I've been directionless most of my life. I'm not ambitious, I'm not driven by the same goals my peers have and I don't love anything enough to live and breath it to the exclusion of anything else. My work isn't my passion, it isn't my dream job, even if the people I work with are more fab than I deserve.
I photograph. I write (occasionally). I row. I very occasionally paddle board. I ride my Brompton less often than I should. I live in a flat with no cats, no dogs, no companion and no commitments.
I find myself in a mid-life crisis. I am 45 years old and I still don't know what I want to do when I grow up.
No, that's not strictly true. I do. I just am not sure how I am going to get there, or I wasn't until today.
My lifestyle leaves me a lot of time to think, a lot of time on my own with only myself for company. That can be a good thing, mostly, but occasionally to can be bad. Being sick the last three days and therefore confined to the flat brings its own terrors. Boredom. Silence. Boxed sets. The prediction of the nature of my days to come.
I have known I can abide solitude and loneliness. I have gotten used to company and the shock of their return has been harder than expected. But it is the essence of who I am, this self-sufficiency in human contact, in relationships and friendships.
Why not make them my constancy, this trio? Solitude. Loneliness. Aimlessness. Why not make them core to my way of life, embrace them and make them work for me? So, in the midst of feeling rubbish and tired and a little lost, a decision has been made.
Now to the how, and the when.