Shooting the Breeze – Part 1

Conversations About Life

Camping

Note to the reader:

I began writing what was intended to be a little book more than three years ago. However, for various reasons the book was never completed. Due to the passage of time, I have struggled to pick up where I left off. Rather than let what I had written go to waste, I have decided to package it into short blog posts.

I have edited and removed some sections so that they make sense, however some may still appear incomplete. The people who have shared their stories with me are all dear family and friends, who have enriched my life greatly. I can’t thank them enough for sharing their wisdom and insights into the world.

So this is the first post of eight nine. I’ll post two each week – one on a Friday and one on a Tuesday.   I’d love to hear your feedback on any of them.

Thanks for reading x

PART 1

Introduction

When I was eight years old I declared to my dad that I was either going to become a saint or live to be the oldest person in the world. His wry response was, ‘One of those options isn’t bad’. I’ve never known which one he was referring to, although considering I was the youngest of three lively children, I can hazard a guess.

Either way neither of those aspirations is likely to eventuate unless I literally have some miracles occur in my life. It doesn’t matter though, I have well and truly moved on from those dreams and countless others have joined them on the scrap heap.

bubbleFor a long time I lived in a kind of dream bubble. If I rewind some years I find myself as a small child living in a big world, waiting expectantly for what would come next. Opportunities were seemingly endless and herein lay the premise that dreams could in fact become reality and I could do or be anything I liked.

bubbleThis mantra treated me well throughout childhood, good fortune came my way fairly liberally and I relished the challenge of new opportunities. It’s not as though things have taken a devastating turn, rather my salubrious bubble now exists more like an agitated vesicle waiting to explode with the pinprick of reality.

bubble1

While I probably wont be able to reincarnate the former idealistic majesty of my bubble, what remains still holds prospects of hope and possibility – who knows, it may some day regain its mousseux qualities. Like that sparkling wine punctuated with effervescence, it could be that some of my dreams are only meant to provide a fleeting moment of delirium before popping back into the abyss. I simply can’t do or be anything I want to.

So for now my endeavours of bringing the environment back from the brink of disaster, finding cures for debilitating illnesses and gaining a sense of equality throughout the world will have to wait.

My thoughts may appear trivial and to some I may be perceived as a spoilt child – I have been fortunate, there’s no doubt about it. So how do we find fulfilment from the dreams we haven’t realised? I clearly don’t have the answer so I am hoping to find some understanding through other people’s experiences. What have they done when life hasn’t followed the script? And more importantly, how have they come to accept themselves in an often unforgiving world?

As I embark on this investigation or possible self-inflicted vexation, I have no direction as to where this may take me or what I may discover. I am only armed with an unfailing sense of inquisitiveness and a life long compulsion to ask questions.

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