My Soul is Scottish

Edinburgh, November 2015, Day 2: Remembrance Day

So….. there’s Storm Abigail incoming with a storm warning out for 80 mph winds over Scotland until Thursday night. That’s the same wind speed as a category 1 hurricane! I was meant to drive to Inverness on Thursday. I’ll wing it!

I stopped at the tastiest coffee shop on the planet for Eggs Benedict & inhaled a divine cuppa coffee. Seriously, I am going to eat my way through their menu while I’m here. Pay the chef whatever he wants; he’s worth every penny and then some!

Breakfast at Loudon's — Breakfast at Loudon’s

It’s November 11, 2015 and it’s Remembrance Day (Veteran’s Day for the US). I headed up to Prince’s Street to the Scott Monument and there were poppy crosses everywhere. To see so many crosses planted in the ground, in perfect rows left me choked up. There was an elderly gentleman wearing his medals, standing at one of the memorials; probably for people he knew and lost. Of course, there was a bagpiper playing Amazing Grace, which had me sobbing my eyes out watching the old man. God, it’s heart-wrenching.

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This guy had me sobbing my eyes out listening to Amazing Grace

Once I pulled myself back together, I walked down behind the Memorial and saw an old guy slipping down the muddy embankment into the Gardens. I went to help him back up but he was quite stubborn. He was busy feeding the squirrels so had one hand clutching a bag of peanuts.

We chatted for a while. What a riot! He gave me some peanuts to feed to the squirrels, giving instructions on how to hold it out to them. Well the one damn squirrel bit my finger. ‘Och aye, that one’s a wee devil. The other one is better, he always waits for 2 nuts. If it’s the one that waits, ye’ll be fine. If it’s the other one, he’ll be having ye, lass. Ye cannae tell by looking at them, wee fluffy bastards.’ Well thanks, Scottie. I got the renegade squirrel.

I told him I was heading up to Culloden and Loch Ness on Friday. I told him how much I love the lakes in Scotland, at which point I was informed, ‘There’s only 1 lake in Scotland, lassie.’ Uh……. are you sure? Because there look to be a shit ton of them from the map I’m looking at!

‘Aye, lochs. Dinnae confuse them for lakes, wee lassie. There’s but 1 lake, named for an Englishman, Lake Menteith. Curses to the English, they’ll no have a loch here!’ This guy’s militant irritation with the English had me rolled up laughing, squirrel bite or not.

I left him after a while and took a stroll up to Calton Hill. What a view! I sat on one of the benches for the longest time, listening to the bagpipes from the city below. I met a guy from Alabama and we sat chatting for a while. He’s decided he’s done with Alabama and is in Scotland looking for a house up the coast somewhere. Smart man!

It started getting a tad chilly so I headed back down Prince’s Street, up the Mound, over the Royal Mile and down to the Grassmarket. I pulled into The Last Drop Inn for a pint of hobgoblin and a plate of haggis, neeps and tatties. First time trying haggis and it was delicious! Very unexpected.

Tomorrow I’m off to pick up the rental car and head off to Rosslyn Chapel. It’s going to be epic!

Edinburgh, November 2015 – Day 1

For someone who isn’t nervous flying, I was freaking the hell out this morning! I didn’t sleep a wink last night so needless to say, Mykal had me chugging diet coke on the way to the airport at the crack of sparrow’s fart. I don’t know whether it’s the fear of doing this trip solo, or because I’m finally going to the place I’ve craved all year; what if it’s not how I remember it?

The flight was uneventful and I was met by the prebooked taxi. Walking through Edinburgh airport and hearing Scotties everywhere was brilliant! How I’ve missed that accent! You couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.

I met my AirBnB host, Andy, outside his office and he took me back to his flat. What his ad failed to mention is that he’s on the 3rd floor (4th floor to Muricans), up REALLY narrow, worn down tenement stairs. I’m fairly sure those stairs are older than America. I really need to master the art of packing light. I was knackered just getting up the stairs.

Yep, you guessed it. I'm on the top floor. — Yep, you guessed it. I’m on the top floor.

I'd love to know how old those stairs are... — I’d love to know how old those stairs are…

After a quick tour around the apartment and figuring out how everything works, I unpacked my stuff and headed to the coffee shop on the corner, Loudon’s.

Oh.My.God. The BEST cream tea I’ve had in forever!! A pot of decent tea, a warm scone with strawberry jam and clotted cream and I’m pretty sure I made sex noises. Pure nirvana on a plate! I will be eating my way through their menu while I’m here. I packed stretchy pants so just sit back and watch, people.

