Heavy Rain

01.14am April 1st 2014 - It began to rain.

Not a spattering or a suggestion. Honest, dense, full rain.

I climbed onto my window-sill, opened the window, and revelled in it. I watched it crash down and I watched it flood the gutters. I sat and observed as a few young 20-somethings with short beards and lens-free spectacles stood out in the downpour. They removed their shirts and endured a drenching. Possibly a case of kids being dicks, but really I know I only demean them because I envy them. I want to be caught out in a storm. I want to feel a sense of cold, primal vulnerability - and just endure.

But it's past 1am and I'm a self-conscious introvert, so I'll watch from my perch.

I enjoy the sound, I enjoy the patter sensation, and I enjoy the rhythm. There is a street light outside, below my window. Droplets pelt down on it. They burst on top into a fine mist. Despite further drops thundering down all around, the mist undulates - catching on the air to swirl listlessly, illuminated by the halogen glow.

Then something peculiar. The scent of the tree that sits next to that street light. I'm not sure if it's blossom, sap, or pollen, but it's natural, bright, and reminds me of trips abroad. Of holidays where a week's hot sun is washed away in one stormy hour, and you're hit by an unfamiliar petrichor. I considered discussing transmission of scent, olfactory reactions and the properties of water as a conductor of smells. However, it's nearly 2am now. Suffice it to say, I enjoy the rain.

Image Owner: Rex Roof

Time-flu

What am I even doing?

Let's see - there was a minor excursion to Glasgow. Then I enjoyed a warm Summer. I climbed a hill. I played a lot of video games. I started writing a book. I subsequently stopped writing a book. I restarted my degree. That's the long and short of it.

I got preoccupied. Sue me.

Please don't sue me. Please. I'm poor and reclusive. I do not want letters and lawyers. No news is good news. Let me be a quiet, easily-distracted introvert. For those familiar with the Myers-Briggs personality test, I am an INTJ. For those unfamiliar with the Myers-Briggs personality test, go and familiarise yourself with Myers-Briggs personality tests. One of the hallmarks of being an INTJ is becoming obsessive over hobbies and subjects.

I started blogging, I devoted hours to it
Then I did some bar training and learned lots about hundreds of cocktails
Then I had some down-time in winter and hit the video games quite hard
Now I'm working on my biology degree. All day, every day.

It is hard to strike a healthy balance. Variety, spice, life, all that jazz. I want to be able to do a bit of work, finish a bit of studying then enjoy a bit of downtime. Instead I do a lot of work until I'm sick of it. I study until 3am and 4am, barely able to stay awake. And, similar to many young men my age, I can lose whole days to TV and gaming.

So if anyone wondered where I was. I got distracted. It has happened before and it will happen again. Hell, blogging itself is a distraction for me. Funny - what people fill their time with.

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An Outing: The Ending

You will have to excuse me, it's been a while since I wrote for my blog, a while since I updated you on my brief weekend away, and even longer since I actually experienced it - my memory is somewhat fuzzy. The only reason I am writing tonight is because I promised myself I would. Let me tell you, if you're looking to practice your writing, and perhaps make a career out of it, forcing yourself to write is never a wise approach. Much like me you'll find yourself sat in an old chair, mind wandering and aching as you churn out words. Not even good words. Certainly not your best words. Much like I'm doing, you'll sit there, run your hand through your hair and rest your head in your palm for a few seconds. You'll consider your options:

1) Write another night, when you feel inspired
2) Suck it up, get working
3) Nobody reads this anyway, forget the series. Write about other things

So I consider my options. I refuse to put it off and put it off - option the first is no good. '2)' could be a winner. Then again, after every sentence I get a sinking feeling that this isn't my best work. I want to delete every sentence after scrawling it. Eradicate and remove it and pretend it never happened. Despite this, I'm plodding on. I plod on because, though I may not be a very good writer, I am, at least, an honest writer. I would rather explore my feelings of fatigue and frustration than bottle them up and pretend they don't exist. It's all about experience. I have very little experience. Perhaps people will read this and think "what a drivelling idiot, this rambling is pathetic" or perhaps they will think "actually, I can really relate to that dejected, frustrated feeling. I've been there, I empathise." I won't know until I bite the bullet and post what I write. Option 3 is somewhat true. However, I happen to be something of a collector, I like neat, tidy order. Abandoning my write-up of a weekend long-since passed would niggle at me. "Why didn't you finish Sam?" "Why not post a little entry? Wrap everything up? Won't that look neat and complete?" So, I am in two minds. The OCD-angel on one shoulder encourages me to finish. The anarchistic devil opposite wants to move on and explore and do as he pleases. Let me try to satisfy both by briefly summarising what you missed.

