There comes a moment in your life, when you try something as an adult that you actively avoided as a kid. Whether it be those green veg your mum always put on your plate in the vain hope that you’d eat them, always telling you they were good for you, but never really holding her breath that you’d try them. Or maybe it was picking up that book you’d heard about, maybe even studied at school but winged it by watching the film. Or maybe it’s by talking to someone about a subject you really didn’t care about.
But along the way, something changed in you, and you gave it a go, and all of a sudden there’s this new door that’s opened full of possibility. Suddenly, you’re wondering why you’ve waited so long to try it, and how much you’ve missed out on. Then, you get stuck in, you go for it big time.

Or you do the alternative.
That thing that as a kid you were obsessed about, suddenly seems like absolute hell.
I remember, as a kid, my little brother would only eat things with spaghetti. Not spaghetti hoops though, that would invoke a full on rage. It had to be spaghetti.
I was a beans boy.
My poor mum, having to make sure we always had beans and spaghetti, purely to avoid two stupid, petty kids from screaming their snotty faces over dinner time.
Now, as a parent, I’ve seen my kids do this exact same thing and I’ve looked at them knowing that I love them absolutely, but still sometimes wanting to flick that food in their now wide open, wailing mouths from the other side of the kitchen.

When I was a kid, I yearned for knowledge. I’d always have my face in a book, sometimes going through 3 in a week. My room was piled high in second hand books, books with broken backs and handwritten prices on the inside page, dog-eared covers and folded over pages, the yellowed paper soaked in that bookshop smell. Whenever we went away, I’d find a second hand bookstore and spend ages just looking through this treasure trove of fantasy worlds and characters.

In junior school, I first discovered Middle Earth, and was captivated. I spent wet breaks drawing the cover design, and reading of Bilbo’s adventures, though Sam was always my favourite, with his impromptu rabbit stews cooking over an open fire. That could well be what also started my love of cooking and bbqs, but that’s for another time.

The first book I bought and had confiscated and hidden from my eyes by my Dad, was Peter Benchley’s ‘Jaws’.
I found it every time, and read it over and over. He was rubbish at hiding things.
The film soon became my favourite, and to this day it remains, and whenever it is on tv, no matter how late, I’ll sit and watch it. To say I’ve seen it a few hundred times would only be exaggerating slightly. It’s alot.

My Dad had a few horror books, books by Dennis Wheatley, Shaun Hutson, James Herbert, Graham Masterton. I quickly went through his entire collection, and was hooked. I adored horror books, and anything with monsters or the macabre. I used to read all day, and if I could find the film for the book, I’d hunt it down and watch that too.
I’d lie in my bed at night, terrified of going to sleep, of closing my eyes. But in the morning, I’d be back with my face in a book, eager for new scares and tales.

Things remained this way throughout my adult years; every toilet break, lunch break, journey on a bus or train, I would be transported to a world of fantasy, horror, the supernatural, or mystery. If I wasn’t reading a book, I’d be watching a film. Either way, my time of being in the real world was becoming less and less, and maybe this was my way of escaping whatever was festering in my mind, or maybe all of this led to me being less able to cope in the real world, I don’t know.
What I do know is that when I was in the ‘real world’ I spent most of it trying to find a purpose and a reason for being there, I felt out of place, isolated, and scared.
Adulthood brings with it more responsibility, and less time, and so inevitably, my journeys became shorter, my break times taken up with other tasks.
Suddenly, I stopped disappearing into the fantasy world of books, and since then I’ve found the real world to be a strange, and difficult place. I’ve found that reality, for me, is sometimes too hard to accept without the occasional escape of fantasy.

As a child, we weren’t taught about being ‘mindful’ or of just ‘being in the moment’. Kids just are. They are in awe of so much, and carefree of the rest. But as an adult, it is something that we are actively being told to attempt. So much of our lives are spent in planning, worrying, stressing, that we don’t appreciate what we have in front of us, the opportunities we are afforded, and the joys we can embrace.
We are surrounded by people, yet live mainly in isolation, we are surrounded by nature yet confine ourselves to the indoors, and we have so much knowledge of the world we live in that we just accept it and blissfully ignore it. We walk past trees now that we used to sit and watch, pretending they were waving, or taking a bit of paper and a crayon and creating art from.

