A man travelled, far and wide. In his time, he had seen sunsets over deserts, bathed beneath waterfalls in crystal clear waters, and slept atop the mountains, the stars within reach.

One day, the traveller became lost, deep in the forest, the temperature dropping. His breath clouding in front of his face. He walked on. Tightening his grip on his clothing, desperate to keep any warmth within. He began to shiver.

In the distance, he saw lights. Salvation close by. The trees reached down for him, twisted arms clawing at his hair, tearing his shirt. Long grasses entwining his feet, slowing his advance. The cold descended. He stopped.

In the greying darkness, in the deep shadows, he saw a burst of colour. A single, solitary flower, growing where no flower should grow. Forgetting the lights, the welcoming warmth of an open fire, food, and a bed, he thought of nothing but the flower, and he approached.

A black stem, short spiky thorns along its length, topped with petals of bright blue, shimmering in the moonlight. He kneeled, reached out a hand, and brought his face close..

‘Don’t’, whispered a voice.

The traveller froze, one hand extended. ‘Why?’ he asked.

‘I will hurt you’ replied the flower, ‘I wouldn’t want to, but I will. A single prick of a thorn could stop your heart, and it is cold out here, you wouldn’t survive’.

‘But I must’ replied the traveller, ‘I need to know what you smell like’. He leaned in.

‘Please’, begged the flower. ‘I will hurt you. Carry on your journey, and forget about me’.

The traveller was silent. The cold forgotten, for interminable time, the traveller was lost in thought. In a moment, he leaned in, filled his lungs with the scent of the flower, and then pressed a finger on a thorn, drawing blood. His heart raced, his brow beaded with sweat, he felt pain so long unknown, and his body spasmed. He lay down on the forest floor, the lights once so close, now so distant, so unreachable.

‘Why did you do that?’ asked the flower, ‘I told you what would happen. Why?’

‘Because I couldn’t take another step without knowing you in all your wonder and beauty. And wherever I went from now, I’d want to return here’ replied the traveller.

‘But you are cold, and the night draws in’ said the flower.

‘Then I’ll await the warmth of the sunrise’ replied the traveller.

‘And what of tomorrow?’ asked the flower.

‘Tomorrow, I shall prick another finger. And the day after that, another’

‘Why?’ asked the flower.

‘Because one day, I’ll prick a finger, and I’ll be immune’ replied the man, no longer a traveller.

It’s funny, it doesn’t matter how old you are, how much you’ve been through, how much you’ve learned in your life, if there’s one thing you will never be prepared for, or be able to manage, it’s love.

There’s that first person you saw in a classroom, who somehow made you smile. The person your friends would tease you about, and sing songs about. The person you’d hang out with, or drop everything to go round their house and listen to 90s pop, with baggy jeans and dodgy haircuts. The person you’d walk to school with, or avoid at all costs, too nervous to say a word to. The person you wrote your first love letter to, or asked in some dismissive way trying to remain cool ‘hey, do you wanna go out with me?’

There’s the time you first held hands, that felt like a massive milestone. Or when you had to ask your mate for a polo or a chewing gum, hoping you’d get a goodnight kiss at their door or in an alley nearby. Good old fashioned childhood romance.

There’s that moment when it doesn’t work out. When you don’t know what to do. When the mixtapes you made for them sit as a reminder, or when you avoid social gatherings in case you bump into them. The seemingly endless moping about it, boring your friends to tears about it all.

But you get over it. And you think you’ve learnt something. You think suddenly you’re a grown up now, that you have done something that makes you an adult. How little you knew.

So time moves on, you go to house parties, you go to hang around on street corners, urgently begging passersby to pop into the local shop to get you some cigarettes or buy you some booze, because this time the one who can buy it is grounded at home. You pass the time being kids, because you’re kids, but thinking because you’ve been in love, you’re now a man. But you’re not.

