I had to be bored. In a current season of life where boredom feels like a foreign concept, a distant memory I recall from an era long ago.

All this space and time that I had that I didn’t know what to do with (or wasn’t allowed to disrupt in any way).

Now seemingly vanished to the age of information and entertainment accessible at all times in all places.

This boredom of yesteryear slowed me down, something I didn’t know I needed at the time.

Something I now constantly crave.

I just parked my car and was about to meet some friends but had to intentionally decide to delay this in order to create time to write this and reflect more on my childhood and how life has reshaped my view of it.

A decision I do not regret.

Indeed it has been a while since I’ve posted. A part of me wants me to do better at being more frequent, but I don’t let that voice rule me as much anymore. It benefits me sometimes to give in to it and be propelled into action.

But then other voices, like the one you have just read from, wouldn’t be given the chance to step forward.

I promise to write more. In all honesty I’ve been writing. I’m always writing, sometimes only in my mind or upon my heart.

And there will always be some sort of stream from this rushing river that will find its way to a place like this.

Until next time (whenever that may be lol)

I slipped back into the rabbit hole. I relapsed. I felt robbed of my consciousness, my sentience.

one reel here, another short there. and then it's 3am. It can't get any worse

football highlights, then the analysis, then football documentaries. ok I'm running out of time, so some football reels, memes, screenshots of tweets. now we're getting some goofy stuff. now I'm not only out of time but I'm running late. constantly. but I still haven't watched that thing that I need to watch right now otherwise I might forget about it. because it's so important. I watch it later, later bedtime. A vicious cycle, knock on effect. Where does it end

Kinda reminds of those levels in super mario that be loop if you kept choosing the incorrect path lol

My last insta post was over 8 years ago (I think). I went cold turkey. Got so much headspace back. Didn't really miss it. It wasn't an asset for me at the time, but rather a liability. And I struggled to detach my ego from anything I posted (still do lol, hence the message with the subscribe button at the bottom). It was an extension of me that craved validation, needing to be like and accepted. So I uninstalled it. But the the appetite has satiated somehow...

Along came tiktok. Need I say more? I fed that algorithm so much of me. And it felt like a fair trade. Until I realised how much of a bigger liability it has became, how it wrecked my attention span way worse than anything else. How it contributed to how desensitised I had become to any kind of media.

My friend made a bet I couldn't go a week without it. Which turned into a month, a year, and I intend for it to remain this way. I had reinstalled Instagram at some point and rebounded to reels, which I eventually uninstalled again.

I make jokes of being 2 years sober from tiktok, as though I'm better than others because of this. Friends will send me tiktoks, so I'll find a website to download the video from the link. On the odd occasion I'll use it through the browser to search something, since it has some use in specific contexts.

kinda ironic I was looking for this lol

but uninstalling the apps wasn't the solution. it doesn't matter if the browser experience isn't as smooth, I'm fiending for my dopamine. a quick glance at my bookshelf makes my eyes roll. what once held so much to explore now feels obsolete to this universe in my palm. this portal that zaps my creativity, that bends time, that gets me doing quick maths in my head and making everything else irrelevant.

there's so many more ways for me to lose myself. so many other things that can feel like an effective use of my time. so many apps that I can leave with nothing to show for.

we must be on our 4th or 5th heatwave by now. doesn't matter. I've still got those boxes formidably standing their ground. it can wait.

it's crazy how everything can feel so big and daunting the more time that passes doing nothing.

my last two posts came out half baked.

"I've got loads of time to edit and review these before when I've scheduled"

Whilst I was right, I procrastinated, I didn't prioritise, I didn't manage my time, I let what was right in front of me consume me. I'm tapping away on it right now, something that has enabled a pursuit of passion has also been my source of stagnation. I wanted to write weekly, and I kinda have but they got unpublished and have gathered dust since.

Radical thoughts cross my mind:

• is this the purgatory reserved for me in this life, this constant cycle of deluded hope and reality?

