Who wants to see me eat chips?

Well it’s been a whiley since I’ve metaphorically placed pen to paper on my blog and I guess that’s probably for a few reasons.

Last year, as some who read this nonsense will know, I wrote my first book. It became a very cathartic and well, scarily emotional experience if I’m honest. To the extent that afterwards, I guess I just didn’t feel like writing much. 

Self Psycho Analysis

I was spent you see, I’d written so much of my youth into adult years and what I thought it all meant in some horrifying attempt at self-psycho analysis that at the end, when the book was presented in all its full colour majesty and I’d dried the tears and recovered, that was it. Turns out the reason I wrote it worked. I had, to that point at least, no more story to tell. 

The result is that now, I'd argue anyone who suggests that in our journey through life we shouldn’t talk about our emotions is not just wrong, they're lazy and frankly, pant wettingly bonkers. 

Now I don’t mean that we must all go through each day curled up in all ball screaming “why does the world hate me”, but fir cryin out loud, we’re human beings, we’re emotional creatures. 

It’s healthy to discuss what ails us, what may be causing us to feel a bit off colour or upset. 

I read the other day that to our utter shame, New Zealand has the highest teen suicide rate in the western world. That is utterly disgusting and the bottom line is we all know why that is. 

‘oh he’s just being a teenager’

We do, we know that we should talk to our kids, we know that they face issues today that we in our 40s struggle to understand. But in so many families we don’t. 

We let our kids struggle on aware that they’re in a bit of emotional strife but we brush it off as ‘oh he’s just being a teenager’. 

We, through our own inaction, tell our teenagers that they must bottle everything up and we so very rarely deal with the big stuff. 

It’s ‘Man up!’, not ‘let’s talk’ about relationships, sexuality, money, whatever. 

So back to me and yes I went through all that lack of any open emotional discussion when I were a lad and the result, fortunately for me, was not suicide, but writing a book whenst I was 42. A significantly less messy outcome I think we’d all agree. 

Shame

So following my book and being a bit talked out, between life in general, jobs, trying to earn a living etc, I’ve just not really been here for a while. 

Why then, why did I decide this morning to have another go at blithering away on me blog. Shame is the answer, yes shame. 

You see I started a new role recently, an exciting role and one I’m very much enjoying. 

It’s a new thing and it’s a bit of a mission for everyone involved given the complexities of what’s planned etc. I’m being a bit vague I know but it’s explained in the link below and this is about me, not the project. It’s my blog, bugger off. What?

A lovely writer, contracted to a local economic development agency contacted me, given as part of their work they like to show off the area we live as being a great place to come work. All makes sense, it is a great place to live and work. 

‘Wish You Were Working In Her’!

‘Wish You Were Working Here’ is a website where the stories are told of those folks who move to Tauranga from other parts of New Zealand or other parts of the globe. 

I have to confess though, I was a little perturbed at first when I misread the web address and title of the project as, ‘Wish You Were Working In Her’! 

I thought immediately that it was a project I didn’t want to be associated with, philosophically and physically. “Ewwwyyy”, was my immediate reaction. 

Fortunately having re-read the web details and the contents of the lovely email sent to me, I gladly took part. Questions were asked, answers were given, hideous photos were sought and the result you can see in the link below. Twas was all jolly good fun.

The trouble was though, and the reason I’m here now at 6pm trying desperately to get this piece uploaded to my blog before anyone sees the ‘Wish you were working in her’ article, is that I was asked of my blog, I was asked of my writing. 

White lie

Now it’s possible, just slightly possible, that in the beautifully crafted piece written by who I now know to be an excellent writer and lovely person, that I explained I liked to sit, delicately and intelligently, with glasses on end of nose of an eve, and write oh so wittily in my blog. 

Now of course I always sit delicately and intelligently, but what I haven’t done for getting for 18 months now is write anything, wittily or not, in my blog. 

So yes, shame got me here today and I’m glad. You see I’ve now rattled on and wasted your time for nearly 900 words and all to offer some form an explanation of my little white lie to a writer developing some ‘fake news’ on me behalf.

But hey, I’ve righted a wrong, it’s now all of seconds/minutes/days since I wrote on my blog and I’m back. I’d love it if you kept reading, if only to justify my teasing you with a photo of me eating chips! 

Thanks for reading. You are but lovely people! 

Wish You Were Working Here article