You go to nightclubs, in a car that finally someone is old enough to own. Crammed in, listening to music, encouraging each other to just have fun. You drink, you dance, you meet new people. You meet someone new who you suddenly like, but they’re seeing your mate. Turns out, most of your mates have seen most of your other mates at some point anyway.

You hit it off, you talk, you laugh, you connect. They tell you all about your mate, the one they’re currently seeing. And you sit, and you listen. You subject yourself to that, just to be near them. You try to help, but you don’t really want to. You see them at their best and their worst, you see how happy they can be, and how badly they can be treated, how much better you’d treat them. You think you’re a grown up, because you’ve been in love before. You’re not.

There’s a drunken night, and you say how you feel. They smile, say they’re flattered, give you the talk. The talk about friendship, and how important it is, and that they wouldn’t want to ruin it. You smile, you take it, you pretend it’s ok. You think you’re a grown up, because you’ve been in love and now you’re heartbroken. You’re not.

Years go by, you get a job, you meet new people, you experience new things. Someone introduces you to someone they know with a ‘you’ll love them’, and sometimes, that’s exactly what happens. You forsake friendships, you give up going out, your whole world is now this person, this music, this film, this sofa, this bed, these four walls. You build memories, you put everything into this life. You think you’re a grown up, now that you’re in love. You’re not.

You work, eat, sleep, repeat, work, eat, sleep, repeat, this perpetual cycle. You have kids, kids having kids. You think you’re a grown up now you’re a parent. You’re not.

Things don’t work out, you argue, you fight, you don’t like that film anymore, you can’t stand that song, you want a new sofa, and you’re feeling trapped. You stop being near each other. You can’t speak, you can’t love, you can’t be yourself. You think you’re a grown up because you’ve got bills to pay. But you’re not.

You find a new place, a new home, a new beginning. You reconnect with old friends, you make new ones, you go out again. You think you’re a grown up because everyone else seems so much younger. But you’re not.

You open up to someone. You think they’re a grown up because they’ve been through what you’ve been through, they’ll understand. But they don’t, and they’re not.

The thing is, you’re not ‘not a grown up’ not because of what you’ve been through, what you’ve felt or seen, what you’ve accomplished or the places you’ve been. You’re not ‘not a grown up’ because you’ve had your heartbroken, or because you’ve loved before. Because no matter what life has thrown your way, no matter what hardships you’ve faced, you’re not a grown up because at any point in life, Love will come along and you’ll be straight back to that awkward, scared kid in a classroom, who’s terrified to speak, completely vulnerable, and absolutely out of their depth. It doesn’t matter if you’re 15 or 50, that first pang of a heartstring is the most powerful feeling. You think you’re a grown up because you’re grown up? You’re not. You’re older, wiser, greyer, but you’re still a kid, with an ageing heart that still feels excitement and can still be broken. And who would ever want to grow up?

Time is your most precious commodity. It can be given away, wasted, treasured, or stolen. The thing is, it can never be returned.

If someone gives you a piece of their day, that’s a small moment of their life that is now gone, somewhere down the line they may have needed that, but they’ve gifted it to you. So if someone chooses to make the time to see you, or talk to you, remember that. Remember that when they’re sitting next to you, because they want to be near you, remember it when you pick up your phone to check your Facebook. Remember it when you receive a message, that on the other end is someone who is reaching out to you. Remember it when your child calls your name for the thousandth time, and you roll your eyes and sigh. Remember that at that very moment, you and them will never be as you were in that moment.

Every time you drop your child off at school, or say goodnight as they close their eyes, the next time you see them, they will have changed. They’ll have experienced things that they want to share, they’ll have felt things and looked for you. They’ll have grown, ever so slightly.

Remember it every time you leave a room, or every time you say goodbye.

Remember every time you waited on someone, how you shifted and swayed, fidgeted and groaned. Remember all the things you put off yesterday and today you can’t face. But what about tomorrow? What if tomorrow, there’ll be something else?

Don’t waste your time chasing rainbows that don’t have an end, or a stranger on a website who’s playing the odds. Don’t waste your time by wasting someone else’s, the joke’s on you my friend, you won’t get that time back either.