• maybe I just need a dumb phone

• I should buy a typewriter and find someone to type up the paper and manage the blog for me

I refuse this next thought - parental controls. That level of intervention feels like admitting defeat. Self discipline will never be learnt if that path is chosen.

Something must change.

I know this struggle is one I don't face alone, even if at times it feels this way. This addiction has become a tenet of our society, something that if massive reform was undertaken was massively impact the capitalists that farm this attention for their gain. Attention is the new currency, a very powerful that can be leveraged when used right. Nothing shall change this.

But I guess I have to decide whether I wish to farm or be farmed.

To tap away and say what I want to be is vastly different from making intentional decisions, no matter how painful, to ensure this becomes the case.

It just felt right to have some sort of David Goggins vid in here somewhere 🤣

Reading this back makes me see this as more of an issue of resolve and vision than screen time content consumed. But I wanna start more of conversation around this.

To those that can relate to my struggle, how's it going? Are you winning? How do you re-calibrate when you were doing so well until you weren't?

Any words of advice for a guy looking to cut out the noise?

how we discover unknowns and how it can make us feel is the human experience!

you ever let the excuse of not knowing hold you back?

we are always equipped enough to move forward, whatever forward looks like.

"I don't know if I can lose weight"

"I don't know how to get the job I want"

"I don't know how to find love"

"I don't know who my real friends are"

"I don't know how to best spend my time"

"I don't know how to manage my finances"

"I don't know what I want"

absolutely anything loooool

My dad was playing FIFA career mode. He lost possession and conceded a goal. He didn't know what to do. He tried to not think as much. He found the space, relied on instinct, relaxed, found an opening and scored a goal. He can think too much at times which can impair his decision making.

Bit of an abstract example but I think it's relevant enough. We all can sometimes make do with less thinking and more living. Yes, sometimes you should "take a touch":

@ba1only

Take a touch

@Big_tagg

“liked your story”

okay so your crib or mine?

But you can’t be overindulging in our thoughts

we underestimate the power of our instincts, treating them as something that is too primal, to be left behind in the time of cavemen.

I believe how we move through this life sends all kinds of signals, whether we like it or not. And that ultimately determines how people receive you and treat you.

Two candidates. one job opening. Equal in their experience, barely anything between them from a professional standpoint. One spent a lot of time researching the company, practicing answers for scenario based questions, also prepared some questions about the company. The other didn't. intentionally. So that whatever they say is organic, an original thought. In the hope their responses are not based on rehearsal, but how the moment feels, who the person is that is asking them, what they recognise they need as they discuss the job.

Both didn't know what to expect. the former tried to anticipate. the latter prepared to embrace. Personally I prefer the latter approach of moving through life, because it leaves more space to be present in each moment as it comes. Even if it isn't the most surefire or reliable way. It feels the most exciting to me, when things come to you that wouldn't have otherwise.

I would hope the signals this way of life emits may also help me be surrounded by those that align with my values. In my pursuit of surrender I can meet others also along this path, behind and before me, to help and to hold onto.

To not know is to be free. Because knowledge hasn't shackled you down to a specific way of thinking yet, and you are open to allowing yourself the experience of learning. Maybe with some mistakes. But those are the kind of lessons that are more likely to stick with you than someone else's instruction.

I am not speaking of not knowing anything. That is infantile. That is dangerous. That is asking to be exploited if the wrong folk catch wind. I'm referring to more specific contexts, when we would let this gap in our knowledge and understanding worry us or consume us. I prefer to view it with excitement. Like a blessing. A new journey I can embark on with a childlike spirit.

Like when as a kid you would discover something for the first time and have such wonder! But this time round you're an adult and can momentarily forget about all the things that try to weigh you down. Indulging in the wonder once more, embarking into the marvel of unknown, ready for whatever it is that lies ahead waiting to be revealed.

the greatest discoveries of our civilization have come from embarking into the unknown. and I believe so much more can be discovered within ourselves!

if we are willing.