• We board a York to Edinburgh train on Saturday Morning.
• We board an Edinburgh to Glasgow train on Saturday Afternoon
• A young girl called Ella, seated a few rows ahead, constantly interrupts the journey with incessant moaning.
• Never teach your children a second language, especially if you don't speak it.
• Riding the Glaswegian subway is how I imagine demons commute to work in Hell.
• We saw Bill Bailey on the Saturday night. We sat so high up I was making eye-contact with the rafters. I felt a nosebleed coming on. At one point I attempted to burp before realising there was little atmosphere left for it to emerge into, so the bubble of irn bru gas sat idly in my gullet.
• We rounded off the trip by rock-climbing in an abandoned church.
• We board a Glasgow to Edinburgh train on Sunday Afternoon.
• We board an Edinburgh to York train on Sunday Afternoon.
• I board a York to Accrington train on Sunday Evening.
• I get bored of boarding somewhere along the way.

Now, perhaps I can put that whole weekend to bed. We will resume normal programming shortly

Thank you and goodnight

Image Owner: Donna St. Pierre

An Outing, Entry One.

This weekend I decided upon an adventure. If you have followed my posts for the last few months, you will know I have devoted a lot of time to working. Truth by told, I have been going stir-crazy, trapped by the same four walls. My walk to work, my greatest outing, has been a flight of stairs at the rear of the building.

How best to present my weekend galavanting? I could type up the whole experience in one fell swoop, though you would get bored reading and I would get bored writing. Instead, I suppose I'll copy out my notebook entries, originally written as I travelled.

Friday, May 10th
One redeemable feature of living in the north is the undulating landscape. I have caught the train from Accrington to York. Between tunnels and dilapidated industrial towns I catch a glimpse of how the north used to be. Stone cottages sit in narrow valleys; the hills climbing hundreds of feet behind them. Here, ancient walls have outlasted the towns they once protected. Herons and foxes occupy this narrow window of wilderness.

Everything here seems to flow in unison. Rivers and walls, canals and train-tracks all carve a parallel path through Old Lancashire. I am approaching Hebden Bridge. A small station with organised walls, and  roofing that could have been stripped right off a greenhouse. Black signs fixed with pristine, white lettering denote the locations of general rooms and parcel offices. Wooden buckets in the centres of the two platforms play host to freshly planted flowers. They bring a little colour and chaos, interrupting the OCD-signage and alphabetised brickwork.

Finding a seat on a minorly-crowded train is a nightmare for the chronically unsociable. There should be a checklist provided to us for safe seating arrangements. Seating arrangements that will see us suffering as few interruptions and embarrassing back-and-forths as possible.

• Where possible, find a window-seat facing forward - with no neighbour
• If unavailable, resort to a similar, backward-facing seat
• Avoid areas for bikes, prams and wheelchairs
• Avoid tables - three potential neighbours are worse than one

Unfortunately, I settled for the third option. Now sat at the rear of a carriage where there is space for prams and wheelchairs. Making the best of a bad situation, I took the window seat in order to scout upcoming platforms for pesky disabled children and single mothers who might usurp me.

Bradford Interchange is where it happened. One of the few stations whose platform I could not recce, as it's at the opposite side of the train. A 20-something mother boards with a bright pink buggy, which she crams against my legs. I hesitate for a moment, a shy rabbit destined for the pie. Not wishing to be squashed against a window, shins covered in pram-bruises, I offered my chair to the mother. "Here, you take these seats, I'll find another." I would say more but already the cogs in her head are turning - "that's not a local accent" she's thinking, "'e's not from 'round 'ere" she will inevitably conclude, at which point the Yorkshire hivemind will activate and two tweed-clad moustachioed Yorkshiremen will hoist me up and eject me from the train. We were over an hour into the journey and nobody suspected I was an imposter. I had gained their trust and was not about to jeopardise it. Instead I wandered off to the next carriage, found no seat that met my new list of criteria and ended up sat in a fold-down chair between two carriages, where the bikes are meant to live. I'm not sure what was worse, the awkward fear of encountering an errant cyclist, or the smell of piss coming from the adjacent W.C.

