I’ve never felt like I totally belonged here on earth.
I’ve always been slightly bemused, and felt alien towards most of life’s game rules. As a result I’m often puzzled, frequently amused and mostly lost (but not always in a bad way). I call the way I brought my son up ‘The Martian Theory’. It was the best way I knew to explain to him about how life works here.
I didn’t want to go the way of my parents and their hardline catholicism. Not that I’m criticising, they did the best they could and imagination, wine and a few exorcisms dealt with my own personal residue.
For my son, though, I treated him as a visitor plopped on to the earth and it was my job to teach him the rules of the game here on this beautiful planet. In essence, I steered away from things being labelled ‘good’ or ‘bad’ and stuck more to appropriateness and resourcefulness. For instance, it’s better for everyone if we cooperate, have compassion and don’t be dicks to each other. It seemed to work for him, he’s turned out to be a nice person all round.
This space will be an exploration of both my internal and external worlds. I try not to take too many things seriously, so hopefully the tone remains light. I’m nearly 55 and I don’t know who I am – that’s the internal bit. The external bit will be a WTF-fest mostly, I expect, but who knows; the muse will come where and when she may, and if she’s brought a decent bottle of gin with her she’s more than welcome. We’re all metaphorical Martians. We’re spirits conveyed by meatsuits, travelling through space and time on a beautiful planet that’s hurtling at 1040 mile per hour.
Life is fragile. Let’s not be dicks.