Take time out, for yourself, to recover, refresh, relax, and contemplate. Take time to remember time, snapshots of a past life, take time to look forward to moments to savour or be excited by.

But, don’t take it for granted. Because it always runs out. And at the end, all we ever really had were moments in time

I’m not bothered about being on my own. Most of the time.
I’ve got enough going on in my life, and I know so many people are the same, and trying to find time to commit or dedicate to someone else, is a juggling act that is almost impossible.

Some people don’t seem to get that, and expect all domestic realities to pause if they call, or expect you to be out there meeting new people.
This unrealistic, Hollywood version of a popcorn romance, just simply doesn’t exist. You’ve been brainwashed into this idea of an epiphany, or moment of absolute joy, when the truth is mostly far less flamboyant but no less exciting.

Sometimes, it’s about being able to sit indoors in really ugly clothes, talking about anything with someone who actually wants to be spending time with YOU, not checking their phone afraid of what they’re missing out on. It’s not always about looking good, or going out. It’s not always about sex, or being complimented. It’s about having someone in your life who has your back, who opens up to you, who wants to find time for you and to be with you, who could sit in silence just listening to you breathe, or finding excitement in a boring trip to the supermarket late at night. It’s about having someone who surprises you, not with material possessions, but with displays of compassion and understanding, who sees when you’re tired, or when you need support, who offers you the key to their entire world.

This rose tinted view of romance, of relationships, is just the pressures of products, of expectations. There’s this suggestion that going to bed alone, makes you a failure in love. But it doesn’t. Feeling the need to fulfil expectation, to placate the popular belief that you’re lonely if you’re alone, only leads to self induced social isolation.

Love is quite simply, being adored for the way you are, accepted, appreciated, and understood. And that is an incredibly powerful feeling to share.

So the next time someone asks ‘Why are you single?’ or looks at you with sadness, or sympathy, don’t accept their pity, or feel like you’re letting them down. But make a decision then to get in touch with someone you care for. Because if you’re looking for love, it’s not always carrying a bunch of flowers.

Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is not to leap out of a plane, or swim with sharks, it’s not visiting a haunted house, or riding a roller-coaster. It’s being able to admit to yourself, and to others that you’re not coping, or to just open up about how you feel, and decide to change.

The funny thing is, I’ve never had a problem with saying how I feel. I’ve worn my heart on my sleeve my whole life, I’ve told the people I love that I love them, and I’ve been there for others. I’ve openly talked about my own experiences, and listened when people need to share theirs.

What I’m finding lately, is that I look on social media, and I see people I grew up with, still maintaining friendships from way back when. They’ve grown up together, they’ve shared memories, and now their kids are growing up together too, and the cycle continues. And I look at that with so much warmth, and love, and also so much longing and envy.

It makes you look at yourself in ways that can be a little hard to accept or acknowledge.

I guess I’ve always drifted. I’ve never had a consistent social circle, I’ve always left a group or backed away, and I’ve lost contact with so many people over the years. A lot of the time, I’ve just accepted it. Sometimes I blame myself for it, and beat myself up over it, thinking I’m not good enough for them. But sometimes, I do it as an act of self-preservation. I leave before I let them down, before they see behind the curtain, and see my faults, my flaws, my disappointments. And sometimes, I try too hard, too hard to impress, make myself too available, too dependable.

But I am guilty of being unreliable socially. I’ve had invites to events that I never attended, that over time become less and less, as more and more often people realise that I probably wouldn’t go anyway. So many times, I’ve wanted to. I’ve wanted to make the effort, to push myself forward, to actually just be a little selfish or be in the moment. But there’s that little voice that pops up every now and then to say ‘you’ll make a fool of yourself’. And I find myself closing the door, taking my shoes off, and staying in safety. Spending evenings with my face lit by the screen of a television or a mobile phone, either disappearing into a world of fiction, or reaching out to a world through wifi.