Image Owner: Ingy the Wingy

To find a place that cannot be found

Strange how, at 3am, everything blends into one. I am alert and I am asleep - eager to achieve but too uninspired to follow through on anything. I sit here flicking through the same old web-pages, refreshing occasionally, while the world around me sleeps. I know they're all tucked up in bed, I know my monitor won't divulge anything of interest 'til sun-up, but that's not enough to convince me to sleep. Dave Gorman said, when being paid to write a novel, he would sit at his computer and aimlessly browse the internet. It has everything. An organised, comprehensive bank of all things ever - right at my fingertips. "I don't know about you, but I find EVERYTHING EVER to be quite distracting" he said.

But as I mentioned when we started, 3am turns me into a walking, talking dichotomy. I can't find the will to put away such an expansive distraction. Simultaneously, I cannot find the energy to concentrate, sift through page upon page and do something constructive with my time. I could learn musical theory, read up on immune parasitology - instead I refresh the same old pages, hoping something will catch my attention. It does not.

The definition of insanity, I've heard, is to do the same thing over and over again, and expect different results.

I don't think I'm insane, far from it. I think I have a lot of drive, a lot of energy and enthusiasm. But I'm without focus. I'm without direction. Each day I struggle to be productive. Hell, some days I consider getting showered and dressed a minor achievement - a satisfying, day-well-done.

When did I become so lost?

Image Owner: Shutter Addicts

Ache

I am tired.

Not a sleepy, sore-eyed tiredness that can be shrugged off after a few hours' kip. This is different. I can feel this, in my bones. A dull ache that won't subside. Perhaps it's the stress, the worry or the three hour shift that soon became 10.

I made a serious decision last month. I don't like those life-changing, adult decisions but I was up against a wall and time was a scarce luxury. In order to properly care for a sick child I sacrificed a year to his care and my family's well-being. At the end of the day family is all you have. Families are there, and families endure. So yeh, if that means watching a monitor for 5 hours, looking for a fit, then so be it. If it means cleaning a man's stomach contents from a piss-filled urinal, then so be it. I don't regret my choice, or begrudge being left in this position. I only wish I could do more.

It's interesting what people go through in times like this. When the wolves howl and the world comes down, all we can find to wear is a brave face. But the acne scars and the vacant eyes on the surface don't do justice to the haemorrhaging hell beneath.

In other news, it snowed tonight. I was reminded earlier of the saying "worse things happen at sea" - it doesn't help when the world around you is blanketed in a frozen ocean. In this winter trees become wraiths and the world is swallowed up. Lest I be swallowed and drowned too, I am retreating to bed. As a child I would hide under my covers from bumps and creaks in the dark.

Perhaps that solution can be applied to my current circumstances

Image Owner: Donna St. Pierre

Pause. Reflect.

Only 4pm... I've already been awake 12 hours.

The tossing and turning exam stress induces makes sleep difficult. While there's nothing but jitters and nervous anticipation on the surface, you feel your insides churning.
We're past that now - free of stress and life changing responsibility for another five months. Exams are in the past and I'm returning north. The stone towers of the city recede, submitting to hills and valleys doused in white. Snowfall has left my home looking somewhat pretty. It's funny how acres can change in a day's absence.

It's difficult to write about the snow. Within itself, it is an empty canvas - blank as the page I'm trying to fill. There's nothing to be inspired by the pale hills, nor the frozen sky. All they do is reflect. Amongst this icy uniform I find the time to breathe, appreciating that winter's stress is behind me. I will need these few days to gather my thoughts, recuperate and brace myself for the onslaught.

When all is said and done, life is reduced to this - a series of struggles. Interrupted only by preparation for the next.

If, by chance, I am not arming and readying myself - I'm already out in the fray.

Image Owner: Emersonreference

The Chase

It is not every day that I get to feel like a hero - with this in mind I try to seize the opportunity when it presents itself. This story is a few months old. Unfortunately between university and procrastination I haven't had time to recount it, until now.

Our story begins on a wet Thursday afternoon, as all Thursdays in the North are wet. After walking into the city centre for lunch I made for the bus stop in order to get home. Safe in the knowledge that my bus wasn't due til 3.45pm I sauntered along quite merrily. Well, as merry as can be in a miserable, industrial city. My peaceful stroll was soon interrupted, however, as I turned the corner to see my bus leaving five minutes early.