I'm starting to view life as the moments in-between writing. This epiphany must have been waiting below the surface for a while but was bound to eventually emerge. I needed to capture it before it burrowed itself like a botfly, like many before it have.

This first began occuring to me as I lay awake this morning pondering. In my friends flat in north London.

We played catan last night (well, colonist). I came 2nd. I blamed someone else for taking a deal that threw the game. Maybe I would've won had the deal not been done. This blissful ignorance soothes my pain of failure.

I spoke with the deal taker later. He asked me about the blog. I can't remember the exact question. All I can recall is how it felt to talk about writing. I shared how it frees me, how the more I do it the more I find myself. How it feels like everything in my life has prepared me for this. How I feel destined to write. I could feel my passion grow as I reclined on the sofa sharing these things with him, becoming evermore certain with each word uttered, like a soldier hardening their resolve with each foot they place in front of the other into battle.

My past self spent too long ice skating the surface of life afraid of falling under, unsure whether they would die of drowning or shock. They didn't realise they could swim. They didn't realise that in the deafening silence of being underwater that truths could be uncovered. They didn't realise they were never meant to be above the surface, that they had been slowly dying of a disease.

Known as hurry.

If I never slowed down this blog never would have began. If I didn't choose to face my fears of emotions I never would have posted any draft. If I had kept numbing my brain on social media I'd still be gasping for air.

Air that was poisoning my lungs.

So much happens every single day. In all of our lives. So much that can be savoured. One leaf of a tree can be dwelled upon and not lose it's allure. The time spent dwelling upon it could inspire so much. A painting, a song, a dance, a poem, an outfit, a business plan.

A smile.

If we only chose to find a moment to savour! To allow something to dwell. To sit and not be moved. Something that can feel so alien in this modern world.

"Acceleration becomes a secular substitute for eternity"

- Social Acceleration, Hartmut Rosa

And so in my effort to deny this damaging ideology (for to conform to this is to die whilst living), I sit on yet another train, where writing of this nature began, placing a clear divide between moments.

I implore all this reaches to find their destiny, the act that makes your life make more sense. With urgency! Before those epiphanies flit by, swallowed by the disease.

I have reached the midpoint. three weddings down, three more to go this year. I began writing this whilst flying back from angola (where the third wedding took place), it's vibrant culture and hospitable natives something I intend to delve into further in a future post.

Prior to it all I would've told you that I am content in my singlehood, which I still believe to be the case. However, I sense a shift in outlook as of late.

Out of these six weddings I have the honour of being a groomsman five times. I do not intend to brag, but simply demonstrate that I am even more emotionally invested because there is duty, trust and camaraderie that comes from being depended upon which I cherish. I value all five of these men who have wanted me by their side, the history we each have part of what has shaped me into becoming who I am today.

And to see them find their person and cast aside fears of rejection in the hope of gaining something so much greater is a triumphant tale that shall always rouse jubilant emotions within me.

I have grown more fond of the personal vows with each ceremony that I witness. Because I find in those moments the true extent of the bride and groom's love is on display for all to see. Whilst I am yet to shed a tear lol (I came close once) I have had the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on multiple occasions, which I attribute towards how these moments imprinted something upon me.

Seeing someone be known, understood, accepted, fought for through adversity, sacrifices made along the way, all in the name of love is something quite special. These vows truly are personal: they are unique to each couple, for it is their past, present and future that ultimately brings forth these declarations and promises that both individuals wholeheartedly mean.

It is impossible for me to partake in all this celebration of love and remain the same person I was before. It leads me to questions of my own desires and dreams, searching for reasons of why I would marry.

my sis said "ooo bachelor" when reading the last sentence lol

I also find it intriguing how it is in the most unexpected moments that I am compelled. I liken myself to the man that stumbles across hidden treasure. Something so valuable that he knew he must have it. Others may operate like merchants looking for fine pearls, upon discovery selling everything they can in order to obtain them. That is not my default, however this is not beneath me: one day I may experience another shift in outlook.

