“What we seek is some kind of compensation for what we put up with.” ― Haruki Murakami, Dance Dance Dance

I'm back at work.

It's quiet at the moment. And that makes a nice change.

The atmosphere is subdued, though. Perhaps everyone's tired and in need of a break, but I think it's more a case of not knowing where we're headed next.

But, hey, who knows anything these days?


Yesterday was a day of reflection. There was (thankfully) no screaming thoughts but, at some point, I had this overwhelming sense that I'd been working for a very long time, and I wasn't done — not by a long shot.

I know I'm not alone, but I'm of the generation who was expected to work from an early age. In my case, I started a part-time job aged 13 and I've never not worked, even when I was studying full-time at Uni.

Perhaps I thought by now I'd have retired. If that's the case, I've made a sh*t job of planning for it. I'm not hot on predictions but I've this unerring sense that I'm very likely to be working, much like my old man, until 70 — i.e. another 18 years of blood, sweat and toil.

Ah, never mind.

At least I'm here to tell the tale. 

Yes, life is a gift even if or especially if it doesn't always feel like that.

Deep bows.


Photo by Victoria Heath on Unsplash


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