Somewhat inconvenient.

For the common man, this would be the end of his story. He would feel a tad annoyed, find some shelter and wait for the next bus. But not me. Knowing the route the bus takes through Manchester, I turned and ran. I took a route through dark alleys, multi-story carparks and a section of China town. My short adventure through the city saw me leaping fences and bravely (recklessly) crossing roads in order to head off the bus.

As I made it to the town hall, I entered the courtyard and saw my bus approaching from the opposite direction. I pelted down to the next bus stop - managing to reach it and signal with seconds to go. If I had missed the bus a second time, I would have felt terrible. Then again, just reaching the bus put me on top of the world.

Here, for your reference, is the bus' route, and my own improvised shortcut...

The bus is highlighted in red, myself in blue - with arrows to show direction. After narrowly missing my bus at point 'A' I bravely traversed the city in search of success.

It's the little things.

Hold Your Drink

Some men are just repulsive.

Try as you might to find some pleasant aspect or redeemable quality you keep coming up empty. I had the displeasure of dealing with three such men last night - the joys of working in a pub I suppose. Two hours were spent listening to the most racist and sexually degrading remarks and stories you could be subjected to. If they weren't insulting a particular ethnicity, or the women they'd allegedly slept with, they were turning on each other. It's a tough position to be in when you would love to see these men beaten to within an inch of their life, and heck they're even offering to do it themselves. Of course with customers in and a reputation to uphold I instead spent my night negotiating and preparing to call the police every five minutes. Fortunately, I suppose, they sorted out their differences and were back at the bar unleashing a sickening torrent of abusive language like the best of friends.

I suppose I'm fortunate in that I have managed to grow up in an atmosphere that doesn't tolerate, nor celebrate such disgusting behaviour. It is strange to think that, should I have been born to different parents in a different part of town, I may also have become so thuggish and narrow-minded. There, but for the grace of 'God', go I.

I think this post addresses a few things. It is an opportunity to vent and to process the events of last night. It is also an opportunity to be thankful for where I was born and who I was born to. Finally it gives me a chance to express my feelings about such people. There are hundreds of words in the English language that could sum up these three men - disgusting, vulgar, horrid, unlikeable, blackguards (this one isn't used enough) but suffice it to say, I am thankful to not be one of them.

As I'm sure you can imagine I was glad to see the back of them and had to fix myself a strong drink once they'd left. The result of dealing with our town's dregs. Hopefully they wont be back tonight and I'll be in more pleasant company.

Image Owner: Damon Cowart

Wanders

Typical, really.

I sat down to do some work for university (in this case writing up a presentation on biofilm formation and signalling - I know...) and I haven't got very far. I suppose it's my own fault for putting on some 'folkier' music to listen to while working. For me folk music has this habit of dragging my mind, or my imagination at least, off to pictures of dense forests and stormy skies. It's interesting that simple songs can have such a profound effect. A few bars in and I am all set to pack a bag and venture into the valleys and hills of the North.

And so, because I cannot focus on molecular bacteriology, I feel I should do something constructive with my time. Next Summer I intend on travelling - starting an adventure of sorts. To bring you up to speed I will be heading North, and that's the only decision I have made. I suppose a route or schedule would be beneficial but I haven't got so far yet. I also need to start looking at the clothes and kit a 'would-be adventurer' is going to require. While a lot of people would look at all the organising as laborious, I love it. Every time I research a town to pass through I feel invigorated. Each purchase, be it simply socks or a rucksack, reminds me that my journey is growing ever closer.

Normally I am quite content to wait it out - yet there are always times like this. The clocks have gone back, plunging the North into long nights of thrashing rain and blustering gales. Outside, temperatures struggle to keep above freezing, and all around I can see flora dying back and withering away. But despite the weather and the darkness I sit here comfortable in the knowledge that things will look better soon. If I just ride out the Winter, the environment will become more welcoming. And I feel it is music like this - folk music with fiddles and long, deep chords that takes my attention beyond winter, to the next Summer in the North. These songs make me restless - encouraging that itch to pack up and run.

Tonight will be spent behind the bar. Pulling pints, serving patrons and resisting this itch.

