Some familiar words

I found myself saying some familiar words to myself again the other day:

‘If only I knew then what I know now.’

If I were stuck on a deserted island…

I finally came up with a satisfactory answer to a question that has plagued me for near my entire childhood.

What would I take with me if I ran the chance of being marooned on a deserted island?

It seems so simple now that I thought of it.. A GPS locator beacon. duh. In any story, is it not always the aim to get off the island as soon as you’ve been stranded on it?.. Now you can just press the ‘Rescue Me’ button, sit back, relax, crack a coconut drink and wait for the rescue team to arrive.

Obviously this isn’t as exciting as building a treehouse, forging every kind of weapon possible out of bamboo and fighting off island natives.

Where to from here?

So is your last day at work supposed to feel any different? So far, mine is pretty much the same as every other. My hands are still frigg’n freezing thanks to the lack of heaters here, this computer still has it in for me (as I type this, the computer is pretty much lagging a sentence behind), and that familiar smell of sweat, fear and urine is still as pervasive as ever. I’m bored, avoiding the little work I have and I want my mommy. The only difference is that I can’t quite wipe this grin off my face.

It’s a little weird to think that this morning was the last time I’ll open up Outlook and sit with both thumbs in my bellybutton (it’s stretched over time) for 15 minutes waiting for my inbox to stagger to life. I’m trying to figure out which will be the last irritating phone call asking me some inane question, such as how to spell “chaos” (this happens more often than you’d think) even though the spell check on their computer works perfectly. I’m also wondering how many separate pieces of gossip I’ll be subjected to and whether it will match the daily mean average of 1 237. I wonder if I’ll ever feel some kind of nostalgia towards this place. After all, they were the first people to give me a job in a field I actually enjoy, and have generally sung my praises. But then they have also been the source of immeasurable frustration and too many hours bending sympathetic ears with stories of woe.

So as I warm up to scale the cliff face that is freelancing, I wonder if I’ll get halfway up and fall, or whether I’ll find climbing easy and the view rather pleasant. Because sadly, the only person I can blame failure on from now on is myself, and that’s a pretty scary thought. This is where you guys come in. if you notice I’m not working hard, or not pursuing new work, I give you permission to swiftly kick me in the nads and say a few sterns words of reprimand to get my act together.

Here’s to seven more hours of desk work. I’m nearly there.

Watching a kid go wrong

I had a thought the other day:

It must be really hard to watch your kids make choices that you think are wrong and then being the ‘non-understanding’ parent and all you’re advice to make the other choice is cast aside.

I’m not necessarily talking about drugs or alcohol abuse, but more on the day-by-day decisions in life. All those small things that add up to represent your character at the end of the day. For the record;  If your child is taking drugs, then I would make sure your advice is not cast aside.

I am not a parent so I do not presume to understand the situation fully from their perspective, but I can see some wisdom in some of the advice they’ve shared over the years. Little choices I’ve made in my life that I’ve come to regret, and I seem to just wish I’d listened to them.

For example: Giving up piano lessons when I was small. I just wish; Oh how I wish I could play piano now. And to think that the opportunity was right there for me and I chose (what I now believe to be silly) to give it up.

I don’t regret everything I’ve done. Many choices I am glad to have made. I guess I just want to know how to make the right decision.

Just another person

Who am I?.. Well I’m not sure, the older I get the more I seem to be asking myself this question.
I guess this kind of introduction is going to invoke two kinds of responses. One; “You’re insecure!”, or two; “I know what you mean”. If you answered number one then you must have worked out this thing called life. What I’m about to write is nothing but questions you’ve already asked, and answers you’ve already heard. But what if you’re wrong? What if you’re just like the rest of the world that answered two? Well if you’re naturally a ‘two’, or maybe a converted ‘one’, then I guess your a lot like me.