After warming up on tea, my camera and I headed up towards the Royal Mile. It’s about 0.8 miles from the flat. Yes, it was drizzling. It’s Scotland. Seeing the Castle up on the hill was as breathtaking as it was on my previous trips. That wee fortress has dominated the top of that cliff for centuries. I did forget the sheer volume of stairs in this city. That cream tea was worked off in short order.

Edinburgh Castle never fails to impress.

Loved the red door on this church, heading up to the Royal Mile.

The Saltire flapping in the breeze. I stopped and bought myself a full-sized one. It seemed necessary

I didn’t really have anything planned for day 1, other than settling in and finding my way around so I just mulled around on the Royal Mile. I stopped at St. Giles Cathedral. It was my first time there and there are no words to describe how absolutely stunning it is.

Some of the carvings above the entrance to St. Giles Cathedral

Each carving is different and the sheer volume of them is mind-blowing. The pictures don't do them justice. — Each carving is different and the sheer volume of them is mind-blowing. The pictures don’t do them justice. Don’t forget the mandatory Gargoyles guarding the entrance.

It was built in the 15th century and has certainly stood the test of time. For £2 you can take photos inside the Cathedral. I snapped a ton of pics but my camera battery died before I got to the Thistle Chapel. It didn’t occur to me to charge my camera before I left London. Rookie mistake.

The Saltire in the stained glass. That might have been St. Andrew

There are so many nooks and crannies where you can sit down and take it all in.

The arches and scale of this Cathedral take your breath away.

No fear, I’ll be back here again before I leave.

I spent the afternoon strolling down the Royal Mile and popped in to the Wyrd Shoppe, opposite the Tollbooth Tavern. If you like incense, crystals and all things mythical, this wee shop is worth a visit. I’ll be back here too. My sister wants a chalice so I want to check which one she wants before buying.

After a few miles on the ol’ boots, I stopped at the Fiddler’s Arms and had some Scotch. The barman’s taste in scotch was pretty damn great! I tried the Aberfeldy 12 and Belvenie 12 – both amazing whiskies.

After warming up from the inside, I headed back to the flat after stopping at Tesco to pick up some wine and curry for dinner. Early night for me, camera is charging and tomorrow is another day. Sitting under the covers, it’s difficult to remember what I was so stressed about this morning.

In the middle of nowhere losing my mind

I’m four hundred miles from home in a strange hotel in a one horse town searching for Sanctuary. A combination of things has brought me here. The need to take care of myself. Escape from the drudgery of everyday life. The need for solitude. The pictures I’ve been meaning to take for the past 3 years but never made time for. The fact that I run every time something or someone gets close. Realizing I can’t be everything to everyone and I need to escape from trying. Things….

Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? Actually, maybe somewhere in the middle would make more sense. Lately music has been rearranging my compound in unexpected ways. It’s been a lot of years since I found my answers, or even my questions, in music. I remember writing out the lyrics to my favourite songs as a kid. I had a binder where I kept them all, alphabetically of course. Whenever I had a question for the universe at large, I would ask my question then randomly open up my folder and look for the answer in that song. Most times I found it. The times I couldn’t find it, I’d try again. I’d keep asking the question until the ‘random’ answer made sense. I no longer have that folder but I still have those pages, saved with my sheet music, safely tucked away in storage. I need to look through them again and revisit the songs that got me through some rough times. I’ve been looking for some of the older songs but I can’t find them.

Tugboat gives me songs. It’s like the soundtrack to my life and some days it’s almost haunting how closely the words fit. I’m not sure whether our lives just have the same soundtracks or if he somehow knows what’s broken and which song might fix it. Either way, it’s scary. One of those songs sent me over the edge on Wednesday on the train ride home. (Dear Agony by Breaking Benjamin if you really want to know.) I was rattled and when I got home Life just finished the job and sent me the rest of the way over the cliff. I haven’t cried like that in a long time. I cried until I couldn’t breathe. I got home and being a typical 21^st century human, caught up on my e-mails and social media. Stupid mistake.

There was a message from Jay: I need you to try and find me a Sputnik, I can’t find one. It’s for my rat. Oh btw, how are you babes?

………… what? Haven’t heard from you in how long but you need a Sputnik?!

I promptly deactivated my Facebook account. Bollox to everyone.