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Clear

This does feel strange. Finally able to take a break and pen something.

With the start of my final year at university came early starts, late nights and an abundance of coursework. As a result I haven't had much time to dedicate to writing. Being in my final year I also have to look ahead to what I will be doing in a year. People are very fond of asking 'what will you do when you graduate?' when they learn you're nearly finished.

"What will you do when you graduate? Sam, what will you do when you've graduated? What are you going to do? When you graduate, Sam, what will you do?" To be quite honest I'm sick of the question because I don't know. All I know for sure is that I will be taking a year off. I have been in education since turning 4 years old and have not stopped. I feel I've earned a rest. So I will take a year for myself - it is my life after all, right? Hopefully I will get a chance to travel, and to write. Whether it be for my blog, for magazines, or for a book - I intend to keep up with my writing. After this year of travelling, writing (and likely working) I suppose I'll take a look at the future properly. Perhaps continue with education, start a career, maybe even make something out of writing.

Also, as I eluded to above, there has been talk of a book. Originally it started with my grandmother asking if I 'felt I had a book in me' to which I reminded her that I haven't lived enough life to write a postcard, never mind a book. Then, slowly over the past few months, more people asked. I discussed what I would like to write, what I feel I am capable of writing, and why I would bother writing in the first place (as much as I'm supposed to be interested in getting published or making money, I'd be content writing a book for the sake of cataloguing my experiences - the rest is just a bonus, should it come to that).

So there we have it, with my short break I have cleared my head and made a 'plan' for the future. Apologies if you were reading and thinking 'when will he write about something interesting? When will he use a metaphor or sneak some crafty life lesson into this?' Sometimes you just need to take five minutes, assess and put your mind at rest.

We'll resume normal programming shortly...

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Better The Devil You Know

It rained today...

It rained long, and it rained hard. The sort of weather that is accompanied by chilled winds and shadowed skies. A storm which feels at home out to sea. I walked through the storm, hood up and coat zipped - for reasons I'll tell you all about some other time. While walking I passed a small Methodist church. I have passed this church countless times, and whenever I do it has a witty sign outside. Usually the sign humorously encourages people in, or advocates a pro-God message. Today's message felt somewhat more sinister. The inky letters printed on dank, wet page read:

'Nobody is too bad to come in
Nobody is too good to stay out'

An interesting dichotomy. In two lines, the preacher has managed to capture everything I hate about organised religion. Nobody is too bad to come in? I dare say there is a plethora of minorities unwelcome in the Church - one only has to look as far as Christians blocking gay marriage to see that some of us are more welcome than others in this little community.

However, this is frivolous to me. A little white lie - a masking of the truth to save face. It is the second line that I find disgusting and utterly toxic. 'Nobody is too good to stay out.' This notion, that we are all evil or impure in some way. Regardless of the good we do, or the moral actions we take - we are still not good enough for this 'omnipotent creator'. I fear this is how we are to be suckered in. The Church tells us we are ill. From a position of authority and apparent wisdom, it tells us we are plagued. As if this news was not enough, it tells us there is no cure. 'No matter your course of action you will not treat this disease...

Unless!

Unless you come in. Come into our humble church. Accept our deity and praise Him with all your heart. Leave your families and friends. Leave your passions and ambitions to follow Him. Only then will you be on the path to a cure. But you will never be fully cured, you must remember this.'

What a truly rotting ideology. To forgo everything you know and love and aspire to be - in order to pursue blind faith and reward in a fictitious afterlife. If you'll permit me, I would like to raise an argument for the defence. An alternate ideology - one that you can choose to accept or discard as you see fit. My belief is this. You are not sick. You are not damaged. You are good enough to stay out. You are you - defined by your loved ones, your passions and your possessions. You do not need to dedicate your life to a phantom. Be truly great. Not for eternal life, nor because your deity commands it. Be truly great because you can be, and because you deserve to be.

You were created in the image of you

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Mind Over Matter

"Stand and deliver

Your body, or your mind!"

Of course you have little control over which you lose and when. But if you had the option, the choice of which to forgo, which would you go for? When asked, I cannot help but conjure the image of a highway man, armed and masked, threatening 'Your money or your life!'