To the buried treasures discovered that ultimately never became mine, it does not make them any less valuable, nor does it make my discovery a mistake or regret. The journey is rife with lessons learnt about myself and love that I may never have learnt without it.

I also think that marriage should not be held on a pedestal as the ultimate end goal. Godliness with contentment is great gain. There is much more love outside of romantic nature that adds to life the way I believe we have been designed to experience it. But as a friend has engraved on the back of her iPad:

“Man muss das Unmögliche versuchen,

um das Mögliche zu erreichen”

for those too lazy to translate:

“You have to try the Impossible,

to achieve the Possible”

Messy room. Boxes of stuff formidably stand their ground, refusing to exit my life. I don't put up a fight, instead granting them residency within my room, occasionally digging through one to find that thing within that one box that justifies them all remaining.

"you never know when you'll need <insert obscure item that most of the time I forget exists>"

Some boxes contain things that I claim I'll eventually get round to using or finding a place for. Other items await the time when I hopefully have a place of my own and can spread my wings. Like the air fryer. My parents already have one, bigger and better than mine, so there's no point keeping both in the kitchen, countertop real estate already lucrative and in demand but in short supply.

And then there's the riff raff, the fodder. All the things that I know have no genuine use in my life anymore but don't want to throw away because that's wasteful and maybe someone else could benefit from having it. But then I never devote any time towards sifting through it all, finding new people or places for what I've accumulated over time.

And so their squatting continues, uncontended. I currently do not see this menial task as important and urgent enough to put on hold the many people I wish to see and places "I must go to". A hired hand could solve this problem, but then they would still need instructions to follow, which would still take time to know specifically, as well as time spent finding the right person for the job, which brings us back to priority (someone told me I need a secretary, something I agree with, but how will I learn if this burden is taken from me?).

Every time I see these boxes I immediately go into ostrich mode, distracting myself as quickly as I can with something, anything. Absolutely anything but this. The same goes for laundry, unpacking suitcases and bags only to repack a few days later. And probably quite a few other things...

I'm afraid of seeing how long the list would get if I sat down and began to assess the amount of life admin long overdue to be dealt with.

"it'll sort itself out"

"each day has enough trouble of its own"

I've started trying to live out the mantra "one day at a time", abbreviated to ODAAT, the name of a charity that used to help those with no fixed abode to get back on their feet and reintegrated into civilisation in a functional manner they can be proud of (they aren't around any more), a mantra I share with a good friend of mine.

There is merit to this state of mind, but also to having hopes and dreams, visions and goals, zooming out to see the current big picture and what is in my power to change about it: there are paintbrushes and materials available to me I must make myself aware of so that I can learn how I am capable of using said tools.

I can easily use ODAAT to escape the present rather than accept and embrace it's reality. The balance between not letting the future overwhelm me and understanding the butterfly effect of building healthy habits with the leverage of time in mind is often one I find hard to discern.

This reminds me of a book: atomic habits. I read maybe a chapter or two before lending to my sister (I wonder how far in she got). I recall this book crossing my mind before regarding matters of this nature. In my rebellion and pride I don't want to attribute any success or positive change towards another person, and so don't want to wait to read someone's else's opinions before at least trying to do something about what I face before me.

I've been here before. Tired of the boxes, finally not ignoring them, recognising something must be done.

But first let me:

• sleep

• eat

• work

• play

• leave

• pee

And then the cycle continues. Unless I break it.

Btw its 03:15 on a Sunday morning. Probably the worst time to dwell on this, let alone to organise stuff and make plans. Which would disrupt my parents sleep and delay my own rest more than I already have with ruminating.