I see so many people suffering the same nervousness, the same voices slowing eating away at their self esteem, and they still push themselves out that door, to embrace life, and their friends. And I have so much respect, admiration, and love for them.

All of these people, walking around every day, wearing a mask, or carrying an invisible weight on their shoulders, people posting positivity or confidence onto social media, people smiling through gritted teeth, or holding back tears.

It’s a real show of people’s personal strengths, and how important family and friends are, how the support of that social circle really can keep you afloat. And if you’re reading this, believe me when I say that to someone else, your strength, your love, and your compassion, has helped someone through any day, as much as someone else has helped you through any dark days of your own.

And I guess it’s making me realise more and more, that if I keep avoiding it from fear of letting people in, I’ll spend the rest of my life looking through the glass, walking a lonely road, or any one of a hundred other cliches.

It’s approaching Christmas, and I’m really scared of spending it like Scrooge. As Red so famously said ‘Get busy livin’, or get busy dying’

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been fascinated by people. The way they react to their surroundings, the little moments of nervousness or discomfort, the slight curve of a smile that they’re almost worried to share.

There are so many small things that go mostly unnoticed, but say so much about who we are.

I’ve always been a finger biter. In times of stress, or anxiety, when I’m tired, or when I want to say something but am not quite confident enough to say it, the hands go to the mouth. I’ve been told more times than a hundred versions of myself could count on their nibbled digits ‘You’ll bite them down to your elbows one day’, yet I’m still not convinced that’s completely true, or who decided to come up with that little nugget of wisdom.

But it’s all of these small gestures, that are so endearing or annoying to others. Everyone has their ‘thing’, their little obsession or quirk that makes them stand out, but try looking a little closer next time you speak to someone. Words are incredibly powerful, but if you really want to know about someone, look at the way they behave.

There’s this oddity that my kids do, that I’ve never understood. At dinner time, they’ll eat all of one thing , and then move on to the next. Some bizarre compartmentalised form of dining. Me, I’m taking small parts of everything on every forkful. Every dinner time, I look at them and think ‘Savages’. What kind of culinary madness is this?!’ Until I noticed more and more people doing it! And then I started to question myself for being some self-blending filthbag who may as well just mash it all up and eat it out of a trough.

But there are the other things, the things you didn’t even realise were slowly making their way into your mind, and forming a basis of your understanding of someone, creating this fascination, intrigue, or adoration. The way someone tucks their hair behind their ear before saying something meaningful or emotional, something they know will expose a part of them, or have to take a certain route through a supermarket, or mispronounce a word. The way someone still ties their shoes with double hoops, even in their mid30s, or has to have milk at bedtime.

When people talk about what they want or look for in a partner, there will be this standard template of ‘good sense of humour, nice….’ all the usual. But it’ll be this little idiosyncrasy that somehow wins someone over, this tiny imperfection or way of thinking, this small gesture or movement that just does something.

And it’s something you see a thousand times, but never really pay attention to. As Columbus so rightly said in Zombieland….

‘Rule #32: Enjoy the little things’

Just imagine for a second that thousands of years ago, we had advanced technology like we do today, and at the same time in other countries or on the same street, there were people who had none.

No phones, no electricity, no supermarkets, or cars.

These people were considered the poor, the needy, the neglected.
These people who learnt to deal with hardship, who survived on what they could grow or forage, who made their own shelter and safety. Who banded together as communities for the greater good, who looked after each other. Who created stories to tell around fires, who learnt new skills, and passed that knowledge on.

Now imagine something happened today or tomorrow to take away our technology, our so called ‘superiority’ and security, our autonomy, and our ability to communicate. After hurricanes or tornadoes, during protests or during floods, some people lose their humanity, they become savages, smashing windows and property, stealing, starting fires, and turning on each other, becoming opportunistic and violent.

If we were to lose electricity, you would still see someone break the glass of the nearest Currys just to grab a 50″tv. When there’s the first flurry of snow, people stock up on bread and milk.

