Written in 2014. This is a story, not a position statement.
Shooting Machine Guns in my Underpants
Some days start entirely ordinary and end somewhere you did not see coming.
This was one of those days.
I found myself in a situation that, with even a momentβs reflection, would have raised several questions. Instead, I went along with it, partly out of curiosity and partly because saying no felt more awkward than saying yes.
That is how I ended up standing on a firing range, wearing very little of what could reasonably be described as protective clothing, holding something that deserved more respect than I was currently giving it.
It was absurd.
It was surreal.
It was, in hindsight, entirely predictable.
There is a particular kind of momentum that takes over in moments like that. You are already there, already involved, already committed to the story you will later have to tell. Backing out feels like making a bigger deal of it than carrying on.
So I carried on.
The noise, the weight, the sheer physicality of it all snapped me into the present faster than any mindfulness exercise ever could. There was no room for distraction or abstraction: just sensation, consequence, and a very clear awareness of my own stupidity.
Nothing went wrong.
Nothing heroic happened either.
What stayed with me was not the experience itself, but the realisation of how easily you can drift into situations without fully engaging your judgement. How often momentum replaces intention.
It makes for a good story.
It also makes for a helpful reminder.
One I still think about before saying yes.