I still love to escape. If I’m watching a film, I want to watch something that takes me away from the real world, not the Netflix documentaries on serial killers, or ‘reality tv’, no programmes on perma-tanned non-celebs and their narcissistic exes. I want to live vicariously through someone swinging a sword, or fighting a monster, flying an x-wing, or having superpowers.
Just because I’m an adult now, doesn’t mean I have to be grown up.
And that is the thing that I am learning again. Just because I’m now trying the things that I avoided as a kid (yes, I mean you parsnips), that doesn’t mean that I want to forget that part of me that still wants to put on a cape, roll down a hill, get muddy, and be told to be quiet.
Just because every day we see on the news about something terrible, that doesn’t mean that I want to know more about it. Because I don’t.
I want to know more about the power of imagination, about the wonderful things that happen beneath our feet and beyond our eyes. The things that make people happy, that make people smile.

I think I’ve always tried to be there for people, to do things for people, to make them feel good and in doing so, make myself feel good. I’ve buried myself or escaped from my own issues for so long by doing this, and it’s really only when I’ve stopped, that I’ve found it so hard to tread water.
It’s funny that it seems, for me, being more selfish has been more self-harming. I’m not that kind of person.
What others may see as me being unrealistic in the way that I think or by what I enjoy, and being ‘too nice’ by putting others needs and wants first, is actually the thing that has helped me to cope for so long.
Is it really wrong to do the things that make you feel good, if they also make others feel good?
Is escaping reality immature, or is it self-preservation?

Seeing my kids now, as they begin their different stages of life; the eldest, going to college, becoming a young man, the youngest learning to write and read; they have so much to look forward to, so much to experience and enjoy.

I just hope that they don’t stick to spaghetti, but try the steak too.
But maybe have some spaghetti on the side.

Remember when you were younger, and you could recall every phone number you used regularly? Your aunts and uncles, grandparents, every school friend you met up with to go swimming, kick a tennis ball against a wall, or explore an abandoned building?
Remember that first time you met someone that you genuinely had no knowledge of?
Remember waiting to get photos developed, not knowing what was going to come out, just hoping that one of the 27 shots you’d taken would be worth it?

So much nowadays is done online that there is little mystery or spontaneity left. If you have a question, you don’t go to the library hoping to find a book about it, rifling through thousands and thousands of pages filled with knowledge that have been touched by countless fingers; words and phrases created by others, and collected, just waiting to be discovered. The smell of a library or an old book shop is something I’ll always cherish, and yet it’s one I haven’t experienced in some time. You don’t ask someone older, who could share their memories and experiences. You google it.

If you go out now, the chances are you’ll know beforehand who is going, what time they’re going and who with, even if you didn’t already know them. You’ll go on a date, a first meet, but already have spoken and know the way they think, what they do, who they know.
You can have a row with a stranger, fall out with a friend, and be ‘removed’ from that social circle, without even leaving the house.
You can cause a tsunami of pain, upset, and trouble for someone with just the lightest of mentions, that is bared for all to see in seconds. You can delete it, and hide it away, but the chances are that someone caught a glimpse before you did, and will spread the word.
You (and we all have) can say something spiteful on social media and know full well that you wouldn’t do it in person. Not for what you’ve said, but because you wouldn’t want to see the expression of hurt on the recipients face.

You can let everyone know where you are and what you’re doing, and also have someone else tell everyone they know something about you.
It’s that constant balance, that understanding of the thoughts, secrets, and trust we have in others, that has so much power over each of us.
The fear of missing out, of being forgotten, or misrepresented on social media, that has so many imprisoned within its safety or scared to turn their back.

There are those who have never fallen into the trap of Facebook, twitter, and Instagram, those who have shunned that life for reality. Those people, I admire in many ways.
Their lives haven’t changed, they haven’t missed out, they haven’t vanished.
They are the proof that social media only has as much power and importance as we believe or bestow upon it. And yet…..

And yet, ‘take a break’ or ‘I’ll be back’ are the words many utter, yet most rescind after no time at all. These breaks that last for no longer than an actual holiday, before the addiction kicks in and they relapse.

So many use social media to live vicariously through others, to see the fabulous holidays or happy families that they themselves would love to have.
To be envious of someone else’s figure and suntan, or the look of a meal from a restaurant.
Some use it because that is the life they live, and good luck to them!
Many use it merely as a diary, with no use other than to log their own days and experiences, and send it into the ether, rather than have it on paper.
Some use it to reach out, to find relief and release, and hope for compassion.
And some, some will use it for their own agenda. To portray an alternative version of themselves, to convince others to believe the staged photos, the well constructed statuses, the image behind smoke and mirrors.