Sat at the bar of our pub tonight were two old regulars. One was a demolitions expert for many years. While he is physically quite fit, a stroke some years ago affected his speech and cognition. With him was an ex-accountant. A small man whose body is failing him. Ravaged internally by bacteria and disease; withered externally by terrible muscular atrophy. Though his body is letting him down, his mind doesn't miss a trick. Apparently he is as quick-witted these days as he was 50 years ago. Seeing the dichotomy presented between these two men, I began thinking about which state I would rather be in.

I've recently been experiencing the position of the latter man - that of a tired body and a fresh mind. I rise each morning at 5.45am to walk 4 miles and travel two hours by bus. As you can imagine this activity takes its toll, leaving me aching and exhausted towards the end of the week. Why, even now, I am laid in bed forcing my body to stay awake and active while my mind puts pen to paper. Truth be told I am unsure which I would rather maintain, body or mind, if the other had to waste away. Luckily such decisions are somewhat out of my hands...

~

An interesting and brief aside. During the summer I bought some of John Green's books (an author who encourages people to leave notes in the front of his books for new readers). As I was buying books and taking notes, I felt it only fitting to pen a few brief notes of my own - for future bookshop customers.

Low and behold, three months later, I get a message out of the blue. A message from a girl who travelled to my city during the summer and happened across my note while she was shopping. To see something of mine in the hands of a person I'll never meet, and to know that little scrap of paper brightened their day, and is special to them is truly uplifting.

Now my note resides across the sea, cheering up someone I may never have known...

Who says writing isn't special?

The Fall

'This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but a whimper'

Ok, so the world is not ending, but the season is. It began earlier this week; shorter days, cooler temperatures and a distinct lack of blue sky. Summer seems to have passed us by in the north of England, as ever.
I had hoped the season would end in a flourish of brilliant sunshine and soaring temperatures. Summer seems to have a better idea. Summer intends to slope off, gradually fading into Autumn before anyone has the chance to ask where it's off to. Summer is the quiet girl at the party who slinks away after an hour or so - going home for the night because the music's too loud and her friends are too drunk.

For a lot of people Summer is the season. Perhaps it's the heat, the green on the trees or the blue up above. Or perhaps these people realise what comes after. The birds migrate, the leaves fall and Summer's bright colours fade into grey. For the majority, Summer is a brief 'warm-up' act - the year's headline performance is six months of icy winds and thrashing rain. It's easy to see why people are so attached to Summer.

Summer, however, is not for me. I find Autumn much more appealing. From the morning's frost-bitten lawns to the evening's inky-black, star-littered skies. I love seeing my own breath (as a child I pretended to be a dragon!), and I love the smell of smoke from chimneys and garden fires. Autumn for me is Halloween. It is treacle toffee and roaring bonfires. Autumn is fireworks, thick clothes and hot chocolate. While it is a little disheartening to see Summer on her deathbed, I am quite content.

...Autumn is coming.

Image Owner: Donna St. Pierre

Entropy

For those who read my blog, you may recall a post I wrote last month entitled 'The eye of the storm'. The post discussed how life can become very loud, busy and difficult on a whim - and that you should appreciate the fleeting moments of calm. Low and behold, last week life got hectic again. My time has been taken by a whole host of events;

• Crises of faith
• Family problems
• Friend problems
• Writing for other publications
• Managing a pub

Trust me, the list goes on. Thankfully I am working through a lot of this and have stolen away enough time to keep posting here.

Recently, a few friends have been having troubles. I'm sure you can relate. One day, out of the blue, a friend comes to you saying 'oh, my life is terrible. Nothing is working out.' We've all been there, and we all know how it feels to have the world against us. Over the years, as friends and family have presented this outlook to me, I have looked for a way to help and put their fears into perspective. This is my method of dealing with things when life gets to be a bit too much. 

Imagine all the good things in life in a pile. Your friends, your family, your passions and successes - these all make up the good pile. Then consider all the bad things. All the debt, health problems, upset and loss - these all make up the bad pile. In times of crisis the bad pile can be enormous; almost too large to bear. Heck, next to the bad pile, your good pile is a speck of dust at times. However, and this is the important part, these two piles do not influence one another. No matter how large the bad pile is, it does not diminish the good things you have. Those good things are no less special, uplifting or life-changing.

Of course this outlook works the other way. Should your problems be few and your 'good pile' be overwhelming - the bad pile is still important. It is still significant, and it should still be addressed. What I stress is this;

Add to the good pile, and chip away at the bad pile.