So much emphasis is placed on social standing, on material objects, and image, and so many life skills, practical knowledge, and common decency is forgotten or ignored.

It’s worth remembering every time you think to judge someone less fortunate, that one day you could be in their shoes, or needing their help. That the lessons they’ve learned in life, could save yours. That the poor, needy, and neglected, could one day be the survivors, and the privileged, comfortable, and ignorant, could be forgotten.

We’re on a giant rock, floating through space, an infinite, unending void, filled with enormous objects that could wipe us out in an instant. We’re on a planet that’s mostly water, as people who can’t survive on it. We stand on ground that moves and shifts, that spins around a massive ball of fire.

It’s not really that farfetched, is it?

‘Love changes everything’ is so common place in music, and over the years this phrase has been used time and time again, in one form or another.

It changes our patterns, our routines, it can bring sleepless nights, and even alter our diets. But should it change you?

I’ve always thought, when you fall in love, you fall in love with the person, not just their looks, but their idiosyncrasies, their behaviours, their opinions and their kindnesses. It’s not about someone’s taste in music, or the way they dance, but the way they express themselves in these things. I’ve always said you can’t and shouldn’t try to change someone’s behaviour, or their outlooks. Whether you agree or disagree, you should at the very least respect someone’s difference of opinion and be able to have that conversation without conversion.

But, the one thing that I have always maintained is that whatever you do, you should never fall for someone who isn’t proud to be with you. Someone who wants to keep you a secret, who doesn’t want the world they live in to change at all, who doesn’t want this image that they project to the world to be altered. Never be with someone who doesn’t want others to know about you.

I’ve been a secret before. I’ve been cheated on before. I’ve been hurt in a hundred different ways, and I’ve made countless mistakes that have hurt others too. I’m not proud of a single time I’ve made someone cry, whether I was in the right or in the wrong. Either way, it’s hurting the person that has opened up their own little world to you.

You can’t expect the person you are with to raise you up at all times, no one is strong enough to do that. If you’re looking for someone hoping they will bring you whatever is missing in your life, they won’t. What they will do is make the things already in your life, better. And they’ll bring new things into your life that maybe you didn’t do before, or a new perspective on things. You will teach other, you’ll grow together.

Love is about finding that person who sees you for what you are, who has decided that they want to be a part of the life you live, and to share their own life with you. They think you can bring something to their life that would improve it, and in return make your world a little brighter too. It is a choice. It’s always that choice. The choice to say ‘hey, sorry but you see this person here? They get the best of me’ to the rest of the world. Not to be pushed back into the shadows, or reminded of your every failing.

We’re all carrying our burdens, we’re all scarred from previous battles, and scared of it happening again. Each and every one of us has wounds that have never really healed, and reopen from time to time. And you can’t hope for someone else to heal them, and you can’t expect someone else to be perfect. You can only do your best, and hope that they try too.

So does Love Change Everything? Is this romantic trope really something to aspire to? Or is it a dangerous idealisation? I guess that’s up to each of us to decide.

I’m afraid I’ve found myself falling back in to the poisonous clutches of social media of late, and letting it have far too much of my time, and power over my state of mind. Basically, I need to take a break from this artifical world, make changes to myself and my reality, and I can’t do that when I’m reaching out for invisible hands. It’s time to learn how to hold on for myself.

So, with a new home, on my own, and a fresh perspective, I am stepping away and taking a leap into the unknown.

What do they say about testing your character?

I think I’m finally realising how much stronger I am when I’m not trying to find acceptance, or understanding.

I am chaos. I am fucked up, and broken. I am a myriad of emotions, an avalanche of words in a constant tumble in my mind, and I need to come to terms with that.

I have spent most of my life wanting to feel wanted, understood, and to have a purpose, and in doing so I’ve completely handed over every semblance of individuality and identity.