There is a time and a place for such activities and it is not now. At times I feeI powerless to this circumstance. I sit here in my room after what was an enriching and fulfilling day but all I can think of is the boxes (and laundry tbf).

I guess after writing all this I realise that the problem is bigger than me, and deeper than just the boxes. That maybe, just maybe, I'm gonna need some help to overcome this obstacle in front of me.

I've lost count of how many times I've been to London this year. I considered counting but realised I not only didn't have it in me, but also didn't want it to rob the little I had left. I knew from back in November that this year was bound to be hectic but still somehow underestimated to what degree. I do not intend to rant about how much of a hedonistic hellhole the capital can be (despite there being some that may vehemently agree with this statement lol), but instead to simply reflect on an aspect of my life lately.

I spent the better part of 5 years there for uni. Half a decade. It really sinks in when I put it that way. I went there a boy and left a manchild. I still don't believe I have truly matured into a man, but let's save that discourse for another time. I have so many fond memories, many lasting friendships forged, many lessons learned. I learnt how to season food. A flat mate of mine when I first moved there described the chicken breast fillets I was cooking as "whiter than these walls", something I tried my best not to take personally but rather as an opportunity to learn from them what paprika, cumin and Dunn's river all purpose truly were for. The rest is history.

London was my home, and it still holds a special place in my heart. I would not be the person I am today without the experiences I gained whilst studying there. I recently came back from a stag in Bournemouth with a close friend that I met in my first year there. We all took communion together, sang some worship songs and prayed on a cliff. A moment I shall cherish as long as my memory serves me well. A moment that came to be due to a series of events I could never have engineered even if I tried. But it all started from making it into Brunel on clearing day.

I hope by now that it is clear that I do not in fact harbour any hatred in my heart towards London. My main gripe is that Birmingham is my home now, as it was prior to being a student, but I feel constantly dragged away from my place of peace and stability and onto a nightmarish merry-go-round that seems to speed up incessantly, almost in tune with my increasing desire of it relenting.

Of course I do indeed have free will, and am fully capable of staying at home, however life can make it feel like the choice has been made for me. Weddings, stags, suit fittings, work, gigs. So much excitement to look forward to, yet so much lost and missed. Maybe I am getting old but I find myself more drawn to the mundane, seeing something so beautiful about the monotony of life, in doing the same thing again and again.

Dinner with my parents round the table, church on Sunday mornings in aston, waking up in my own bed, grabbing a pint at that dingy but familiar place with those friends every so often (you know who you are ⚔️). Football on Mondays at 8pm. These are the things that anchor me, that bring me peace and joy, there are so many more that I could list out, and they all would have a similar theme. They are all part of what makes this place home for me.

And my loss of routine and rhythm is a tough price to pay to maintain the other aspects of my life that Birmingham is unable to hold.

Sadly.

Sometimes I wish that all these things I go elsewhere for could just come to Birmingham. Which obviously brings up the question that I keep hearing more and more lately:

"When are you moving to London?"

Maybe I wrote all this as an answer. But I don't think this will be a truly satisfactory response to all that may ask.

Sucks to be them I guess 🤷🏽‍♂️

Mind you, there was a time where I eagerly awaited my next visit, like a child eating their advent calendar chocolates daily in anticipation of Christmas day. But somewhere along the way the novelty wore off, much quicker than one would expect. It somehow transformed from an expedition, an adventure, to a chore, an obligation.

Sometimes the changes in seasons of life aren't always easy to define, but rather blend gradually. Maybe you can also reflect on something you used to be fonder of but has become all too familiar and taxing. Or maybe you have the blessing of not resonating with this experience.

Yet…

Fear has held me back for too long. The paralysis of indecision is a rather frightful place I have often found myself in, however it weirdly comforts me because it is familiar and known.

Reading back on my previous post, I saw the hyphens were inconsistent in width, how certain thoughts were left unfinished, abandoned, I saw ways I could've worded certain parts better. I fed it through chatgpt before posting (after allowing those I trusted to read it and still not being satisfied, sry) because I wanted the tone to be consistent and phrasing to be engaging, but then it sounded less like me. I don't even use hyphens.