Earlier in the day I’d finally finished editing a friend’s book. It had taken a few months fitting it in around my normal job and it was heavy going. I e-mailed it to him. Got a response, I can’t open up with edits, could you resend? Ok. Resent. I still can’t access edits, could you try resaving and resending? Fine. Here you go. Maybe try saving it a different way, I can’t accept edits. HOW ABOUT I DON’T CARE?!

After that, have you had a chance to think about the marketing cover for the back page? No. No I haven’t.

So coming home to another message wanting something more from me without any regard to anything outside of their request just pushed me over the edge. I messaged my sister-in-law and opted out of my birthday this weekend. That went down like a lead balloon.

I’m sorry. Meltdowns don’t work on a schedule. They come when they come and I’ll refund the cost of whatever if it will keep the peace.

I’m not ready to add another year to my scorecard. I cannot face adding on ANOTHER year with the corresponding realization that I’m in the exact same place I was the last time I added on another year. I’m in the same job that murders my soul in instalments. I have done exactly NO work on any of my hobbies or interests in longer than I can remember. I have let my creativity fade into oblivion. I don’t write. I have taken almost no pictures this year. I still go home to an empty home because I can’t find the balls to throw my heart into the deep end on someone who is worth it. My body had headed off the reservation and I’m not entirely sure when it is expected back.

I stopped making myself a priority and instead prioritized a bunch of other meaningless stuff. For what?

I need to find Sanctuary. That place within that is untouchable, the haven where all is right with the world.

So on a whim I booked myself into a hotel in a place that has a population of 1600. 200 of them are currently in this hotel which blows my mind. That a hotel in a tiny one horse town can be filled to capacity is beyond comprehension but here I am. 5 hours from home sitting in a bed, alone.

I had the TV on for company until it dawned on me I was being an idiot. I didn’t drive for 5 hours to watch HGTV. I came here for solitude and answers. I came here to step outside of my comfort zone; to see a place I haven’t seen; to photograph bridges I’ve meant to see for years; to experience one horse town life for a weekend in the middle of nowhere; to figure out if these are things I actually want to do more often or if they are things that I have romanticized in my mind.

I need to take care of myself for a while and figure out what it is I had hoped to achieve at this point and what has eluded me until now.

My health and physical well-being need to move up the priority list. I’ve neglected both to my detriment for too long. That needs to change.

My sanity is hanging on by a thread. I’ve stretched myself too thin trying to be everything to everyone and I need to realize that isn’t realistic. It’s not up to me to make sure every person in orbit around my life is blissfully happy and satisfied. That is their responsibility. I will help where I can but I also need to start being a bit more selective about that too. Just because I CAN help, doesn’t mean I should. I can fix anything given enough time, a spreadsheet and the will to do it. Unless that thing is myself, in which case I’ll put that off for as long as humanly possible.

I’ve been making lists for about as long as I can remember. Things to do. Places to go. Things to try. On every single one of those lists: yoga. Learn another language. Play the guitar. Write a book.

Have I done any of those? No. Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. Why the hell not? No idea, couldn’t tell you though I’m finally ready to commit to an answer: I’m too chicken-shit to do it. I’m so hung up on the idea that I might fail that I don’t even try. I play it safe.

Safe. The sterile road through life. I’ve got the most detailed map of that road.

Let’s not ignore the Pandora’s Box of it all. Love. I want to love someone completely. It’s the only way I know how. I’m not a glass half full kinda gal when it comes to that. It’s boots and all into the deep end or not at all. There’s no gentle entry into that pool. Crawling into a hug at the end of a shitty day; being someone else’s hug when they need to offload; that deep sleep that only seems to come when I’m buried in someone’s chest and feel safe; taking care of someone because I love them and want to cherish them; having someone step up and bat my corner; someone to toss ideas and random conversation around with; someone to find pleasure with; Sanctuary.

Every time I have opened Pandora’s Box it’s gone tits up. Actually, no. There was carnage, yes. Total mayhem, yes. Happiness……..? Yes. I’ve never been one to choose the easy way. I’ve always gone the non-conventional route. Younger guy, older guy, WAY older married guy, soldier guy on deployment, widowed guy with kids and older. I kinda like that about myself actually. My complete unwillingness and inability to conform to what anyone else wants or expects.

So what is it that I’m looking for exactly?