As a way to keep in touch with friends and family near and far, friends who are so busy with the everyday, it can be an incredible tool.
But, because of our language, because of our insecurities and understanding, because of how our mental state can interpret any words in countless different ways at any given time, social media can be a poisoned chalice.
In a face to face conversation, if someone misinterprets your meaning, or you don’t express yourself clearly, there is time to amend.
On social media, the damage can be done instantly, and sometimes, irreparably. A throwaway comment can suddenly have the momentum of a heavy swung blow, a piercing wound.
Having an opinion, or posting about how you feel, leaves you open for attack and interrogation, as if you having any thoughts that may go against the grain is not allowed or is an insult to anyone. Users on social media think that it is their right to question you, to push their own agenda onto you, and how dare you not agree with the populous?!
How dare anyone?

People use comments to abuse others, to say that a celebrity has put on weight or looks stupid, or mock something someone is proud of, forgetting how much hard work went into it.
All of the things that we, as children, were told ‘don’t say that, don’t be horrible’ forgotten in the anonymity of a username and avatar.
Social media posts can remind you of the things you missed out on, or weren’t invited to, the people you used to know, and sometimes show you things about them that you wish you didn’t know.

What social media has done, is break down the sophisticated communication network that we have all spent our entire lives creating, by making it questionable, open to interpretation, public, brutal, and impersonal.
It has taken away that requirement of being where you said you’d be, of making the effort to see the people you want to see, of remembering birthdays and organising get togethers. It has made our brains lazy, we now look to social media in moments of quiet, we feed that machine our thoughts rather than use them, we look for electronic thumbs ups and hearts for acceptance and acknowledgement of any task or achievement, rather than hang it on the wall in pride. We cannot live blissfully unaware anymore.

Our lives, confidence, and self worth are now measured on our notifications rather than our actual wellness. And that is the legacy of social media, that is the reason we should encourage our kids to live a life away from it rather than be slaves to it.

As with so many things, mankind created something remarkable in the internet and social media, and somehow filled it with ways to build a bomb.

Lately, I’ve been trying the effects of music on my mental wellbeing. I’ve heard so many people say how effective it can be, so I wanted to see for myself. I compiled a playlist of songs from films, and made sure I started the day on my drive to work just listening to those and judging how it made me feel.

It’s always fascinated me, the emotional connection we have with music, the memories music can throw up, the feelings it can evoke. Even now, if I hear something like ‘Mr Jones’ by Counting Crows, or ‘Alive’ by Pearl Jam, I can’t help but sing along and know that if any of my old mates from 20 years ago were listening at that exact moment, they’d be doing the same, just like we did way back when. It’s that thought, that even after all these years, and however many miles, put a song like that on, and we are back to being those teenagers in a nightclub, immediately sharing that moment.

I’ve always been more of a lover of lyrics, so a song has to grab me with the words more often than the sound. ‘Burn’ by The Cure is filled with great moments, ‘Don’t talk of worlds that never were’ … But certain things just completely capture me. Ever since I was a kid, I fell in love with the cello. ‘The Living Daylights’, that old Timothy Dalton James Bond film, was the first time I really paid attention to it as an instrument, and something literally struck a chord.

Now, if I hear that keening wail of a bow on a string, I’m entranced. You put that with the snap of a drum, and the strum of a guitar, and it’s almost transcendental for me.

There’s something about it that just lifts me up on a note, and carries me away.

If I hear the opening few bars of ‘Paint It Black’ by The Rolling Stones, it reminds me of laying on the sofa on a Saturday night, waiting for my mum to come home from work, ‘Tour of Duty’ starting on itv, my eyes heavy, but desperate to stay awake. That song is, and always will be, one of my all time favourites.

What I have noticed, listening to this music, starting my day like that, is that every song that comes on, evokes a memory. It’s not just a song, it’s a feeling. Whether it’s Huey Lewis reminding me of what it felt like seeing ‘Back to the Future’ and that instant bouncy ‘da da dumdumdumdum da da dumdumdum’, or Art Garfunkel’s haunting opening of ‘When you’re weary, feeling small’ that is so understated, so subtle and yet so powerful it silences everything else, by the time I arrive at work and start my day, I am filled with memories of childhood, friendships, cinema days and family. And that is a great way to start the day.

That’s the power, the power of love.