Letters, reflections and stories on resilience, discipline and change
I am forty-three years old. I’m a writer, and a speaker, and can increasingly be filed under ‘content creator’, a phrase I feel slightly ridiculous about. I find dry, observational humour the funniest but I’ve always been fond of a dick-joke. I’ve grown very tired of sarcasm.
There's another writer in my space, I won’t name him, but I’d be confident he’s popped up on your FYP. He does the same kind of work, in the same territory, on the same small corner of the internet. He’s very confident and articulate.
The world has never been less interested in your meaning. The structures that used to supply it - religion, community, clear social roles, and the assumption that a life well-lived followed a legible shape, have either collapsed or calcified into something most of us can't or won'
Last week I had a really fantastic meeting. An incredibly positive hour with someone I admire enormously, that gave external validation to my work here on protocol, and will hopefully lead to some exciting opportunities in the near future. To be taken seriously by someone who could actually move it
We'd been in the car for hours. One of those long drives where the silence gets heavier the further you go, and the person next to you can feel it but doesn't want to push. Both afraid to speak. My then girlfriend knew that something was
Having launched two businesses this last year (one of which died a horrible death), I care an awful lot these days about standards, discipline, and building a solid career and a fulfilling life. I am also, by trade, an actor, which means I care about playfulness, imagination, storytelling and silliness.
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