Image Owner: Donna St. Pierre

Persevere...

So, these have been a trying few weeks. I am currently in the middle of resitting some exams. Exams on which my future literally depends. The outcome of these tests will influence the rest of my life, to some degree. Further, I am blindly stumbling through a spiritual crisis and balancing home and family troubles simultaneously.

I have been meaning to write on perspective for some weeks now, but I have not felt ready. I want to sit and write on understanding and perceiving the world - its technical brilliance and rich history. I want to write articles for those whose life is crumbling and tell them to strive forward. That the good and bad in life do not taint one another.

This is not an eloquent, redrafted and refined post. It is a chance to vent. To open up and say "I want to write, I want to explore - but I am tired, I am stressed. Inside I am shutting down - yet I am pushing on

 ...I am not done yet"

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Horizons

Name: Samuel

Age: 20

Passion:...

Interesting, isn't it? How no CV, job application or interview asks for your passion in life. While each wants to get to know you, they all manage to miss this most important question. Instead they tend to focus on the academic achievements of your youth, and the hobbies you keep presently."Why yes, I got three As in my exams, and my hobbies include golfing and walking the dog." 

Quite unfortunate really...

It is unfortunate because this is not the measure of a person. You are so much more than this. What I feel truly defines you, is your passion in life. Everybody has a passion. An aspect of the world which fulfils them. An aspect that acts as a driving force and as a foundation for dreams. I place great importance in passion. It is neither a letter on the page, nor, necessarily, a socially accepted past-time. Your passion can be anything - any aspect of the world you please. It is not defined by culture. Nor by race, religion or social standing. The only criterion your passion requires is your full and undivided enthusiasm and enjoyment.

My passion in life, I am sure you are dying to know, is travelling. I look out of my window and can picture the rolling hills, rocky crags and dense forests that lie beyond the horizon. More than that, I picture myself exploring them. Journeying and adventuring. And nothing makes me happier. The feeling of elation is one you'll fully understand if you too have discovered your passion in life. I find myself, on occasion, wishing I was born elsewhere. Somewhere more rugged and rural. Somewhere with lakes and woods, rather than takeaways and pubs - that would be ideal. Honestly, I do not feel I will be completely happy until I can spend the majority of my life travelling, and exploring my passion.

It has started raining...

While I enjoy the sound of rain thudding off my window, I cannot help but think about those distant fields and forests. It will be raining there too. More than that, it will be pouring - and the wind will howl. The storm, so easily deflected at home, will bear down on these wild places. And I long to be there, experiencing.

I sincerely hope that you can relate to this feeling. That you too are this passionate about something - anything. I hope that you have found your passion and drive in life. If you have not, then remember...

...it is out there.

Image Owner: daylong

Shoulders of Giants

There is a simple joy in cycling. It reminds me of a time, not long since passed. A time of lazy days, quiet villages and empty roads. So, as I cycled the ten miles out into the countryside, I felt conflicted. You see, every overhanging tree and chirping songbird was ruined by spluttering exhausts and noxious fumes. The horses and carts have given way to horsepower and burning rubber. Despite the journey's mixed signals - of gorgeous flowers and choking exhaust vapours, I reached my friend's home feeling upbeat.

The reason for my excursion? An adventure.

I was to stay the night at my friend's home. In the morning we would meet with others and head across the county border to explore Brimham Rocks - an area full of unique and precarious rock formations. And this, dear reader, is what we did.

Now, Brimham Rocks is unique. Awe inspiring and interesting. It is a place of history and heritage, a landmark of sorts. Having said that, boys will be boys - and boys like to climb big rocks. Hence, the day was spent climbing, negotiating, and jumping between the site's formations. I was also reminded of an obscure fear, a compulsion of mine. And I was reminded whilst atop a 40ft high rock. Don't fret, it's not a fear of heights - it is much worse.

I fear to be on top of tall structures, because I feel a compulsion to throw myself off.

It's a peculiar feeling. To look over the edge, straight down 40 feet and think to yourself "What if I were to jump?" As much as I try to rationalise my thoughts, it is still there - the voice in the back of my mind. "Go on Sam, we've never jumped off something so high before, let's see what will happen." I know what would happen, but I have to climb down. I have to climb back down because the longer I am up there, the greater the compulsion to throw both caution, and myself, to the wind. I am sure there are others in a similar boat. Others who occasionally hear a mischievous voice whispering in their ear, convincing them to go against sensibility and rationality. While you want to silence it, this voice howls and wails until the opportunity it saw has passed. So I climb down, and let the opportunity for a spectacular and ill-equipped skydive pass.