So many times I’ve stood on the edge and seen where I need to be, like Frodo searching for Mount Doom, and with every summit I’ve felt closer, only to find I’ve not really made any ground at all. And just when it felt like I had, like miles had passed under my feet, I slipped the ring of social media back on, and drew that eye’s focus once again.

For now, I am off. I am off to avoid that version of myself that seeks the hive, the avatar that gives away the reins, and lays my heart on the ground at the feet of others.

There is no more isolation in this world, than reaching out a hand in the darkness.

Sometimes, you’ve just got to edge your way, and trust your instincts.

If I see you in the real world, and I hope I do, I hope we do not pass in the street, faces lit by the neon light of a screen. But that we embrace, we share a memory, we reform that bond that has long been broken. Because so many people, who hold a place in my heart, have been reduced to cropped photos. And I cannot live like that anymore.

I will still write, I’ll still post my words. But I do that for me, for my own peace. Not for recognition, and not for attention. But for me.

If you’re reading this, you’re more than likely one of the people I have let down by not making the effort, and I am truly sorry.

It’s been many years since I left school, I don’t want to put a number on it because, truth be told, it doesn’t feel anywhere near as many as it is, but would make me feel every day of it. As Bilbo Baggins once said ‘I don’t know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve‘. It’s kind of like that with my age.

It’s been a while.

I learned a lot at school. For the most part, I enjoyed the learning side of it, but can gladly leave a big chunk of the social side buried away in a dusty box, in a gloomy part of my brain. I wasn’t what you’d describe as ‘popular’, or outgoing. I was awkward, introverted, confused, troubled, and just basically a smaller, hairier version of myself now. But my brain thrived.

What have I done with all of the knowledge from those days? Not an awful lot. The basics are there; I can put together a decent enough sentence, I can even make a poem sing on the page, I can tell you what Pi is to 8 decimal places, explain Longshore Drift and can order breakfast in both French AND German. But really, I see my education as a list of so many missed opportunities.

I never understood then, and I still struggle to now, why the entire class was taught about the same thing at the same time. 30 odd kids, all listening to a teacher dictate about Oliver Cromwell, or reading ‘Animal Farm’, writing an evaluation on a drama class in which we all pretended to be a record player, or coming to the same conclusion that Chemistry can be dangerous.

There is such a wealth of knowledge, and information out there, just waiting to be plucked out of the air by idle fingers and eager minds. Each person has different likes and ideas, different perspectives and opinions, and comes from a different family with different cultures and values. We could have learnt so much from each other, back then, and in every day since.

Of those 30 odd kids in that classroom, imagine the knowledge and imagination that could have been piqued by hearing something from another, something they had never heard of before. That’s not 30 people listening to one perspective, that’s 30 people inspiring 30 others, sharing with 30 others, opening those channels for discussion, debate, understanding, and information.

We were taught about Communism, and about the Commonwealth, but nothing about the Holy Wars, or the Spanish Conquistadors. We learnt of Hitler, and Pearl Harbour, but forgotten were the Cuban Missile Crisis or Hiroshima. We were taught about the plague in the 14th Century, but not about the famine of the Third World that exists to this day.

Not just in history either, but in religion. We were taught about the fundamentals of Christianity, and Sikhism, but never really travelled further afield than common knowledge. What worlds and tales we missed out on, stories of Ganesh, of Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva the creator and destroyer of worlds, tales of Odin the All-Father, and Narcissus.

Imagine the difference it could make to the mindsets and understanding of children if they are taught from such an early age how diverse and interesting other cultures and histories are, and the lessons to be learnt from these tales. Imagine if they were made aware of the horrors man has wrought on man by invasion, with hate in their heart, and with ignorance and a lack of compassion.

Imagine if kids had their minds opened to the wonder, creativity, brutality, diversity, and vastness of the world, without it being narrowed down to just the standard, all leaving with the same knowledge of the same subject.

My school was filled with rooms, but each day, every day, I walked past so many doors to get to the same lessons. It’s a fitting analogy of the things that could have been if I’d just been allowed to peek inside a few.