It has been five years since I posted anything to this site. I barely recognise myself in any of it anymore. It isn’t the homecoming I thought it would be.
It’s amazing how much has changed in that time, and also how much has stayed the same; both of which are painful. I no longer paint. I am 40 years old now. I still work in an office job. I still smoke. I am still single. This stasis has eroded the best of me, and I have, in fact, begun to fade.
As for turning my back on painting, that was hard. I just lost the time, space and inclination, I couldn’t even force it. Creativity came in fits and spurts, I wrote some stories and poems, but I struggled to keep it up. Denying myself the chance to create anything had the same effect as denying myself oxygen; I got ill, and depression is no joke. There had to be a way to get it back, to be interested in the world again, to add something to it. So I bought a camera, and I guess we’ll just see if that works out.
There is a journey that I have been planning for what seems like forever, it started as a wish, but I am now staring down the barrel of the reality of it all and I just might be a little bit afraid. I have no choice but to embark upon it, I have already waited too long and there is nothing left to learn here, but change is scary nonetheless. The journey is a physical one, it will take me across the planet to distant lands, to new experiences, maybe even some adventure. The journey is also an emotional one, for I must be honest with myself and accept that I have become a wreck, an automaton who has distanced himself from the pain of feelings; a state I must go to war against lest it become permanent. The journey is also a spiritual one, not in the usual vein of people who use terms like that, I don’t need religion or a guru, this is about becoming a version of myself that I am at peace with.
Three years ago I paid off all my debts. Since then I have saved up enough money to pack up my life and go travelling for a year. I nearly lost my mind doing it, office work is a form of mental torture, but I persevered and I’m getting out of the rut.
Something is coming. I have no idea what, but it will be here for you to read about. The words begin to form, the need to write them grows and it is time once more to document all this shit, in the vague hope that I have something left to say. This will be the genuine story of a genuine life. A man who has found himself at the halfway mark of his existence, and wants the final half to have value. So he quits his life and goes looking for something else.
I’ll keep you informed. It will be nice to have a friend along for the way.
I miss talking to you about this stuff.
The drift away from creating is such a painful one…its like a relationship that goes dormant.
It feels like your heart is breaking.
You never lose it though, not really. Paint is something you do, but Artist is something you are.
You will come back to it one day.
Office work is there to test us.
I too am stuff in the office world and it feeds my depression.
I feel less vibrant.
I feel older.
I miss you dude. Painfully and truthfully.
You are one of my oldest friends. I hope you always will be.
Love you always xxxx
I feel you man. I just re-read that post, so fucking much has changed since I wrote that! Photography is brilliant and I love it, and instead of travelling I got a daughter. More than that, I found my heart and soul.
Things are painful for both of us, but things change, and the future remains an ideal worth working towards. There are no wrong paths, just some of them are fucking long.
I love you man, always have. Xxxx