I’m fairly certain my soul is a thousand years old. It sure as hell feels like it. Modern things confuse me. I can’t do crowds. I can’t do constant incessant noise and chaos. I get people’d out, often. I still have the old fashioned idea that men and women have separate identities. There is nothing hotter than a man being a man doing man things. Holding doors, opening cans, getting junk off the top shelf, being all masculine and protective, stepping up and taking care of shit and doing the heavy lifting. Seriously, it drives me wild on the inside. Men being masculine and doing what they are physically built to do……… dear god. Drool.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m no pushover. I have opinions and I’ll stick to my guns. If a decision impacts me I’ll straight up be involved in making that decision. I have a job and I earn my own money. I’ll kill dinner if I have to and the chances of me being barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen are somewhere around less than zero but when a guy steps up and takes care of that shit because he can, it’s almost poetic to watch. Nothing beats it. I still want to take care of my guy. *cue backlash here – whatever. This is my blog, my opinion.*

Men and women are equal in different ways, if that makes sense. For things to be equal doesn’t mean they have to be identical. A pound of feathers and a pound of lead are equal in weight yet nothing close to identical. Yet that’s what the world is becoming. Identical in every way and then people wonder why stuff doesn’t fit anymore. We’ve gone from having 2 shapes that complement each other to having 2 identical shapes that don’t fit and everyone is sitting around, scratching their heads pondering what the hell went wrong with the world.

I don’t know where I fit. I’m somewhere between the soft and fluffy. I want to be protected but I also have spikes for self-preservation. The spikes make it seem like I have it all under control when in fact they exist solely because I DON’T have it all under control. The end result is I don’t fit anywhere. I’m a weird shape and in a world of cookie-cut identical shapes, there isn’t a shape that fits me. Or there is….. I just don’t know where to find it.

Synchronicity

Synchronicity has teetered on that thin line between magic and bullshit; an elusive yet sought-after state of being that I’ve never been sure actually exists. Until now. Well, either it is very real and in my face or the universe is fucking me in Technicolor.

For the past 2 days my mind has been mulling over the same topic: what really matters at the end of it all? Can one person’s actions actually make any significant difference in the grand scheme of things? Chaos theory suggests every miniscule thing can change the outcomes in huge and drastic ways. The Butterfly Effect. The infinitesimal change in air currents from a butterfly’s wings can change entire weather patterns hundreds of miles away. Sounds like bullshit, doesn’t it? Yet, using forecasting models and changing an air current by .00001 of a percentage results in an entirely different weather model. Apparently proven, if Wikipedia is to be believed.

So what exactly has brought me to the point where I’m sitting in my bathtub with my laptop balanced on my toilet seat writing this? Maybe some Freudian significance of removing all obstacles from my mind? Exploring myself completely exposing all my weaknesses and flaws? Being willing to be honest even if it’s something I don’t want to see right now? Questions…

There might be some truth in the saying ‘There are none so blind as those who will not see.’ Have I chosen NOT to see until now? Or was the lack of synchronicity the wall I wasn’t able to get over?

For as long as I can remember I have not wanted to be part of this world. Everything in me has begged to be released from this prison because I cannot and will not be confined by the opinions of those around me. People who have never known me. I look at everyone in my life and not a single person has ever seen everything. Each person sees what I show them, never exposed to the full picture of me. Some know the good, others the bad, others were privy to the tragic and a miniscule handful know the dark. Not a single person has seen it all. If I were to die now and all of these people came together, they’d never believe they knew the same person at all. A true Gemini. A job well done if you ask me.

Camouflage? Or self-preservation? Most of my walls were built to hide from the tragedy, to get away from the hell of living. A few of the walls keep out the bad. The bars on the windows keep me safe. One slight problem. I’ve trapped an intruder IN my compound. I’ve made it so safe without realizing that the thing I need to get away from the most is locked in with me. Safely unable to escape, tormenting me constantly. ID10T error of note.

Fear.

I wish I could pin a memory where that little chestnut moved in and made itself at home. To be honest, I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t afraid of something. I cried a lot as a kid. Everything scared me. In among all of that carnage and mayhem, my music and books were the places I could go and be somewhere else. My piano got me through the darkest hours of my life and my diaries took me the rest of the way. How, I’ll never know. There’s a certain magic in words and music I suppose.

Here I am, all grown up, a world away from where I started. As soon as I get ready to face my demons, I distract myself with moving away and well, then my demons move down the list of shit I need to take care of. Repeat as necessary. Apparently it’s been necessary since 1997 and almost 2 decades later I suspect the time has come to draw a line in the sand. Only one of us will be crossing that line and continuing on.

So who is it to be? Me + baggage? Or just me? Or will I cave at the line and my baggage will win, drowning me out completely? Points to ponder.