I also read it and wondered whether I can keep this up.

"How am I gonna follow this?"

"What else am I supposed to write about?"

"What if I'll never enter that same space I did, that spark that led to all this?"

I was chopping it up with a fellow writer earlier (shout out neo). We discussed many things, writing being one of them, naturally. I look forward to the day he shares with the world his creations, ones I am not at liberty to spoil. But we spoke of a magnum opus. A body of work that defines somebody's career:

• Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling.

• The Creation Of Adam by Michelangelo

• To Pimp A Butterfly by Kendrick Lamar

The latter pick may be under contention. By who? The people. It is never the author, the artist, the creator that decides what shall be their greatest ever work. No footballer knows before they grace the pitch that they are about to put down a performance that the annals of history shall document in excruciating detail to be fantasised over (despite how the player when interviewed may fervently claim otherwise lol). It is the spectator, the fan, the pundit, the listener, the reader who decides. And not one alone, but the masses, a consensus somehow reached. By what it evokes within them, how it makes them feel, what it reminds them of, the places it takes them.

I implored neo to not let his pursuit of perfection hold him back from sharing his excitement with others. Whilst it can feel rather vulnerable to let things like this be seen, I believe there is more to be gained. Plus rejection is the father of resilience. Failure is a greater teacher than success.

In an attempt to avoid hypocrisy, I want to not care about tone and phrasing (sorry openai) and focus more on letting what is imperfect simply be.

Even if I struggle to believe that there are no original ideas, that with the collective 8 billion on this planet and the many more that have gone before us that the ideas I share have the possibility to be unique.

I'm trying to be more honest with myself, not letting fears of rejection, unoriginality, and anything of that nature or beyond hold me back, but rather allow space for growth and progression.

Here's to the next level.

These ramblings may never make it out of my notes. I hope they do. Who I hope sees them remains a mystery — I may never even meet them. All I know is my hands have been itching to do something like this for quite a while.

Anyone who knows me knows I love to write. I’ve told a few people over the years that one day I’ll write a book — its topic still unknown to me, but the appetite needs satisfying somehow.

Until it’s revealed what this book is meant to be about (maybe a more active pursuit of an answer would help), I see no harm in building a habit of writing — with the kind of freedom that only comes from having no obligation.

I look ahead with excitement. Maybe my ramblings will become more focused. Maybe I’ll find stories to tell. Maybe someone will suggest something - or challenge me to dig into a subject. Or maybe I’ll just enjoy the journey, and one day look back fondly at where it all started.

For those that also share my love for writing:

have you ever stumbled across an old journal and read through it?

It can be profound — sometimes even a little poignant. Seeing where you were, remembering how you felt when you wrote, how your handwriting has changed, then looking at where you are now - it can bring up all kinds of feelings. One that often finds me is reassurance (if that counts lol): that things tend to work out in the end - even when they don’t.

That reminds me of a phone call I had yesterday. My friend recently lost their grandfather — aged 94. For the last couple of years, dementia had taken its toll. He’d become a shadow of his former self (their words). The goodbyes had already been said. The grieving had begun long before the passing. But that didn’t make it any less real. My friend shared something with me that really stuck:

“Life is like a train. Eventually your stop comes up — but the train goes on.”

I’m paraphrasing but you get the gist. Ironically, I’m on a train right now, typing this on my phone and glancing at the time, wondering how long I’ve got before my stop comes.

The way death sobers the mind is probably something that’s been studied already (might look into it). I guess this blog is me making the most of my train journey — both literally and figuratively. Life’s too short to dilly-dally about in my mind and not let something make it out.

This is mainly for me. I wanted to admit that to myself. But if you’ve made it this far — thanks, and you’re welcome.

I’m not making any promises. Watch this space? You do you.