The start…

The well isn’t exactly overflowing at present, it isn’t even full but there’s enough down there to fill my small bucket and that will do.

In all honesty, I have been trying to “start” this for so long; too long.

Trying to find the perfect words to explain my journey and bring you all to the beginning; writing this today. I’ve been afraid I would bore you or leave you uninterested. All that time Hemingway has whispered in my ear “just because it happened to you; it doesn’t make it interesting” followed by my addition; “just because you write it doesn’t mean anyone will read it”.

I then questioned myself as to why I would write this, let alone share it on a public platform. The truth is simple, at least to me, I have experiences — some good, some bad, I have loved and lost and found something I feel may last. It all came together to create an individual who thinks too much, writes a little, rarely shares his words but continues to think and write.

I won’t begin with a catalogue of events only because the events that have shaped me and brought me to the point of sharing this are the very things that most inspire me to write or, perhaps more accurately, I am inspired to write and the events are the foundation of that writing.

The modern age of sharing

It is nothing new in the modern social media world for us all to share ourselves in our own way online; vlogs, blogs, cool snap chats, beautiful Instagrams and perfect facebookings. It creates a richly diverse world of interesting things to engage us; there is something for every — no matter how good or bad that may be.

I can’t help but feel that many of us are becoming/have become like strung out addicts or melancholic romantics hungry for our next fix or the loving, warm embrace of another but for nothing more superficial than likes, shares or glowing comments from friends and strangers alike. A perfect picture is no longer a happy accident of capturing a perfect moment. It is now fifty deleted shots or selfies and one that shows off our looks, our fancy clothes, our expensive holiday, our romantic meal shared with our “perfect” partner or,. In reality, whatever part of our existence we find lacking whereby only the click of the “like” or “share” button will give us the meaning we so desire.
 I feel for those who crave it, not because I’m above it or better than those people but because there is no greater emotional pain than being ignored, feeling empty, lost, isolated.

I’m not a person who shares much of his life. I don’t like being in photos, don’t think I am overly photogenic and I feel awkward posing for a shot. My “style”, if you could even call it that, would best be described as “traditional” or perhaps dull. My holidays, romantic meals and my partner I am too busy enjoying to stop and post about the enjoyment I am feeling or am meant to be feeling. Instead, should it be hacked, my camera roll is filled with nothing but pictures of the outdoors and of course my dog. Not to say I value those things more than my partner but because the emotions I feel when I look out across a valley in the hills and mountains on our walks are too quickly forgotten in the mundanity of work on Monday morning.

So why?

So why a blog for a person who does not need or want to be on display?
 
 Quite simply, I am selfish. As I mentioned earlier in my rambling introduction, I think too much and for too long and at far great a depth than is necessary. When I don’t allow my thoughts into the world, they fill up my mind to the point where I have to listen to a podcast or music whenever I am doing any task that does not take my full concentration. Even when I am undertaking a task that requires a little attention such as cooking, II have to have the tv on in the background. Not because I need noise to fill the empty silence that surrounds me but to drown out the noise in my head.

When I hear the Matchbox Twenty song Kody; particularly the line “if you’ve never heard that silence, it;s a god awful sound” I picture myself tearing my hair out or talking to myself out loud to quiet the noise in my head.

I’m not schizophrenic, I haven’t been tested, but the voice in my head is not telling me to do things or act in certain ways. It is my own inner monologue discussing the world around me, or an event, or a podcast, or an article or one of the many millions of things that may stimulate my brain into overdrive.

Writing this is simply a way of opening the pressure valve in my brain and releasing some of the noise of an overactive and often exhausted mind.

If you have come this far, I do hope you come back. I can’t tell you there will be a theme, only that when there’s enough in the well I will share what I have on my mind.