Chaos theory certainly describes what I feel goes on in my head all damn day. It’s like being on a constant conference call with 87 people who cannot stop talking, or agree on anything from one day to the other. Bloody draining, I don’t mind saying.

At any point in my life I could have chosen something else. I could have chosen not to live with Gran. I could have chosen to stay with Mom. I could have chosen Dad. I could have gone to a different school where I was allowed to date. Maybe then I wouldn’t be as socially inept as I feel now. Maybe I would have found someone to love and settled down in one place, got a dog. Or a fish. Had I not chosen Gran, I would have been in another place when she died. I would never have gone with Colleen which would have kept me off Billy’s path. Without him I may have gone on to live a life in another city, never once contemplating relocating to East London in a desperate attempt to win back my lost love. I would not have pined for a man who was never man enough to face his feelings, instead burying them in religion because sex was apparently made in hell by Satan. Which made me God knows what in his eyes for finding pleasure in his body. Pleasure I was always terrified of because of all the other BS that came before. Pleasure I no longer deny.

I would not have taken the first job which relocated me closer to him. The price I paid for following my heart is almost 2 decades in banking which I loathe. Without losing him I would not have hit rock bottom forcing Colleen to get drastic and push me into scuba diving. My diving instructor…. The man who would take up 10 years of my life. The man who would coax me out of my shell, make me whole and then crush me into dust until nothing remained. The man I have moved across 2 countries to get away from. A man who would not defend me, who would watch while my family tormented me for loving him while never loving me enough to protect me. He never chose me publicly, only privately.

What if I’d stayed in my home town? Would I be sitting in the dark now without power because the country has gone to hell in a hand basket? Would I maybe even be a statistic? How about employed? Or still living on the poverty line relying on someone else to buy me food because the choice was gas or food?

What about Christo? What if I had chosen him instead of choosing to be the mistress of a ‘married’ man? What if I had not answered the phone that day to go meet the divers for breakfast? What if I had stayed on the beach that night and waited for him like he asked me to? All because I was afraid of putting what I wanted first. I chickened out and took the sterile option that would never require a commitment because well, the other guy was married.

Choosing the life of a home-wrecking bitch took me to the brink of sanity where the only way out was across the border to make a life 8,000 miles away to get away from it all. Only the carnage followed me and relocated its dragon-ass 4 miles up the road to continually taunt me until the only escape was via Heathrow. Again. God love the M25. It leads all kinds of good places.

Through all of this the constant unanswered question has been, why the fuck am I here? What purpose do I actually have because if this is it, I am out? I’ve been missing a part of myself for as long as I can remember. An eternity with a piece missing. Of course, people in their infinite wisdom keep telling me that ‘it will come when you stop looking.’ What the actual fuck does that even mean?! How do you stop looking for the missing piece of your soul? Oh, it’s missing? Well okey dokey then, I’ll just leave that gap there and soldier on, shall I? Oh, and while we’re at it, what the fuck am I actually looking for anyway?! Is it a person? A place? A thing? I don’t even know which piece is missing, only that there’s a piece missing.

For all I know I’m homesick for a place that isn’t real. I’m looking for a person who could actually be dead in a ditch, never to be found. Maybe he was never born. Maybe I sat next to him on the train and he got off and never looked back.

So… what if… I didn’t choose any of those things this time around? What if this incarnation isn’t about me? What if…. My sole purpose on this godforsaken planet is to change what is around me for the better? The Butterfly Effect.

I can look back at things I’ve changed, people I’ve helped, some secretly, others not. How different was their outcome because I was there at a time they needed something only I could provide? A multitude of decisions took me to quitting my job, booking a random ticket home without telling anyone only to arrive a day after mom broke her hand going into her busiest time for her business. Decisions that had no relation to her led me to be in a place where I could do something to change her outcome. Synchronicity?

John Gabriel in the Philippines. Or Pendo in Kenya. Changes…. Infinitesimal changes in places I’ve never been. Yet those changes exist because I do. Elize. Stephanie. Charlotte….

She told me once that I gave her freedom. I took her out of her tiny world and taught her how to use the train. I took her to London, way outside of her comfort zone and taught her how to navigate. Her first flight abroad was to visit me stateside. Her first flight, period. I taught her to drive. I packed her life into my car and helped her start a new one on her own because I specialize in starting over with nothing. Oh, and packing. I’m freakishly good at packing shit. And then I drifted out of her life and she’s headed on a path she’d never imagined. Her love lives in London and her career has her all over the place. Our paths will probably never cross again. She’s living fearless instead of dependent on anyone. Changed.

