Written at the point where calm had returned, and movement felt possible again.
The end of the summer holidays was coming into view, and it felt like time to move again.
The start of summer had been dominated by stress. We had moved house, routines disappeared, and I let diet and exercise slide. That was a conscious choice. I needed a break from self-surveillance and pressure, and I wanted to be present with my family while things settled.
Written at a moment when privacy began to feel like something worth defending (2016).
My life on public display has been shrinking. Deliberately.
This year had already been a difficult one, and the summer forced me to slow down enough to notice what was no longer working. I spent time thinking about my own life and my family's, and how easily attention gets scattered. Real connection had started to feel rare. Digital connection was everywhere.
Written in August, 2016
I am a happier man these days, though it did not feel that way at the time.
The months leading up to this were hard. We were told we would have to leave our home of nearly ten years. Then my car failed. What followed was a stretch of relentless logistics: finding somewhere new to live, replacing the car, and trying to keep our son's life feeling normal as everything shifted beneath us.
Just as things began to stabilise, my mother was taken seriously ill. It turned out to be a false alarm, but it arrived at exactly the wrong moment. Stress has a way of stacking itself.
Written during a period of deliberate withdrawal, when attention felt overstretched and clarity hard-won.
I was using social media too much. Enough to be shaping my mood, my attention, and my sense of ease in ways I did not like. So I decided to treat it as an experiment rather than a confession.
The first experiment was simple. A month away. No feeds, no constant checking, no reflexive sharing. Apps removed. Sites blocked. Not as a punishment, but as a way of seeing what remained when the noise stopped.
Written in 2016
I woke up with ghosts in my head. Friends from the past. Family who are gone.
It made me look at the clock.
If I am lucky, I am exactly halfway through my life.
My son thinks I will make it to a hundred. I think ninety-four is enough.
Written in 2016
The light in the room changes when there is less in it. It feels different.
William Morris said,Β "to have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful."
Most of us fail this test.
I look around. I see the "shit."
Written in February 2016
The coach stopped me at the edge of the pitch.
He said my son was a problem. Out of thirty boys, Karta was the one they were close to letting go.
I asked why nobody had spoken to me before. He dodged the question.
My stomach turned. It was a warning.
I rely on instinct now. I learned the hard way. At twenty-five, I stopped listening to my gut, and I fell apart.
I lost years to that breakdown. My memory is still full of holes. I let the wrong people in. I made bad choices.
It took a good friend to keep me grounded. Later, my wife taught me to trust myself again.
That trust is ringing alarm bells now.
It was hard to find a club. Most want players who are already good. This place promised to teach him.
He has gone every week since September. He has never played a match.
I watch him from the sidelines. I do not see a troublemaker. I see a boy trying to learn.
My head says to be patient. It says to see if things improve.
My gut says to take him and leave.
I think I know which voice to listen to.
Written in 2016
This is going to be harder than I thought!
I cut the cords on projects that were taking more than they gave. They were noise. I wanted silence.
I thought empty time would stay empty. I imagined long mornings with books and old films. I was wrong. A vacuum always fills.
I wake before the sun now. I make breakfast. I pack lunches. I walk my son to school.
Then comes the cleaning. The laundry. The maintenance of a home.
Between the chores, I do a little work for my wifeβs company. It fits in the cracks of the day.
The afternoon is a blur of school gates, homework, and cooking. By the time the house is quiet again, I am drained.
This is common work. It is what people do every day. But it is also the most important work I have ever done.
We have less money than we used to. We are happier.
The hardest part is protecting this new rhythm. The world still tries to get in.
People ask for small favours. They ask for time I no longer want to give. I am learning to be unavailable.
I am not hiding in a cave. I am just closing the door.
I am taking it one day at a time.
So there you have it, 2016 has been okay so far. I'm not looking too far ahead; that would be foolish. Just for now, I'm taking it one day at a time.
Written when love felt clearer than certainty (2015).
Let me start by saying how much I love you. What follows are a few words that I hope will guide you.
Live a full life. Be kind.
Chase what you want, even if it scares you. Fear is just part of the cost. Go anyway.
Keep your circle small. Trust those few people with everything you have. Strong bonds are built on truth, not politeness.
Speak well of others. It costs nothing to be generous.
Be loyal. Be gentle. Being hard is easy; being soft takes courage.
Laugh. Smile at strangers. Learn to sit in silence without reaching for a phone.
Look after your body. Move it every day. Health is freedom.
Find work that matters to you. If you can, make it matter to others, too.
It is alright to be weak. It is alright to cry.
Failure is not the end. It is just data. When doubt comes, let it pass like bad weather.
Give more than you take. If you lend money, expect nothing back.
Listen properly. Don't just wait for your turn to speak.
Be on time. It shows respect.
Be honest. Apologise first when you are wrong.
Treat the people you love better than you treat guests.
Marry for love. Hold hands when you can.
Be ambitious, but humble. Leave room for others to win.
Swim in rivers and the sea. Watch the sunrise now and then. Be spontaneous.
Laugh at yourself. Learn a few jokes. Play music if it calls to you.
Above all, know this. I love you. I am proud of you. I am always with you.
All my love,
Dad
Some things you write for the future end up teaching you how to live in the present.
The first week of 2026 has been interesting. Not just personally, but for the whole world.
I didn't make any resolutions. I quietly decided to make a few changes to my lifestyle that will steer my Type-2 diabetes towards remission, and help me to improve my health generally. A happy side effect of these changes is that I will lose weight and gain strength. All good. I have mentally prepared myself for the challenges that will arise, but these are easy to deal with. It really is a matter of reframing things in your mind.