Well maybe not a lot, just in more ways than one. We’re obviously not a ‘lot’ like one another because this statement seriously steps on the toes of our personal ‘uniqueness’. “Whoah buddy,” you say, “too close, your on my toes; You’re nothing like me because I’m unique, and I’m my own person. In fact nobody’s just like me, so nobody understands me!” Yip. I’ve said this before. Not aloud ofcourse, it just screams on and on inside my head. How could anybody possibly understand what I’m going through? Does anybody understand the way I feel? Does anybody care how I feel?

I can remember in the early years of my school career; All I wanted to do was fit in. Be like all my friends. Be cool. In the later years of school my attitude shifted from being that of a conformist, to the other end of the scale. All I wanted to do now was be unique. I had needs. I had dreams, desires and pashions. Ofcourse my parents never understood that. So a couple of my friends and I set out to be the ‘different’ ones. The ones that wouldn’t just be like everybody else. Come to think of it, I don’t think any of us admitted to trying to be different. We were just wrapped up in the race of being more ‘different’ than each other.

Aren’t we all just searching for a ‘place’ in this life? This would be a place of comfort, security and acceptance by the people around us. When I refer to comfort and security, I mean, in our mind and soul. I think we’re all looking for this comfort zone, but also an identity. I want to be unique. I want to be great. I want people to remember my name long after I’m gone. I need an identity.

Well what constitutes an identity? For a long time I’ve been trying to find where I fit. What am I supposed to do with this life? What can I do to make an impression in history? I’ve been told the meaning of life is to worship God. Now it may be that if you believe in God, but whether you believe in God or not surely there must be something more. More detail. What is the good of being given by God (or evolved)  all the skills that a man can do? What are we supposed to do with our hands during the day? When I’m an old man will I look back and say “I fulfilled my purpose”? I ask all these questions because surely what we are meant to do with our lives will dictate to some degree who we are. If I was born with a natural gift of good dancing and acting, my mother forbid it, my identity would be that of an actor. Silly example.. but you get the point.

I believe the childhood of a person greatly shapes that persons future. I was lucky enough to live in a ‘stable’ family. Stable in this context means one that was not maritally broken, we had food, a nice house, and my siblings and I went to good schools. But there are things that seem to have plagued me for years. Often I find myself filled with insecurity or anxious thoughts. Is it just me or am I just another person? Another person with pain. Another person with childhood memories haunting them. Now there’s a popular tale, and only popular by its truthfull tradgedy, not by any other means.

The story tells of the child who had dreams. Lets say he wanted to be a professional soccer player when he grew up. To play league. To be in the national team. He had dreams of running out onto the field with fans screaming his name, and hearing the crowd fall silent and then roar as he scores a goal. Now this was not one of my dreams, but by no means less greater in scale. Children dream big. We all know that, we were there. Ironically the story then turns sour as the child excitedly tells his teacher of his intentions. The teacher, now probably sniggering or laughing in the most evil way our memory will remember, tells the child “You’ll never achive that!”. What a shame. Now maybe the teacher in your story was someone else, your mom, dad, or even a sibling. Fact is, I would bet that everybody had one. I had dreams and visions, very often extinguished in ‘real life’ by my parents. Even up to my teenage years I can cleary remember my parents laughing at my seamingly foolish dreams.

The child in that story could have done one of two things. He could have pursued his dreams to be a soccer player, or he could have not. His teacher may have stolen all hope from within him to join the school team. Maybe he realised how ‘stupid’ he was to want such an outrageous dream. How could anyone dream to be a soccer player? Thats not what a normal person does… Surely?.

On the other hand, the child could have dug his heels in. Despite all critisism from his teacher, worked toward his dream. Now it seems that only a select few get to live their dreams. I wonder why that is.. What does all this have to do with identity? What does it have to do with purpose? This is a simple, yet sadly familiar, picture of how the world shapes a person. Are you going to mould your own identity, or are you going to inherit it from the people around you?

So who am I? Well lets start dreaming. If I’m brave enough, maybe I’ll start chasing one of those dreams.