Melissa. I’ve given up my life and everything in it to move to a new place. That shitty time when everything you know is gone and you’re about to head off a cliff into a life you haven’t seen yet in a place you don’t know. What do you keep and what do you give away? She had the freedom not to have to make that decision while her stuff lived in my attic for a few years and she crashed on my sofa for 2 weeks while she was ‘homeless.’ Changed.

Louis. Refused to cross a border. Any border. Ever. Dragged him over the border into Canada and he now has a list of places he wants to go. Changed.

What if that is all I am meant to do? Move. Integrate. Change. Leave. Repeat.

What if every shitty experience is merely knowledge that will help me change something for someone later? I experience, live, process, pass on.

And what if……. I can convince some of the changes to BE changes for someone else? Pay it forward meets Butterfly Effect. There would probably be no way of measuring it, only the idea that Chaos Theory dictates that it will change and trusting people to pay it forward using random acts of kindness for people they’ll never know.

A few months ago I started reading a set of books suggested by a woman I’ve never met. A book that is pulling me to Scotland with a force that will not be ignored. A somewhat expensive novel if you ask me… Because of this wee love affair I have with Scotland I watch video clips set to music with scenes from the book. Which led to an e-mail notifying me of a new video clip on YouTube, which was set to a song, which piqued my interest, which lead to me googling the official video, which happened to be a chain of events of people paying it forward. The lyrics of this song ask every question I have been too dumb to ask myself.

The words to the song by Nickelback:

What are you waiting for?
What are you waiting for?

Are you waiting on a lightning strike?
Are you waiting for the perfect night?
Are you waiting ’til the time is right?
What are you waiting for?
Don’t you wanna learn to deal with fear?
Don’t you wanna take the wheel and steer?
Don’t you wait another minute here?
What are you waiting for?

What are you waiting for?

You gotta go and reach for the top
Believe in every dream that you got
You’re only living once so tell me
What are you, what are you waiting for?
You know you gotta give it your all
And don’t you be afraid if you fall
You’re only living once so tell me
What are you, what are you waiting for?

Are you waiting for the right excuse?
Are you waiting for a sign to choose?
While you’re waiting it’s the time you lose
What are you waiting for?
Don’t you wanna spread your wings and fly?
Don’t you really wanna live your life?
Don’t you wanna love before you die?
What are you waiting for?

What are you waiting for?

You gotta go and reach for the top
Believe in every dream that you got
You’re only living once so tell me
What are you, what are you waiting for?
You know you gotta give it your all
And don’t you be afraid if you fall
You’re only living once so tell me
What are you, what are you waiting for?

Tell me what you’re waiting for
Show me what you’re aiming for
Whatcha going to save it for?
So whatcha really waiting for?

Everybody’s gonna make mistakes
But everybody’s got a choice to make
Everybody needs a leap of faith
When are you taking yours?

What are you waiting for?

What am I waiting for? How much longer am I going to refuse to live because I’m scared of being hurt? Because I’m afraid I’m not good enough? Good enough for who?! The longest relationship I’m ever going to have is with the person in the mirror. Cradle to the grave.

Maybe the time has come to stop moving. Relocation is not necessary to change the outcome. Every face I pass could be a change. Maybe the time has come to take the bars off the windows and let people in again. Not everyone is going to wreck the place. If they do, I’ve gotten up every day of my life and weathered every train wreck life has provided. 100% success rate on survival to date. Pretty fan-bloody-tastic if you ask me.

If I can do a reverse bailout and stare into the jaws of a Great White a foot from my face separated by a metal bar then what exactly is it that I’m afraid of here?

According to me there are 3 theories about life after death. One says there is life, one says there isn’t and one says you keep coming back until you’ve learned all your lessons. Don’t know about you but whichever way it goes at the end, there’s nothing to lose. If you get to live forever, then whatever you do now is but a drop in the ocean of eternity. If there’s nothing at the end of it, then nothing you do now matters anyway. It won’t exist once you die so go big or go home. If you get to keep coming back, then ya know what? You’ve probably lived a dozen lives with many more to come. So it’s a bit like getting another go so if you bollox this one up, it’s fine, you get to try again with a different set of cards. You win in every option. There is nothing to lose. Absolutely goddamn nothing.

If you knew you were going to die at a certain time, how would that change today? And just to drive the point home a friend I met in East London working at the bank I ended up at because I met Billy after Gran died, posted this quote today:

“One day your heart will stop beating and none of your fears will matter. What will matter is how you lived.” – Henri Junttila