If there's a take-home message, or pearl of wisdom in my brief  adventure, it is the sense of achievement. In a world increasingly occupied by video games, and convenient living, a sense of achievement is easy to come by. What I rediscovered, while choosing to conquer 40 feet of shapeless sediment, was this -

Aim high, and achieve for yourself. While anyone can 'stand on the shoulders of giants', it is a greater feat to climb up there in the first place.

Image Owner: Stephanie (Violet Danger)

The Eye of the Storm

I have been sitting, considering my third post for over half an hour. There is no shortage of ideas - quite the contrary, I feel inundated with options and avenues to take you down. But as I explore the stories and opinions I wish to share, it hits me. A new firework of thought bursts into being. Bigger and brighter than what came before. My tales are put on hold - filed away. Ladies and gentlemen, we have our course.

I am somewhat surprised that it didn't hit me sooner...

 Like the majority of people, I have a job. It is a simple, old-fashioned job - I work behind a bar. Similar to everybody else's jobs, there are quiet shifts and there are busy shifts. Today's was a 'rushed-off-your-feet, sweating and gasping for breath' shift - with more customers than I have ever experienced. Customers who become increasingly drunk and increasingly difficult as the night grinds on.

"As a biologist I can't condone serving six more shots, especially after seeing you throw your guts up outside - but as a barman, jager or aftershock sir?" I resist the sarcastic commentary and pour the drinks. The night continues in much the same fashion, with the pace and the work becoming exhausting - I am thankful to finish.

So this is why I am surprised it did not hit me sooner. Sitting in my small room, curled up in an armchair - I am in the eye of a storm. I am sure you have also found yourself in such situations. Everything in life becomes loud and hectic, your attention being drawn in every direction. By working hard and striving forward you are able to earn some peace - some time to yourself. But this is just the eye. Things will build up again. There will always be turmoil and difficulty - they come with life. You will have to work hard, exert yourself and push forward.

And I sincerely hope you have the strength to do this...

However, my aim was not to wish you strength and luck. When I began writing I wanted to draw your attention to this quiet moment - this eye of the storm. When life's difficulties have you surrounded, screaming and shouting for attention, remember this. In this hesitant moment of calm, you have your health and you have time for yourself. Make the most of it. Disregard the chaos to come and the hardships already passed - make the most of this beautiful, serene, empty moment...

Because it too, will soon pass.

Image Owner: DaneLehman

The Beaten Track

I have always loved writing. Allowing thoughts to collide with ideas and inspiration, in a way never before conceived. Combining the familiar, warm words in new ways for the delight and interest of whoever might chance across them.

For me, writing is akin to a walk in the woods. The beginning is always difficult. Where do you start? You struggle to find your way, often becoming turned round - lost and confused before you have even begun. Eventually, thankfully, you will locate the beaten path or dirt track you wish to follow. As you meander down this path, your pace becomes fluid - slowing at key events or themes, as one might slow to enjoy the flowers, before hurrying on again. And while you continue forwards, leaving the path here and there to explore the undergrowth that gives your work its dimension, you are safe in the knowledge that you know which direction you are heading in.

To begin truly is the hardest part of writing. I enjoy the sense of achievement felt upon clambering through the thickets and hedgerows that cloud my mind, reaching the well-travelled path beyond. It is not dissimilar to solving a puzzle. In one brief flash, one moment of clarity, you make sense of the jumbled information and it all falls into place. Why then, with such a passion for putting pen to page, have I avoided writing for years?

The blame lies rightly with my old English teacher, who allowed hindrance and criticism to take the place of support and nurture. While she put me off at first, it is a mantra of sorts that has convinced me to begin scrawling my thoughts for the world to see. I have come across different approaches to life in books, film, through the people I know and once during a midnight conversation with a Greek man in an underground Manchester bar. And while everyone has a different approach to living life, I am content with my own little 'mantra'...

Do what makes you happy

Regardless of the money you earn, the places you go, the people you meet and the ones you leave behind -

Always do what makes you happy.

Image Owner: Wilfred Thomas